I could kick them all out immediately and ignore this, but that felt wrong, like I’d be ripping away a part of myself. If this wasn’t a figment of my imagination, I was screwed anyway, might as well see where my delusion led me.
“What’s next then? What’s your grand plan for helping me find this magical joy?”
“We stay.” Blitz grabbed a box of pizza and flipped it open. “Help you recover pieces of yourself, one memory and feeling at a time until we can return to Jingle.”
Jingle. There it was again: Joint International Nordic Glacial Logistics and Ecology.
The artwork from the gallery flashed in my mind. My dad’s face when he’d come on video chat the other day. My parents’ odd behavior when I’d mentioned what was happening to me.
What I was about to say seemed absolutely absurd. “Is my dad Santa Claus?” The room tensed, nine pairs of eyes darting between each other. I reached for my phone, pulling up his contact. “I’ll call and ask.”
Cole’s hand closed over mine, warm and surprisingly gentle considering his size. “He won’t be able to confirm or deny. There are strict guidelines.”
Ice formed beneath my fingertips. “Is he sick? Is something happening to him?”
“Not sick.” Rudy’s voice dropped lower. “Not in the traditional sense.”
I pulled my hand away from Cole and stared at the melting ice in my palm, feeling something both terrifying and exhilarating unfolding inside me. “His magic is fading, isn’t it? That’s what the painting was about.”
The silence that followed was all the confirmation I needed.
Chapter 8
Christmas Spirit Restoration Activities
Islapped at my ringing alarm three times before my hand connected with the snooze button. The morning sun sliced through the gap in my curtains as if it had a vendetta against my eyelids.
Five more minutes. Just five.
When I next opened my eyes, thirty minutes had passed. I dragged myself upright, squinting at my phone. No missed calls from work. Small miracles. After yesterday’s magical reindeer intervention and impromptu “herd meeting,” I’d put in for a sick day.
I probably needed a sick week.
The bathroom beckoned with promises of hot water and temporary escape from my reality. I shuffled across the room, my brain still booting up its systems.
I flipped on the light, reached for my toothbrush, and caught my reflection.
“What the actual fuckity fuck?!”
My toothbrush clattered into the sink as I leaned forward, nose practically touching the mirror. Two inches of silver roots blazed like a neon sign against my carefully maintained black hair. Two. Entire. Inches.
I grabbed a handful and held it away from my scalp to see itbetter. It wasn’t from bad lighting or sleep deprivation. My natural color was making a very unauthorized comeback tour.
It was physically impossible to grow two inches overnight. I ran my fingers through my hair, frantically checking the length. It wasn’t longer. It was... reverting. Like my body was rejecting the dye the same way it had rejected my spray tan.
I grabbed my measuring tape from my drawer and held it against the roots. Exactly two inches. Hair grew half an inch per month, max. This was four months of growth. Overnight.
“Okay, Neve. Let’s review.” I braced my hands on the counter. “You’ve got inexplicable ice powers. Your skin rejected industrial-grade spray tan. Your hair is magically un-dyeing itself. And nine men who transform into reindeer will neither confirm nor deny that your father is Santa Claus.”
A broken laugh slipped free, tangled up in nerves. I threw the measuring tape back in the drawer and slammed it closed before marching toward the kitchen. Coffee. I needed coffee before I could wrap my head around any more reality-breaking revelations.
The smell of brewing coffee greeted me halfway down the hall, along with the sound of male voices and clinking dishes.
I rounded the corner to find Dane standing at my coffee maker while Dash organized a spread of pastries on my kitchen table. Both men looked up with identical expressions of innocence.
“Good morning, princess!” Dane lifted a mug in salute. His smile widened as his gaze fixed on my two-toned hair.
Dash set down a plate of Christmas-themed donuts. “The transformation is progressing nicely.”
