I make a sound of agreement and pick up a glass of what looks like eggnog. I take a taste and it bites me back with a powerful dose of bourbon. That surprises me. I don’t typically drink alcohol so early. But I glance out the window at the raging snowstorm visible behind the heavily frosted panes of glass and shrug. It is not like I am going anywhere. As the little spirit says, keep warm and merry, so why not?
I take another bite of the cinnamon roll, and this time I don’t bother to hide my moan. It seems the alcohol in the eggnog is loosening me up already.
“I think this is the best breakfast I have ever had. Don’t take offense, but I hope I get rescued quickly, or else I will never fit into any of my clothes when I get back home,” I joke.
The spirit replies with nothing more than a breathy laugh as more eggnog magically appears in my cup. A girl could certainly get used to this kind of holiday!
Chapter 6
Jakfros
Iwatch her thoughtfully throughout the day. Normally I would be gloating with excitement for my own impending feast while drifting on a cloud of holiday spirit, but my mood is quieter than normal. It is as if there is an uncomfortable weight in my chest that makes me anxious rather than attending to matters with my usual cheer.
My nose wrinkles slightly as I observe her abusing my chair, one leg thrown over the arm as she reads the novel in her hands. I do not recognize it but I have collected so many seasonal things from a multitude of human traditions that it is quite possible that it snuck into my collection. Obviously, a book was the wrong choice. Though she sips on her hot cocoa, her mood is quiet as she reads... somber even.
This... this is not right.
I squint at the book when her lower lip trembles slightly and read the title. A Christmas Carol. The name of the book sounds cheerful enough. Carols rouse the festive spirit as well as anything, and the subject matter seems to be failing abysmally. Who is this Dickens fellow that he is incapable of getting a simple theme right? Arms folded over my chest, I drum the claws of my right hand on my bicep with annoyance only for them to flatten angrily when Shawna makes a small, sad sound. This is the exact opposite of holiday cheer.
My tail flicks and my wings twitch restlessly as I move to the side of the chair so that I can peer over her shoulder. squint at the scene printed on the page before me. My frustration quickly shifts to horror. A scene of such sorrow... and death!
“What is this?!” I demand, briefly unaware that I’ve spoken my indignation aloud.
Her eyes, their color a brilliant, pale blue of winter skies, lift from the page, and she looks in my direction. For a moment I swear that she can see me, but her gaze shifts away absently and I am both relieved and disappointed by the truth.
She half-closes the book and gestures to the cover. “The Christmas Carol. Of all books, I would have imagined that a holiday spirit would recognize a classic piece of literature that so clearly demonstrates the spirit of the season.”
“Spirit of the season?” I echo. “Thatdismal tale? Where is the joy and merriment in such grim literature?”
A faint smile brushes her lips as she runs a finger over the gold-stamped lettering on the cover. Despite the fact that her spirits are not raised with merriment and she is not flushed with the pleasures of the season’s joy, there is something quite charming about her in this moment which captivates me.
“I suppose it is a tad grim,” she agrees. “But if you object to it so much, why do you have it here among your festive belongings?”
I grimace, no longer quite as charmed. She is too shrewd by far. I had been excited about the prospect of enjoying this feast, but now I am rather wishing that she was a big, brawny, idiotic male. I cannot think of a single guest who has ever even done more than idly pick up the book and flip through it in the most casual sense before setting it aside again. But now I can feel the sweat gathering at the base of my horns.
“It is not precisely that I object,” I refute somewhat lamely. “The book was a gift. I had not yet had the opportunity to read it.I certainly would have not kept it, however, if I had known that it contained such a lack of real holiday spirit.”
Her brows draw together and I have the feeling that I have somehow doomed myself. How often had Mother said to keep the trap simple. She had scolded me more than once for being a packrat of odd bits of human holiday traditions. She always claimed that it was unnecessary, but I thought it added a touch of something more. Now I am getting a taste of the other side of the situation. A random item is making her think far too much instead of embracing the magic.
I am prepared for her to call me out on my deception. My muscles tense, and my tongue draws back and presses against the roof of my mouth as I grit my teeth defensively. She shakes her head... and laughs.
“It is only the greatest book demonstrating the warmth of caring and concern for others during the holiday season beyond all the frivolity,” she says, gesturing to the décor. “All of this is quite lovely, don’t get me wrong, but even the greatest of feasts, plentiful drinks, and most beautiful of surroundings is all just... the dressing on a greater message that spans across many traditions throughout history. Of common goodwill towards others and the bonds that keep those who are dearest to us closest to our hearts.”
My brow furrows as I frown at the book. “You infer that fromthatgrim passage?”
