Maya:
Bring me back a souvenir. Also, I already booked your return flight. Check your e-mail for the itinerary. I forwarded it to you ten minutes ago. NOW.
Me:
Yes, Mom. I’m surprised you’re getting these texts. The signal is extremely choppy here. It’s bad. I don’t have service ninety percent of the time.
Maya:
Good. You get to disconnect. Enjoy nature.
The art convention is held downtown. Every street lamp is decorated with warm lights strung from top to bottom. Everyone walking wears a peaceful smile on their joyful faces, along with their winter coats, mittens, and beanies. The snow grows heavier by the second, but I noticed how well the sidewalks are paved for walking. Everything looks so clean and organized, with nothing out of place.
My eyes glow, soaring with glee and caffeine. I palm the viciously cold windows, mesmerized by the snow-covered mountains in the distance and the thick white flurries that keep falling. It’s been an eventful drive with breathtaking views. We drive past the Sugar Plum and Butter bakery, and my mouth waters instantly as the familiar smell of freshly baked buttery bread and confections fills the air. I need to stop by after the event.
“Does it always snow like this every winter?” I ask my driver as I continue to watch the flurries fall and stick. We don’t get snow in Texas, and if we do, it’s rare. Piano Christmas music plays on the radio. It feels like magic. I’m too glued to the town to look at her. My fingers hold the door window. Frosty temperature bites back, leaving warm fingerprints, but I’m soaking up every minute of being in a different part of the world. When I remove my hand, the white prints slowly fade, and I drink in the historic buildings as the car continues to move.
“It does. However, the local news warned everyone a week ago that we’re expecting the worst snowstorm in decades. An arctic blast is running through. I hope you have everything you need while riding out the storm wherever you’re staying. Oh. Another tip, stay away from—” She doesn’t get to finish. Before I can blink, I’m rocketing forward, and my seatbelt tightens over my chest, restricting my breath. The car brakes harshly, the screeching over the tires looming. We’re sliding for one agonizing second before the car comes to a stop.
“That was close,” she murmurs before cursing under her breath as she stares at the prominent dark figure in front of the hood of the car.
In front of us is a moose with snow blanketing the tips of its antlers. It slowly trudges along, and my eyes grow wide as I take in the animal I’ve seen in pictures but never in real life. Its dark brown fur coat is thick, and it strolls with long strides. Shaking its head, the snow falls from the antlers and onto the pavement. It saunters over to the other side of the street, where it’s nothing but vast land with tall trees. I follow its tracks, my head tilting as it goes. It turns a corner, disappearing.
“Are you alright?” she asks, her voice shaky. “Moose,” she huffs, tightening her hands over the steering wheel. She lowers the dial on the radio before glancing over her shoulder. “Marvelous creatures. You’ll find them everywhere. Downtown, thehospital, even your backyard.” She shakes her head, forcing a lazy grin.
“Yes, I’m okay.” My heart rate slowly returns to normal. I thought we were going to crash. With my hand on my tightening chest, I lay my head back down on the seat and take a deep breath. Shutting my lids, I rub my temples.
“Well, the good news is, we’ve made it to your destination. The Holly Jolly Arty Event.” My eyes spring open. I quickly gather my mittens and place them back on.
She points to the right side of the car, landing on a four-story building by the sidewalk with sharp icicles lining the gutters.
“Oh, we’re here!” I exclaim as I grab my purse. “Thank you so much.”
CHAPTER 3
CORALINE
Iclimb out, close the door, and practically rush inside the building. My toes collide with the sidewalk, and I almost trip, but I regain my stance. I rush each arm through my coat and hook my purse over my shoulder.
I stand still, absorbing the building from the bottom up. My lips tilt upwards. I push open the tall, thick ebony doors, and the warm air is the first thing to greet me. The heater is blasting inside. I shrug off my top-layered coat and swing it over the crook of my arm as I take in my surroundings.
The first floor is vast, with brown leather couches in the main lobby. An elderly couple, hand in hand, walk in front of me toward a small bar. It’s made up of eight barstools and five round tables that sit up to four. A group of men saunters past me, dressed head to toe in Sitka camouflage.
“Excuse us, darlin’,” one of them says, their lips slanting.
I nod in return, striding out of their way. As soon as I step to my right, I find a sign with a red arrow pointing to the receptionist. I glance at the clock, walking fast since there isn’t a line. My palms land on the wooden counter, gripping it, as the male receptionist types on his keyboard. There’s a wall full of vintagewilderness photography shops, all from a photographer named Ariksen.
“Hello,” my eyes meet the golden rectangle with his first name pinned onto his top, “Ian.”
“Yes, ma’am. What can I help you with?” he asks with a chirp in his tone. His fingers rest on the keyboard.
“I’m looking for the conference room where the Holly Jolly Arty Event is being held.”
He smiles and leans over the counter. I take a step back as he raises his arm and points to my left. It’s a long, narrow hall leading to large double doors.
“If you head straight down that way, the volunteers for the event will help guide you into registration. They can help you more than I can.” He runs a hand over his face. His smile falters before he grips a white cup of coffee with a label that says “Crickets Coffee Shop” and takes a sip.
“Thank you so much!” I exclaim. Pivoting to my left, I hug my black coat closer to my chest.
