Tangled in Tinsel Page 3

  “And?” Chance asked, ready to rip the gorilla’s head off as the always-hungry-silverback walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator, getting out the lunchmeat and milk.

  “Oh,” Simon snickered, grabbing the bread as he made his way to the counter by the sink. “I said I’d come over tomorrow. The Tech Depot is closed, and I need to get a few parts before I can start.” Stopping to cut the lettuce, he quickly added, “She didn’t sound thrilled with having to wait, but there’s not much I can do about that.”

  Sitting down on one side of the table as his friend sat on the other, Chance tried hard not to beat his fists on the table as he asked through gritted teeth, “What time tomorrow? You have to know I’m going with you. Wait! How did you know anything about Belle and me?”

  Taking a huge bite of the sandwich he’d just made, Simon rolled his eyes as he chewed and when he could finally speak without a mouthful of ham, cheese, and bread, sighed, “To answer your questions in order, ten-thirty-AM. Yes, dumb butt, why else would I be here? You know I watch Game of Thrones on Sunday night. And, DUH, Kayne, of course. He told everyone in the Grand Hall the minute you guys got back from your trip to get decorations.”

  Too happy to be pissed at the demi-god for spilling the beans, Chance finally gave in and pounded his fists on the table as he yelled, “Hell yeah, I knew there was a reason I liked you, Simon, my boy.”

  Chapter Five

  “Okay, Simon will be here tomorrow about ten-thirty,” Belle nodded, patting Mrs. Claus’s shoulder as she laid her phone on the counter. “I wish he could come now. I hate waiting.” She bit at her thumb nail before continuing to reassure her impromptu guest. “He’ll work his magic, put a new super-duper GPS in my Expedition, we’ll find your sleigh and the reindeer and get Christmas back on track.” Taking a seat on the couch across from the still sniffling woman, happy they’d moved upstairs to her condo so she could put up her feet, the Christmas Fairy continued, “Old man Flannigan was more than happy to keep the elves entertained. Said it was the most fun he’d had in years.”

  Smiling a watery smile, Mrs. Claus, Jessica Kringle to those who knew her before all the hype, nodded, “Thank you so much, Belle. I just didn’t know where else to go. I was so mad at Kris that I just had to get out of the North Pole.” Wadding up her lace hanky delicately embroidered with stunning poinsettias, the white-haired woman shook with fury as her tears turned to snarls. “Do you know what that man had the audacity to do? Do you? Do you?” She sprung to her feet, shaking her fist in the air, the heels of her red leather, white fur-trimmed, ankle boots tipping and tapping across Belle’s wooden floors as she paced and ranted.

  “That despicable man forgot our anniversary for at least the thousandth time and then tried to pawn off a dreary poinsettia and a box of my very own chocolates as a present.” Doing an about-face a foot from the door, Mrs. Claus spun around and shouting at the top of her lungs, reiterated, “The chocolates I made with my own two hands for the elves. The nerve of some people.” She stomped her feet as she stopped right beside Belle’s chair. “Can you believe that?”

  “I am so sorry, Jessica. I really am.” The Christmas Fairy nodded, truly feeling sympathy for the woman, but also wondering if dragons forgot their mating anniversaries. Pushing all thoughts of a certain hunky Alpha Dragon and his smoldering green eyes out of her head, Belle added, “But you know it’s only a week until Christmas, and if Kris doesn’t have his sleigh then the whole Christmas thing goes kaput. Goddess knows, the old man screwed up big time, but think of the domino effect cancelling Christmas is gonna have with all the other holidays. If Easter Bunny or Heavens help us, that stupid Tooth Fairy, get wind that they can just flake off whenever they want, we’re gonna have absolute anarchy on our hands.”

  She hated being the voice of reason, was really not very good at it at all. Not to mention she had problems of her own. After all, Kris and Jessica were seriously old enough to deal with their own crap. They’d been together hundreds of hundreds of hundreds of years, wasn’t it time to stop the madness? Buy the man a calendar? Put a reminder in his mobile phone?

  “I know,” Mrs. Claus pouted, flopping back onto the couch. “I was only gonna take a joyride, make him sweat a little, ya’ know?” She sniffed once setting of the waterworks as she sobbed, “I only stopped to get a latte. I never dreamed anyone would steal Santa’s sleigh.”

  “Now, now,” Ginger cooed, entering the room with a cup of hot chocolate, some snowflake-shaped, iced, sugar cookies and a bowl of tiny marshmallows. Climbing the step stool her sister placed next to the couch, the gnome set the tray on the table and asked, “How many marshies, Jess? Have a sip and a bite of cookie. It’ll calm yer nerves. Help ye think. Sugar’s a great remedy for what ails ya’.””

  Candy added, “Don’t worry, dear heart, Belle and Lizzie will take care of everything.” Scampering up with yet another wooden stool, the dark-haired gnome sat next to Mrs. Claus, holding her hand and cooing comforting words in Gaelic.

  Looking at Lizzie and blowing out a long-suffering breath, Belle gave a sharp nod of her head and after quickly excusing herself, hurried to her room. Shutting the door behind her best friend, the Christmas Fairy sat on the edge of her red velvet chair as she asked, “Any ideas?”

  “I can scry for the sleigh and reindeer, but you know I’m not the best at it. Your idea about the GPS is the only way we can be sure.”

  “Yeah, but I’m getting’ worried that waiting until tomorrow may be too late.” Leaning to the side, Belle placed her elbow on the chair’s soft, wide armrest then put her cheek on her hand. “Can we try the scrying thing? Even if you only pick up clues, at least it’ll give us a place to start.”

  Shrugging, Lizzie opened the door and headed out without a word. Returning in less than a minute, her large red and green paisley carpetbag satchel in hand, the witch kicked the door shut behind her and grinned, “Let’s get crackin’. I’m gonna need your help with this one since I’ve never actually seen the sleigh or those flying horned horses you keep tellin’ me about.”

  “You better never let Dancer hear you call them horses. He’s got an attitude that just doesn’t quit. Rudolph? Not so much. But the others, they are really full of themselves.”

  “Good point,” Lizzie winked. “I’ll just keep the reindeer wisecracks to myself.”

  Sitting on the red braided rug in the center of the room, Lizzie unpacked the antique silver hand mirror that Belle knew had belonged to her great-great-great grandmother, a small copper pot, one red and three white pillar candles and a pouch of herbs that smelled of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon. Putting the pot in the middle of the rug, the witch placed the three candles around it at the east, west and south points and the red candle towards True North.

  “Come on. Sit right here.” She patted the spot next to her. “Let’s get this show on the road. You know how drained doing this kinda stuff makes me. I’ve never understood why. I can do everything else with no problem, but anything to do with searching or looking for people and I’m a goner.”

  “But you’ve got me, your very own energizer bunny,” Belle winked with a grin.

  “Thank the Goddess,” Lizzie smiled. “Just so we’re clear, I’m bunkin’ down in your guestroom.”

  Nodding, Belle hurried to comply, agreeing, “No worries. The bed is all yours. Candy and Ginger are getting the pull-out couch made up for Jess.” Placing her hand in Lizzie’s, she added, “Whenever you’re ready, just tell me what you need.”

  “I’m gonna put these herbs in the pot and light the candles. Then I’ll need your magic to boost mine. Your familiarity with all things Christmas will help guide the enchantment.”

  “Whatever you say, Samantha,” Belle snickered. “As soon as this is over, I’ll teach you how to twitch your nose.”

  “It’s a deal,” Lizzie cheerfully agreed just before snapping her fingers and lighting the candles. Leaning forward, she emptied the pouch of spices into the copper pot, said
something in Latin that Belle didn’t quite catch, and as the white witch sat back, a beautiful, sparkling plume of smoke filled the room with the scent of fresh baked gingerbread cookies.

  Picking up the mirror with her free hand while squeezing Belle’s fingers so tight with the other the fairy thought she might lose a few digits, Lizzie looked up through the thick dark fringe of her lashes and said, “Give me all ya’ got.”

  Focusing her magic on the reflective surface of the mirror, the Christmas Fairy listened as the Earthen witch murmured, “Show me the sleigh. Show me the deer. Show me the way. Let them be near.”

  Repeating the verse along with Lizzie, Belle’s eyes became glued to the mirror. Holding her breath, she watched the reflection of the candles’ flames flicker and dance. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they grew tall and thin, reaching for the ceiling, before bending towards the center and joining their tips over the copper pot.

  Thick, white smoke covered the image. The looking glass shook in Lizzie’s hand. Flashes of light, sparks of color, bursts of red and green popped and crackled above the mirror a mere heartbeat before the sleigh and the reindeer came into view.

  Watching, waiting, praying, Belle finally let out the breath she’d been holding as the picture cleared, showing an evergreen forest that could have been pretty much anywhere. Looking for clues, landmarks, anything that would tell her what she was looking at, the movement of something just out of the frame caught her eye.

  “Can we make this picture bigger? Expand it somehow?” She impatiently asked. “There’s something just over there.” She pointed. “Right at the edge of the mirror.”

  Without a word, Lizzie moved the mirror in the direction Belle had indicated. No sooner had the silver frame crossed the boundary than the Christmas Fairy cursed, “Son of a Burger Meister’s butt, I should’ve known.”

  “What? What do you see?” Lizzie was practically yelling.

  Pointing to the drab little cottage covered in dried and browning boughs of evergreen with faded Christmas decorations hanging by their very last strands across the crumbling picket fence lining the dilapidated porch, Belle grumbled, “That…that…place.” The word came out as a hiss. “That is Cordelia Caroller’s house. If you can call it that.”

  “And?” Lizzie nodded. “She is…”

  “She is one of the seven Caroler Sisters responsible for every note of Christmas music ever written, all over the world.”

  “Well, that’s nice. Sorry about her house. Looks like she needs a visit from the Property Brothers, but she sounds like someone who could help us.”

  Slowly shaking her head, Belle scowled, “Yeah, not so much. She was kicked out of her family and exiled from Christmas Village for writing…ummm…shall we say, ‘suggestive’ lyrics for some of the best-loved Christmas carols.”

  “What?” Lizzie laughed out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “Wish I was. Kooky Cordelia wrote an NC-17 version of Santa Baby that made the elves blush, and you know how those little party animals like to have fun after hours.”

  “Oh, my Christmas stockings,” Lizzie exclaimed. “But what would she…”

  Unable to finish her sentence as the mirror began to vibrate in her hand, the Christmas Fairy and the witch were stunned into silence as the door to the rundown cottage flew open and out ran Cordelia, holding Dancer’s collar in one hand and a butcher’s cleaver dripping with blood in the other.

  “Get the hell away,” she screeched, her platinum hair with bright green streaks standing straight up on end, her blood-red lipstick smeared all over her chin, and her mascara running down her cheeks. “Don’t even think about trying to sneak up on me, you stupid Christmas idiots. These flying, hay-eating freaks are mine now, and if you try to find them, I swear to that fat bastard, Kris Kringle, I’ll gut them all and cook them over the embers of his burning sleigh.”

  Flying out of Lizzie’s hand and across the room, the silver mirror crashed against the wall, shattering into a million pieces that decorated the floor like large pieces of shining glitter. Looking at one another at a loss for words, it was Belle who finally found her voice and blurted out, “Well, I’ll be dipped in reindeer shit, that was the last thing I ever expected.”

  Chapter Six

  Pacing the floor, unable to sleep as thoughts of Belle ran through his head, Chance had listened to the clock on the mantel chime every hour from midnight to seven AM. With his twin incommunicado and Kayne still sleeping, the emerald dragon decided to make a pot of coffee to keep him from bothering Simon.

  Standing at the sink, looking out the window as the sun worked its way upward, the enticing smell of java filled the air, but all Chance could envision was his spunky fairy and the way she made him think of a very, very happily ever after with her by his side. His fingers tingled with the need to see if her ebony curls were as soft as they looked. His lips ached to kiss her lightly blushed porcelain cheeks, and his heart beat with the need to once again hold her close. He had no doubt at all that those seductive curves of hers would fit perfectly against his muscular frame.

  Her five-foot-eight-inch height was just the right match for his own six-foot-ten, making his mind was awhirl with visions of wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground, along with many other positions he longed to try with the one the Universe had made for him. The dinging of the bell on his coffee maker pulled Chance from his daydreams as it signaled that the precious drink was ready.

  Pouring a huge mug full of hot java, he headed through the house, out the sliding glass doors, and onto his redwood deck, taking a seat in the large Adirondack chair farthest from the door. The emerald dragon drank his coffee and looked out at his snow-covered backyard.

  “Wonder what she’s doing right now?” He murmured aloud. “I should have waited outside the shop, but Kayne said we needed to get the nuts and rum for the gnomes. Which are sitting on my front porch.”

  “And he was right,” Dafydd yawned into the Guardsman’s mind. “You need to keep those little ladies happy. It’s the surest way to make our mate happy.”

  “Yeah, so you and the blowhard demi-god keep reminding me.”

  “Respect your elders, boy. We do know better sometimes.”

  Chance knew from the Dragon King’s grumble that the old dragon was about to launch into a sermon on how children, as he called anyone younger than two hundred years, no longer were taught the respect, discipline, and decorum that those of his day were. Quickly heading the ancient one off at the pass, the Guardsman chuckled, “Yes, sir, I know that you do. Please forgive me. My mouth got away with me. I…”

  “You were thinking about our mate, and in this case, I totally agree. She is stunning.”

  “Yeah, she really is,” Chance snickered, taking another drink of coffee the exact moment that Simon appeared out of the early morning fog yelling, “That crazy ass fairy of yours has run off to rescue Santa’s reindeer and battle the crazy Caroler sister.”

  “The who?” The Guardsman bellowed, dumping his coffee all over his legs as he leapt from his chair. “Son of a…”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, but Ginger and Candy just called, and they are all kinds of freaked out because Belle and Lizzie found out where Santa’s sleigh and the reindeer are and took off to get them back.”

  Swiping at the front of his jeans, thankful that Dafydd was quickly healing his burns, Chance demanded, “And? Don’t leave me hanging. What the hell is a Caroler sister and why is she so bad?”

  “Oh, my banana cream pie, are you serious? You really don’t know who the Caroler sisters are? Weren’t you born on Christmas day? Didn’t you listen to anything your momma taught you?”

  “Yeah, what the hell’s my birthday got to do with it?”

  Rolling his eyes as he jumped onto the deck and opened the sliding glass door, Simon pointed towards the interior of Chance’s house while explaining with more than a little irritation in his tone, “You’re gonna wanna change those pants
. It’s colder than a witch’s…” The silverback paused, his cheeks turning red as he shoved his black-framed glasses atop his head. “Well…ahem, let’s just say it’s really cold and you really don’t want that ‘area’ of your jeans to freeze.”

  Walking past his friend, Chance couldn’t help but tease the big guy just a bit. “Why did ya’ stop?” He winked, quickly scooting out of the way before Simon could punch him in the arm. “Were you thinking about that little witch? Lizzie, that’s her name, right?”

  “No. I most certainly was not thinking of her.”

  The silverback’s answer was too quick and too adamant, but Chance had other things to worry about, namely his wandering mate and her quest to save Christmas all by her little lonesome. Grabbing a pair of clean jeans from the dryer, the emerald dragon stripped out of one pair and into the other in the blink of an eye, listening all the while to Simon’s explanation.

  “The Carolers are seven sisters, each one an angelic being, in charge of all the Christmas music everywhere. Not one stanza, verse or refrain is written, played or sung that they didn’t compose or inspire.”

  “Sounds good so far,” Chance interjected before asking, “Wanna cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks,” the silverback nodded, continuing, “Everything was going along perfectly until the early fifties when one of the older sisters encouraged Joan Javits to write ‘Santa Baby.”

  “To say it caused a stir among the Caroler Sisters is an understatement, and wouldn’t ya’ know, it all started with the youngest sister, Cordelia. You see, she rewrote the song with several…ahem, racier lyrics than were acceptable back then and it took all the other Carolers plus a few of the Archangels to step in before her unedited, not to mention damned near pornographic, version was released onto the airwaves.”