Advent Calendar Day 13

 

Today we are lucky enough to have an offering from the always delightful and talented Natasha Chesterbrook. I was doubly thrilled to see Natasha chose Cosmo and John from Bedknobs and Broomsticks for the holiday treatment. 😀😉 I especially love the POV she chose!

Bedknobs and
Broomsticks

 

“Ow! Goddess above.” rubbing his knee Cosmo backs out of the closet and scowls at me as if I’d tried to cause him bodily harm while sitting perfectly still here in the hallway.

“Pye, surely you remember where we put it?” he hisses.

Raising a paw, I ignore him and proceed to groom. Hiss at me will you!

Life with Cosmo is always a bit chaotic but even hundred-year-old familiars can get used to anything if their witch is … well, their witch.

I’ll admit there was a time in the last couple of years after Cosmo had sworn off all magic that I thought I might have to move on. A witch’s familiar is a link to the magical realm and their constant companion. With his vow, I’d felt as useful as a chocolate teapot at an English tea.

And his whirlwind romance and marriage to the mortal John – or as I like to think of him, The Comish – seemed to seal my fate as unneeded, even if I wasn’t unwanted.

But then things took a turn.

A series of seemingly never-ending adventures over the last six months, both magical and mundane, happened including more than one attempt on Cosmo’s life. In fact, one home invasion was thwarted by my own heroics. I try not to boast.

“Ha! Found it!” Cosmo’s exclamation of joy from the closet is short-lived as it is quickly followed by a loud thump and the tinkling of breaking glass. “Blessed be!” he wails. That must be the box of those hand-blown glass Christmas ornaments he bought at an estate sale back in October.

He’s determined to start the yuletide season with a bang – which is exactly what it sounds like he’s just done. But why the fuss? One small spell and the baubles will be good as new. Or better still, if he wants to avoid The Comish’s disapproval, Bridget is more than willing to make the repairs.

***

Cosmo holds up a glass tumbler, its pale green contents swirling about inside. An ill-timed sneeze might have betrayed my opinion of such a concoction, but he chooses to ignore me in favor of concentrating on finding the perfect Yuletide elixir – or cocktail, in the mundane world. It reeks of rum and desperation. My all too sensitive nose is having none of it.

“Don’t be so picky. You’ll still get your special treat of Tuna Tartare. This is just for John and me. I want it to be our new Christmas tradition.”

One sip later and he is pouring the remainder down the drain. 

***

I bat the ribbon curls across the floor enjoying how they rolled and skittered away. I may have more than a century of magical experience behind me, but one never gets too old for this kind of fun.

“Ow!” Cosmo’s cry halts me in my tracks.

Around him lay the detritus of his endeavor to create the perfect holiday wreath, a combination of evergreen branches, pinecones, cinnamon sticks, dried fruit and garland. The glue gun is clearly his undoing. He stands there holding his finger with a forlorn look on his face.

It’s the same one he wore after the disaster that was the gingerbread house. Cosmo maybe a magnificent witch with a penchant for solving mysteries but he will never be tapped to solve a housing crisis. Or a baking crisis for that matter.

***

We are in the guest room looking for the perfect hiding place – well, one of us is anyway. Certainly, I know every nook and cranny of this abode and can give Cosmo a list ranked in order by comfort and fit. However, he isn’t looking to hide a Russian Blue cat but a large, gayly wrapped box. I don’t see why all the bother. The Comish would hardly be the sort to peek before the big night. That’s more Cosmo’s style.

Not that The Comish will be hiding romantic gestures in the attic eaves. His idea of gift giving perfection is a pair of handmade Italian leather boots, or a trip to Milan for a fitting of said boots. Practical, generous and elegant.

Now Cosmo is standing on a stool in an attempt to reach a high shelf above the wardrobe. Foreseeing the outcome long before it is met, I do not stick around for the tears.

***

“What exactly were you thinking?” The Comish asks gently.

They sit on their gray velvet couch with Cosmo’s foot resting in his lap and a towel full of ice pressed to a swollen ankle. Cosmo fiddles with the bandage on his burnt finger.

“Aren’t hideously ornate wreathes and hiding presents for Christmas what everyone does?” Cosmo sounds lost.

The Comish sighed, “Well, maybe on TV but this is just you and me. You could have just put my gift under the tree.”

“I want our first Christmas to be perfect. To include all those traditions you grew up with.”

“We’re spending it together. It doesn’t get more perfect than that. Anything else is just dressing.”

It doesn’t sound in the least romantic but Cosmo melts like always when given the Comish’s unvarnished but absolutely sincere truth. The towel of ice slips to the floor but I doubt they notice what with the kissing and all.

I leave them to it as I am sure the lump in my throat is only a leftover bit of tuna. Yes, tuna. No doubt about it.

Joyeux noël!

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 14 (Fiction by Natasha Chesterbrook!)

 

OOH. Something delicious this morning. A coda from our good friend Natasha Chesterbrook featuring two of my favorite non-series characters! 

What a nice start (or finish) to your day, eh? 

Until We Meet Once More Coda 2022

Vic & Sean

 

The snow crunched beneath their boots echoing off the crystal-lined pine and aspen in the dense woods. Soft rays of early morning sun caressed the skeletal branches, trees clad in soft winter coats standing in silent regard.

“Can we talk about this?” Vic tried again although he was pretty sure Sean still wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was but held his tongue out of … spite? self-preservation? the cat really did get it?

A hawk flew above on crisp air currents reconnoitering their slow trek through the woods. Its cry broke the airy quiet like shattering glass, whether in outraged offense at the interlopers or in harsh disgust for their disruption of its morning hunt. Vic couldn’t say but he could sympathize.

Their footfalls broke through the outer layer of ice covering the frozen deadfall beneath, the sounds like suppressed gunfire. Vic watched Sean’s back rise and fall in graceful arcs as he navigated the tricky terrain. The light picked off amber highlights in the curls peeking out beneath his woolen cap. His stride was purposeful, his pace determined, only a hint of the limp Sean had worked hard to erase. And he sensed not just anger – that was definitely there – but moreover disappointment.

Vic knew better than to antagonize a man carrying an axe but since when did he ever played it safe with former Navy SEAL Sean Kennedy? Insurgent gunfire, RPGs, the Taliban had nothing on the assault to his heart this man had launched.

Sean scrambled up a large fallen tree trunk covered in snow, the athletic movement making for a graceful ascent. He stopped atop the natural rampart and turned to look down. Raising the axe he carried to one shoulder, his face was a mask of stoic calm that Vic knew well hid a whirlwind of emotions ready to burst forth like a Howitzer.

Into the eerie hush he spoke. “What more is there to say?”

Vic huffed. “I’m not saying never just not now.”

He recalled when this conversation had gone off the reservation. Yesterday, they’d been on-line looking at houses, considering neighborhoods, pricing mortgages, crafting a future. But when Sean zeroed in on a large, five-bedroom farmhouse sitting on several acres of land, Vic had thrown the brakes.

“It’s not like we’re gonna have a bunch of kids and a couple dogs,” he’d said. And it wasn’t meant to say never just not something he’d considered.

The look on Sean’s face had been too reminiscent of that day years ago the first time Vic had shot down his dreams of their future. Needless to say, last night had been a frosty one both outside and in. He’d hoped it would have blown over by this morning but apparently it was going to take more than logic to get Sean to see reason.

Now Sean let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a snort but sounded like sniper fire and felt like it too. Then he disappeared over the other side of the massive trunk. Vic heard boots moving off and scrambled to follow.

He caught up to Sean standing in a clearing breathing hard the axe braced in both hands. A patch of brilliant blue sky had opened overhead, and the conifers glistened with frozen dew. They were surrounded by an army in suspension waiting for Spring before bursting back to life.

A childhood memory flooded Vic of a similar time and place. An uncle and a couple of cousins had taken him out early one frigid morning in search of the perfect Christmas tree. That holiday had been spent embraced by warm family celebration, laughter and smiles. So very different from his own parent’s chilly traditions. He remembered realizing it was what he wanted all his future Christmases to be like.

“Well?” Sean turned toward the large, at least seven foot tall, beauty he stood beside.

“We can, I don’t know, make a plan. I’ve never thought about this before. I didn’t expect – “

“I’m talking about the tree, Stoney.”

Later, after they’d hauled all seven and a half feet of Douglas Fir back to the cabin they’d rented for two weeks, after they cut off about a foot of trunk just to get it through the door and stood up with only a few inches of headroom, after Vic built a roaring fire that raised the cabin’s temperature to sauna levels, after Sean strung hundreds of tiny lights through the branches risking a second cabin fire, did they finally relax on the worn but very comfortable couch.

Vic massaged Sean’s leg because he noticed his limp had worsened as the day wore on. It occurred to him that Sean’s next physical therapy session was probably long overdue, and he was about to mention it when Sean spoke first.

“You want to know what I saw looking at that house?”

“Tell me.”

“You, me and a whole lot of possibilities. Maybe it’s a bunch of kids or we find that one special one. Maybe we adopt a passel of dogs. Or llamas or… hell, I don’t know.”

Sean started laughing, and flames from the fireplace lit up his smile. Vic never wanted to give him another day of doubt, but he swore he’d always be honest.

“I don’t know what I want other than to be with you. I won’t make promises,” Vic breathed out, “but I can be open to possibilities.”

“And a big farmhouse?”

Vic chuckled because Sean was never one to back down. “Yeah, maybe so.”

Twinkling fairy lights reflected off the darkening windows. The room suddenly seemed so much brighter.

Sean sat up and leaned into Vic. “Imagine family dinners with your parents.”

Vic grunted. “Maybe we could invite that second cousin twice removed of yours? You know, the big shot in the FBI.”

Sean laughed, “No way. Someone would end up shot.”

Eventually Sean said, “I guess we’ll be moving next year.”

Then added, “But let’s not mention that to your mother until after the holidays.”

They clinked the glasses of whiskey they were drinking as quiet settled on the cozy cabin.

“Llamas?”

Sean laughed again, “You could take up knitting. I read they have great wool.”

“Don’t make me call your cousin.” And Vic kissed him.

 

 

Holiday Fiction from Natasha Chesterbrook!

 Happy Tuesday! I can't tell you how delighted I am to have this lovely bit of yuletide joy from our dear friend Natasha Chesterbrook!

Natasha is giving us a holiday peek at Cary and Walter from the short story Slings and Arrows. I know you'll love it. I do. ;-) 

Slings and Arrows Coda

Carey and Walter

 

Christmas Eve

Downtown Hartsburg doesn’t just decorate for Christmas so much as wrap the town up like a yuletide Easter egg. Festive lights, ornamental evergreen, glowing candles – or what passed for fire-lit but without the potential for accidental arson – and decorated trees in all sizes appear everywhere, in every window, on every building front and some rooftops too. No patch is left unadorned, no proprietor to be outdone by his or her neighbor.

 And in a show of solidarity, nature provided the ultimate festive notes as a dusting of frost glittered off tree branches and window ledges alike in the late afternoon sun. Of course, bumper-to-bumper traffic up and down main street made Christmas Eve parking a major pain and even more difficult to find around the only packaging store that still promised Christmas Day delivery – for a hefty fee, of course. Worth it for Carey’s nephew to get the one toy he’d been promised Santa would deliver this year. Even Carey isn’t quite sure what the gizmo does besides blink and make lots of beeping noises. Yet if it wasn’t delivered by tomorrow, no doubt his sister would give him an earful.

After thirty minutes in line to finally ship his package, it was a relief to check that item off Carey’s list. With sunlight fading fast, street lights began to turn on and the store interiors sparkled with full Christmas display. Skirting around a blow-up Santa tilting drunkenly in the chilly breeze, Carey came to a full stop. Just down the block he spied Walter entering the Hartsburg Real Estate building with the look of a man who is about to complete a satisfying purchase – or figured out how to dump his live-in boyfriend of two years. Just find another place to live, right?

Hold on. Let’s back up a little.

 

Two Weeks Before Christmas

That guy looks familiar.

The auditorium doors slam open and expel a swarm of freshmen – they all have that first-time-end-of-semester-exams-are-coming stare – in a rush to get to their next class. Carey knew it was better to just wait than to try swimming upstream against the oncoming rush, so he spent his time eyeing the only other person standing in the hallway. Where had he seen him before? Had they had a class together?

Now that he was employed full time, sitting in a classroom seemed like a distant memory for Carey. If Walter hadn’t been an adjunct professor while working on his PhD, he doubted he’d even have reason to return to campus. His job with a law firm specializing in LGBTQ rights kept him so busy he barely had time to breath. And trying to figure out if this is how he wanted to use his Anthropology degree left him little time to pursue additional coursework.

Then it came to him. He’d seen this guy coming out of Walter’s office about a month ago. Okay, that made sense even if he did look a bit older than the usual undergraduate and was dressed nicer than most college students. His suspicion that the guy was waiting on Walter ended when the last of the students exited and Carey watched him disappear inside the auditorium.

Curious, Carey opened one of the doors in time to see the guy hand Walter a large envelope. He opened it and removed a piece of paper. After taking a moment to read something, Walter nodded and shook the guy’s hand. Carey frowned but stepped back as the stranger emerged into the hallway and walked out of the building.

 When Walter finally met up with Carey, he was as cool as an iceberg which is to say, his normal self.

“Tough crowd?” Carey asked hoping to get Walter talking. It could be a challenge at times.

“No more than usual,” Walter replied, succinct as ever.

 

One Week Before Christmas

What do you get a guy who really doesn’t want anything? Carey was wracking his brain for gift ideas. After dating for more than six months, Carey had moved into Walter’s apartment, and they were now going on two years of cohabitation. It wasn’t always smooth sailing especially now that they both had demanding pursuits, but he thought they made it work. The problem was that Carey still felt he didn’t know Walter much better than he did at the start of their relationship.

Yes, he knew Walter’s habits – fastidious, always on time, not a multi-tasker but also incredibly patient with Carey who could often blow small setbacks out of proportion or whose occasional lapses in tidiness happened on a daily basis. Walter knew all of Carey’s warts yet still seemed to love him. However, knowing the full depths of Walter always seemed just out of reach. Hence finding the perfect Christmas gift was such a challenge.

Just down from the Hartsburg Real Estate building Carey found a parking lot with holiday parking fees so high the whole company should be placed permanently on Santa’s Naughty List. The building itself is the original site of the Hartsburg’s Land Holdings office back in the early 1900s when most of the area was farmland. Now it housed several businesses including the accounting agency Carey’s law firm uses, a posh hair salon, an artisan design studio and, of course, the Hartsburg Real Estate agency.

Rounding the corner of the building Carey stopped in front of the picturesque window showing large easels with placards touting various high-end condominiums and luxury apartments on the market. All appropriately festooned for Christmas, of course. Beyond the layout Carey could see a huge Christmas tree set up in the large atrium of the building. While admiring the beautiful decorations he recognized the same guy he’d seen outside Walter’s lecture hall. Carey watched him get on the elevator to the second floor.

Carey doesn’t think of himself as an imaginative guy. He isn’t given to making up stories but once an idea starts to form in his head, no matter what, he can’t shake it. Something is off between him and Walt.

Last time they’d really dined out together was at Thanksgiving when they went to Carey’s brother’s house. Sure, Walt had spent the early part of the day working on a grant application for new research funding and Carey used the time to brush up on recent statutes enacted both for and against transgender rights. But they’d attended the dinner as a couple. It was a nice evening although Carey had used the time as a de-stressor, ended up drinking too much and falling asleep on the ride home. He never did get to show Walt just how thankful he was.

Walter seems to recognize that every moment they have is precious and not to be taken for granted. If anything, he is more considerate and caring when they do find a few moments together. But at the same time, Carey can’t shake the feeling that Walter has been acting odd – or odder than usual for Walter. Almost secretive except Carey knows Walter is incapable of real deception. Has he been talking to a real estate agent? Does Walt want to move? He’d talk to Carey first, surely. But maybe Walt wants to move without Carey?

Since Thanksgiving, the closest thing to a date they’d had was a visit to the college’s exhibit on Gift Giving through the Ages where Walt seemed more than a little obsessed with the Renaissance period. Now with the upcoming winter break, Carey intended to make this Christmas memorable. Could it be the only memory he’d have is Walt showing him the door?

Carey had a sudden urge to march inside the agency and demand this stranger tell him what is going on. But shouldn’t he really be talking to Walt? Discuss this as adults? Yet what could he say that wouldn’t sound suspicious and untrusting? Carey does trust Walt.

A delicious aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and basil greets Carey when he steps in the door to their apartment. He finds Walter in their kitchen just adding the toppings to a homemade pizza before popping it in the oven. This is one of Carey’s favorites which makes him feel both warm and all the more guilty.

At dinner, the glass of wine disappeared before Carey realized he’d drained it.
“Were you able to find everything on your shopping list?” Walt asked, a slice of pizza dribbling melted cheese rested in his hand.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Carey had been watching Walt trying to determine if there is anything suspicious behind those orb-enlarging spectacles he wore. But Walt is just being Walt which meant he was mostly oblivious to Carey’s questioning looks and obvious stress. In that moment Carey vowed to put his concerns to rest and move on. It was almost a relief.

That night they made love and Walt was as remarkable a lover as the first time. Carey not only felt reassured but even a bit ashamed of himself for ever questioning him.

 

Back to Christmas Eve

Carey’s feet are frozen to the sidewalk and not because of the frigid temperatures as he observes Walter through the picturesque windowfront. He watches the same guy gifting Walter with a beautifully wrapped Christmas present. Is that how they transfer property these days?

With more agility than he thought he was able to achieve in that moment, Carey turns and races back to his car. He doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want Walter to break up with him. But after two hours, a couple of texts and a call from Walter – all unanswered – he knows he has no choice.

He finds Walter on the sofa reading a book, not an e-book but a real paper and hardcover book. The scene is so familiar and warm that for a moment Carey feels like he’s wakened from a bad dream and everything he thought was wrong has magically fixed itself. Then he notices the wrapped gift he’d spied earlier resting on the end table and he knows this nightmare isn’t over.

The concerned look on Walter’s face confirms it.

“What’s happening, Walter?” The question comes out much harsher and higher pitched than Carey would have wanted.

“What do you mean?” is Walter’s wary reply.

“Are you leaving?” And Carey couldn’t keep the accusation out of his voice this time.

Slowly, as if speaking to a child, Walter says, “Did you want me to leave?”

“No! I’m not…this isn’t… stop answering my questions with questions!”

Walter stands silent and Carey tries to will away the tears that are forming in his eyes.

He practically begs, “Don’t go. I love you, Walter, and we can fix this whatever it is.”

Walter’s arms wrapping around him feel like a warm spring day after several long months of winter freeze. “Why would you think I’m going anywhere?” Walt whispers against his cheek.

Carey’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth, but he manages, “I saw you talking to that real estate agent.” He swallows reflexively. “I thought you’d decided to move.”

He can feel Walt frown, “An agent?”

“At Hartsburg Real Estate…” Carey suddenly feels foolish but plows on. “You came out of their building earlier.”

Walter takes a step back but keeps his hold on Carey. Instead, he hands him the damning present.

“That building houses more than just a real estate agency,” Walter states with dry efficiency. “This is for you.”

Confused and more than a bit overwhelmed, Carey opens the small, gaily wrapped parcel. Inside a box, nestled within a soft cushion of cotton wadding, lays a shiny silver ring of intricate latticework.

Walter breaks the silence. “It’s a Gimmel ring. They were quite popular during the Renaissance period – like the ones we saw in the college exhibit. I had an artisan in the building’s Design House create it for you. Our names are engraved inside.”

Carey remembers this part of the exhibit. A Gimmel ring is a set of interlocking hoops that form one complete ring meant to symbolize the bonds of love. They were commonly used as betrothal rings.

“It’s beautiful, Walter.” Carey hesitates but goes on, “Is this an engagement ring?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be.”

 

Advent Calendar Day 15

 

TEN DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS!!!! 

Today our dear Natasha Chesterbrook is back with another holiday coda. 

You may remember that last year one of our activities was for you all to write the beginnings of a coda with the hope that some of you might finish them up and even submit! Well, Natasha did that very thing. :-D 

I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER.

Today's coda features Perry Foster and Nick Reno, and I know you're going to love it. 

Nick Reno loved Perry Foster with all his heart and soul. That being said, today he wanted to kill him.

After a long night of trailing a gang of smugglers through the back bays of Los Angeles Harbor, he was cold, tired and hungry. Having spent several early morning hours dealing with the police who eventually showed up when things really started to turn ugly, he’d returned home to find Perry fast asleep on their sofa in a cold apartment, the heat Nick had turned up the evening before now off.

A stranger sat slumped in a chair dressed up like Santa Claus and smelling like a distillery. At his feet a red sack spilled over containing, if Nick was not mistaken, the apparent rewards of a night spent burgling. What had Perry gotten himself into this time?

Tiny pinpoints of light twinkled across the floor where the small Christmas tree Perry had rescued from some cast off heap stood. Perry was good as rescuing things – rescuing people – and sometimes that scared him.

Nick knelt beside the sofa and, as gently as he could, touched Perry’s shoulder hoping not to startle him. His breathing was slow and steady as much a balm to Nick’s soul as any could be. Perry’s eyelids fluttered open with a start but immediately focused on Nick with adoration akin to worship. The weariness Nick wore from a long night eased at that look and he smiled knowing full well how sappy it must have sat on his face.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” Nick constantly surprised himself with that being his first priority in any situation.

“I’m fine. Just…” Perry trailed off as his eyes darted to Santa then quickly back to Nick. As for Nick, he waited knowing Perry needed to gather his wits enough to answer Nick’s questioning gaze. He could be patient for Perry. Actually, as he found out this last year, he could be anything for Perry.

“He’s still here.” The surprise in Perry’s voice didn’t go unnoticed but it was also the look of concern on his face that made Nick stand up.

An abrupt snore from the sleeping Santa broke the quiet causing them both to start and then stare at the stranger. He didn’t wake up or even move much beyond his face twitching a bit before settling back into the slackness of somnambulance.

“Let me go turn up the heat, get you another blanket and then you can tell me what happened.” 

When he returned, Perry was sitting up and more alert. Nick wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and rubbed his arms. “I’m okay, Nick. Really.” If there was a note of agitation in Perry’s voice, Nick chose to ignore it.

“Who’s Mr. Claus?”

Perry drew a breath. “I had just finished work on my latest piece and was cleaning my brushes when I heard the most beautiful voice singing Christmas carols. I looked out into the courtyard and there he was.” Perry nodded to the sleeping St. Nick. “It was magical.”

Nick frowned and waited but Perry seemed to have run out of story. 

“So you invited him in?”

“Well… he was in a pretty bad way.”

“And turned down the heat?”

“He was sweating, and I thought he’d be more comfortable.”

“And the stolen goods?”

“What?!” Perry started to rise but Nick held him down.

“Okay, I’m just guessing. It looks pretty suspicious.”

Perry frowned again, “I didn’t think…”

Nick heaved a sigh then snapped, “I guess you weren’t thinking by inviting a complete stranger into our home. He could have been anyone. He could have robbed us. He could have – could have – hurt you!”

Now Perry did jump up. “Look at him. Does he look like he’s in any condition to hurt me?”

“That’s not the point,” Nick replied tersely. He didn’t want to argue with Perry, but the weariness weighed on him tearing down his resolve. “I wasn’t here to...”

Perry looked away, eyes downcast. “Protect me? Because I’m weak? Please, don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!” Nick instantly regretted the words but didn’t know how to pull them back. He didn’t know how to do a lot of things for Perry. Say the right things. Tell him how he felt.

***

Exhausted as he was Nick fell into a deep sleep from which he woke early not feeling in the least refreshed. Perry lay silent with his back to him under the layers of blanket Nick has piled on before passing out. Nick could tell he wasn’t asleep.

“I’m sorry.” At least Nick knew how to start even if he was lost as to how to proceed. But Perry didn’t give him time to lay out a course.

Turning over he snuggled into Nick and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry for scaring you. That’s it isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Nick figured he’d just go where Perry led. Then decided he needed to steer some too even if it did make him uncomfortable.

“Sweetheart, I hate leaving you alone so much. I don’t think you’re weak. But when I’m not here to protect you I need to know you’ll protect yourself.”

Perry raised his head and gifted Nick with a sweet, soft kiss. “I love you too.”

One kiss became two, then three before they remembered their overnight guest and rose to see if they still owned any furniture.

The front room was empty of strangers with only the folded blanket lying on the sofa Nick remembered Perry draping over the faux Santa. Nick checked the front door which was still locked.

Perry looked at him with wide eyes, ‘Where do you think he went?”

“Up the chimney? Nearest bar?” Nick quipped.

Perry drew a hand through his blond locks, “Nick, I know what I did last night was careless and I’m sorry. But I can’t just turn my back on people. Life is a risk.” He looked at Nick with love in his eyes. “You took a risk on me. How can I not embrace that?”

Nick looked at this man – his man – across the room and recognized a strength he himself lacked and nodded. If Perry can be brave, so can he.

He moved over to Perry pulling him into a kiss then whispered, “Wanna go back to bed?”

From the courtyard, “The First Noel” rang out in a strong, melodious voice.

Perry was right. It was magical.

Advent Calendar Day 3 Seance on a Summer's Night

Good morning! Happy Tuesday! We still have a bit of snow on the ground, if you can believe it!

Today's offering is a lovely holiday coda for Seance on a Summer's Night in a return appearance by the wonderfully talented Natasha Chesterbrook.  So grab a cup of coffee, tea, or cocoa and take a few minutes to start your morning off right. :-)

====================================

Artemus lunged for the open cab door practically hurling himself in front of two twenty-somethings loaded down with bags, no doubt Christmas shopping as ultimate sport. Their outraged faces receded in the rear window of the taxi as it pulled from the curb, pedestrians scattering away like litter in a windstorm.

He wasn’t going to miss Seamus if it killed him.

The last time they’d been out together, Artemus took the train to New Jersey halfway to Philadelphia where Seamus had been in conference. The quaint borough of Somerville had an expansive, new train station but the feel of an old-time small town. The wrought-iron fenced trees, interlocking paver sidewalks and retro streetlights made it seem charming. It also offered enough restaurant choices to rival 6^th Avenue in the Theater District.

They’d dined al fresco enjoying the last vestiges of summer. Seamus seemed just as smitten as he was in the final days they’d had at Green Lanterns. Betty’s funeral has been a somber affair; Seamus stood with him lending his strong shoulders and quiet support. Afterward, in between working with Chief Kingsland and dismantling the remains of RCU, they’d managed a couple of quiet evenings before Artemus’ return to New York.

Since that time, it had been a series of discordant scheduling, missed opportunities and sheer bad luck. A three act comedy of tragic proportions or so it seemed to Artemus. Most recently a tri-state area taskforce had taken Seamus to Albany for most of November and early December. His brief Thanksgiving break was disrupted by Artemus’ bout with the flu.

With Christmas almost upon them, Artemus was determined their reunion would not be ruined by a freak snowstorm, sudden outbreak in rampant larceny or Santa Claus preaching the end days in Times Square. Artemus was ready for anything.

“Rockefeller Center.”

The cabbie nodded and Artemus relaxed against the seat while a disembodied voice lectured him on the value of wearing a seatbelt. For the moment he imagined seeing Seamus’ bright blue eyes, feeling those strong shoulders beneath his hand and pressing his mouth to those lush lips.

The traffic going uptown on Sixth Avenue was heavy and slow-going. By the time they got to 50^th Street, Seamus jumped out by the north entrance to the plaza. Crowds of tourists wandered the streets in wide-eyed wonder at the spectacle that is New York during the holidays.

Why had he chosen to meet Seamus here of all places? So dramatic, so clichéd. Seamus scurried past the crowded entrance moving on toward 5^th Avenue. Circling around to the dramatic entryway of Lower Plaza he felt hot despite the cold evening air and pushed his way down the steps toward the garden. Surrounded by the Clarebout Angels, golden Prometheus glowed with festive aplomb beneath the giant tree which dominated the plaza. Artemus’ breath still caught on first sight.

The dulcet notes of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen drifted from a crooner dressed in a festive red with white fur trimmed jacket, the requisite stocking hat perched jauntily on his head. The only discordant notes struck were the Hawaiian board shorts and flip-flops he sported, white knobby knees poking out from below. Only in New York.

Worrying he was late, Artemus pulled off a leather glove with his teeth to retrieve his phone.

“Artie?”

It wasn’t his name that cause Artemus to start but the voice. He fumbled the phone catching it against his chest and almost losing his balance in the process, the single glove swinging perilously from his lips. He bumped into an onlooker who glared at him murderously and grabbed her purse in alarm.

Greg stood off to the side gazing at him with surprised delight. “I wouldn’t have figured you for the tourist type.” He laughed a little nervously and shifted to his back foot.

Artemus froze more from shock than the dipping temperatures and, in that moment, thought Did I just wander into a Neil Simon play?

Snatching the glove from his mouth, Artemus wrapped himself in his best Noel Coward. 

“Assumptions makes fools of both of us, darling.”

Greg huffed, “I imagine you’ve been waiting a long time to say that to me.”

 “Amazing how shocked people are by honesty so few by deceit.”* Artemus’ blithe hand wave was completely undermined by the loose glove flapping from it.

“Tennessee Williams?”

“No, I’m paraphrasing … Actually, let’s not do this.”

Surprised by the resentment he still bore against Greg and, if he was honest, disappointment in himself for all the wasted time, Artemus shook off the weight of the past and reclaimed his humanity.

“I wish you a joyful holiday and that the New Year brings you the clarity you seek.”

Greg brightened, “Thank you, Artie. Maybe we can get a drink and –"

Artemus cut him off, “Never going to happen. Goodbye, Greg.”

Moving off through the crowds he felt the past year’s self-recrimination slip off his shoulders and happiness bubbled up as he moved toward the future. Seamus. If only he could find his man!

Just then, the phone he was clutching vibrated against his chest. Looking down, Artemus read the text from Seamus.

Look to your right.

He whirled around but couldn’t find Seamus in the crowd. His phone vibrated again.

Okay, now to your left.

And there not ten yards away stood Seamus looking handsome and just a bit scary. Joy overwhelmed Artemus at the sight. He strode the distance as Seamus moved at the same time. The moment was magical when they embraced, their lips meeting in a brief but warm kiss while Christmas bells jingled nearby.

Artemus looked into Seamus’ blue eyes, the festive lights reflected in their glow, and smiled broadly. Seamus’ arms slipped around his shoulders and it felt like home. The crowd buffeted around them but Artemus could not stop looking at this man.

Equally, Seamus’ gaze never wavered, “You look fantastic.”

“I –" Artemus stopped not sure what he was going to say. Patiently, Seamus waited.

Then, with a soft smile and laughter in his voice, Artemus whispered, “I think I’ve lost my glove.”

Seamus’ laugh melded with his, “No worries. I’ll keep you warm.”

* Paraphrased from Noel Coward’s 1941 play Blithe Spirit

Advent Calendar Day 14

Did you see the moon last night? Gorgeous! Be sure you take a few minutes to look out the window and enjoy the beauty of the night sky.

And how appropriate for today's terrific offering. Natasha Chesterbrook has generously written a coda to Halloween is Murder. :-)

I want to take a moment to say thank you to Natasha and all the authors and artists and readers who have contributed so far to this year's calendar. It really makes for a wonderful event. Even I can't wait to see what every day brings.

 All Saint’s Day

Natasha Chesterbrook

I woke with a start and the dissipating image of elongated teeth and sharpened claws inches from my neck chasing my subconscious mind into a desperate gasp for oxygen and sanity. My hand reflexively grasped my neck as I stilled my body’s reaction. Awareness quickly overtook me and I darted my gaze to Mike’s sleeping form next to mine, his bare, broad back with those clearly defined muscles in repose. Willing my breathing to slow, I leaned into his heat, taking as much warmth and strength from it as I dared without disturbing him. My eyes had just fluttered closed feeling the drowse of sleep start to retake me when I heard that deep and familiar rumble, “You okay?” So much for my undercover skills, so to speak.

“Yeah,” I rasped out much too quickly. Compounding the obvious lie, I added, “I’m fine.”

I waited. Mike lay still for minutes, what seemed like hours, while I forced my heart to stopped

spooky sleigh in the woods

beating out of my chest and hoped my desire to be “fine” would manifest itself to be truth. Mike was never one to press or even ask questions. A man of action more than words, he rolled over and just looked at me.

All at once, the night before came to me in a flash. Memories of that first brutal taking where we both fought for control over something neither of us could stop much less contain. My breath hitched recalling that first release, both of us crying out as if in pain or fear or need. It was probably all three but after, I found it wasn’t enough. Not even close. And so we began again almost immediately, the second time with purpose and desire to just enjoy.

Those memories erased any that my nightmare had brought forth, replacing fear and revulsion with desire and heat. Mike was a man worth remembering, to savor when this affair had long died away. The roughness of his hands contrasting with the lush terrain his mouth made. The intensity of his gaze fought with his almost muteness throughout the encounter. His passion clearly wrought in the single shout of my name when he climaxed. It has felt surreal almost enrapture. Even if we never had this again, I wanted those memories etched into my soul.

Now he just looked at me, unmoved, no emotion except perhaps a bit of skepticism on his face. But maybe something else. Regret?

I looked away and sat up, taking in the early morning shadows just creeping in between the slats of the blinds. The coolness of the night still hung in the air fighting to retain its hold on the world as if a door to another much colder place had been left open but was now slowly closing. With only a few hours of sleep I wanted nothing so much as to sink back into the heat within the bedsheets that Mike wore like a second skin. My bedsheets, my skin.

Only when I started to rise did his hand reach out and clasp my wrist. I flinched and he immediately retreated.

“Changed your mind?” Looking away but glancing back, Mike was uncharacteristically tentative.

“What? About... you? No. Never.”

Now he stared at me or I should say more precisely he stared at my mouth. And then I could see it, just a hint, not fear exactly but wariness like he’d been down this road before and it never lead to anywhere good. What it wasn’t was regret. And I wondered what he was seeing on my face at that moment. Did he think I was the one with regrets? Sure, last night had changed things and sometimes seeing is harder than being blind but here was Mike and no way did I want to be blind to him anymore.

I laid back down, pulled myself into him and rested my head on his shoulder. His muscles only relaxed after I breathed a deep sigh of comfort and rested my hand on his hip. His arms encircled me and just as drowsiness once again claimed its hold on me, I heard him murmur, “Mianach i gcónaí.”