The Witch of the North Pole: Cinnamon Mercy Claus, #1

Chapter One

IT’S THE LAST STOP. I promise.

The bus driver slammed the door shut and headed off at a speed that certainly was unsafe in these conditions. Wet snow spun from his tires and slopped down into the awaiting darkness.

I skittered to the edge of the dirt road, where snow pooled over the top of my kitten-heeled boots and melted down around my feet. Goosebumps crawled over my body, which wasn’t just from the penetrating cold. Wrapping my scarf up over my nose, I headed toward the one thing I could see, two small lights bouncing their way through the dark field.

I heaved my rolling bag out of the snow and over my shoulder, hoping that somehow, I’d make it to anywhere before I froze to death out here alone in a snowbank. I could imagine the sight my body would be come spring. Did they have spring around here? I didn’t know. The cops would all stand around, tsk-tsking under their breath at the silly girl in her high-heeled dress shoes and simple pea coat, out here in Middle-of-Friggin’-Nowhere, Alaska.

Actually, I didn’t quite know where I ended up.

All I knew, that instead of sitting in my parents’ home for the Christmas holiday, I’d left sunny California to travel eighteen hours on planes and buses, and now stood in the middle of nowhere, looking for a relative I hadn’t even known existed until this morning—or yesterday morning. I no longer knew what day it was.

The bright flash of headlights bounced off the snow and blinded me. I stood in place, hoping the car would slow down and stop weaving back and forth before it reached me. I splayed my fingers across my face as the car came to rest two feet from my knees, and a big gust of snow billowed up around me. As I wiped the snow from my face and willed my bodily functions to remain intact, the car door opened.

Cinnamon Mercy Claus, I presume? said a feminine, clipped voice.

I sidestepped the front bumper of the car, trying to move out of the path of imminent death and to relieve the lights from my vision. Only a handful of people on earth knew my full given name: my parents—who were off enjoying a tropical holiday instead of seeing their daughter; my childhood best friend; and the woman who stood in front of me now, the woman I presumed to be my father’s mother.

Shrouded in a black wool coat, I could barely make out her eyes as her fur-lined hood dipped almost to her nose. Her lips were painted in a dark, cherry red and her cheekbones defined to perfection—most definitely not what I’d imagined a grandmother to look like.

An icy gust of wind whipped a mass of red curls around in a manic tornado, and although I assumed my own hair ran amuck, I looked on in amusement as my nana flailed her arms around, trying to tame her fiery mop of hair. She pulled her hood back over her head and jammed her hair inside.

Get in the car before I freeze my gumdrops off, she commanded.

My brows wrinkled. Certainly, I hadn’t heard her correctly. I started to crawl into the passenger seat, but she was behind the wheel and had thrown the car in reverse before I even had both legs inside. The tires spun as she plowed through the deep snow and onto a dirt path. I fought for the door, and my dignity, as I tried to get all my body parts into the front seat. The wheels finally found purchase upon the soft ground and we lurched forward as I slammed the door shut.

The warmth of the car heated my insides, and as I stole a glance at the angry woman beside me, my chest heated further. We bounced along the road for an indeterminate amount of time, my suitcase slowly covering me in a cold, wet sludge as it sat pressed into my thighs.

The car finally slowed, and although we were only surrounded by darkness, I assumed we’d entered a long driveway. After a few minutes, my grandmother slammed her foot on the brakes. I lurched forward as the car came to a sliding stop. My grandmother all but jumped from the car, as if in a race her life depended on. She left me alone to squeeze my smashed frame out of the seat.

I’m too old for this, I grumbled to myself. Sure, I’d stood six-feet tall since I was fifteen, but my almost thirty-year-old joints didn’t appreciate being jammed into the front of a car with a wet suitcase in my lap.

I stood next the car, trying valiantly to keep my suitcase from becoming even more soaked in the wet snow. We had parked at what looked like a modest two-story brick home. I couldn’t see much more than its outline. With just a few scattered porch lights, the outside barely shone in the darkness. One thing I could see was that the roof had a double slope dotted with numerous windows. It reminded me of a fancy gingerbread house.

A heat spread through my chest, then wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The glow from the windows beckoned to me. I suddenly wanted to rush inside this mysterious building.  

I unwrapped the scarf from my face, realizing the wind didn’t blow as harshly here. The soft lights didn’t allow me a view into the distance, but the sounds of the night reached my ears. A soft braying echoed in the distance. I stood silent a moment, listening to the mournful sound.

Realizing my grandmother was already gone, I hurried to the front door, swinging it open as my suitcase tried to jostle from my hands. Stepping across the threshold, an all-penetrating warmth seeped down upon me, and the smell of pines and spices wrapped themselves around my senses.

In contrast to the otherwise peaceful space, the harsh tapping of heels sounded on the hard floor. It was my grandmother heading off down the hallway, and I ran to catch up with her. After a lot of hollering on my part, and generally making an impressive scene, my grandmother finally stopped and waited for me.

The house doesn’t look this big from the outside, I said through panted breaths.

My grandmother gave off a harrumph. She stopped suddenly, assessing me now that we stood inside in the lights. You look a mess, she stated.

I looked down at myself. Snow clung from the bottom of my coat, and my suitcase dripped muddy water onto the floor. I wanted to open my mouth, tell her it was her fault I looked this way, and what did she expect after dragging me here to this middle-of-nowhere town? Where are we? I asked instead.

She eyed me in disbelief like I’d just asked her what my own name was.

Then she tipped her nose at me and said, The North Pole.

Chapter Two

THE MASSIVE MAN EMBRACED me, squeezing me until I squealed. He set me back on my feet and I tottered to the side. I stood before my grandfather—a man I’d never met. When I finally got a good look at him, I realized he looked suspiciously like...

I didn’t get to finish my thought, for my grandmother pushed past us, grabbing me by my wrist and pulling me after her. I tried to get a good look at the man over my shoulder, but she was a lot stronger than I’d imagined she’d be.

He’s... I tried again.

Yes! my grandmother said, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation. He’s Santa Claus. Whoopty-snickerdoodle-do.

I gave off a little snort of laughter, but my grandmother’s steely gaze had me stone-faced before I could even fully comprehend what she’d just said. I turned away from her, trying to clear my thoughts. I had a quiet holiday at my parents’ house planned. And today had been nothing but a big ball of weird. I’d shown up at my parents’ house, doors locked, with a note that said they’d gone on a tropical holiday—no sorry, no we’ll miss you—and a plane ticket which led me here, to the North Pole. This had to be a joke, a prank. Maybe my parents suddenly gained a sense of humor?

I spun around, almost smacking into my grandmother, who had her hands on her hips, waiting for me to work through my revelation.

He’s not— I started.

I hurried after her as she once again took off down the hall with no concern whether I kept up with her. I stayed silent as we trudged through length after length of long, white hallways. Although it seemed like a regular home from the outside, it now seemed like we’d entered the endless length of a massive airport terminal. I kept waiting for her to suddenly push me out one of the doorways and into a waiting plane; the joke would be over, and I would head back to the world of the normal.

A loud banging and the hurried voices of children started up behind one of the closed doors. The door burst open, and I jumped back, trying to avoid the barrage of little feet that scurried from the room. The children dressed most peculiarly, with varying prints of red and green stockings, and a mishmash of colored smocks.

As I continued to stare back at them, one small boy turned around, and catching my eye, he winked at me. I caught a burst of paint sprayed across his face and shirt, and then what appeared to be a beard. Nana waved her hand at him and he lurched forward, hurrying on his way.

I turned a questioning gaze to my grandmother. She shook her head, her hands on her hips. I’ve told them time and time again, those decorating bombs will never work, but they insist!

Decorating bombs? I questioned. Then, Who were they?

Crazy decorating elves, my grandmother muttered as she turned and proceeded down the hallway.

I followed obligingly behind her, but turned my head back once again, my eyes following the little footprints of paint along the floor.

My grandmother suddenly stopped short and my high heels skidded on the slick floor as I tried to stop before plowing into her back.

Those shoes will prove useless around here, she said. She thumped her fist against the door, and it swung back on its hinges. When she didn’t make a move to enter, I peeked inside and then moved into the room. I dropped my wet bag to the floor and peeled my dirty boots from my feet.

I stared in awe. The entire room looked like I’d hopped onto the Ghost of Christmas Past’s crazy train and had suddenly been propelled back into a