Page 35 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart
The Seventh Day of Yule
“We have a problem.”
Zaide stormed into the Midwinter living room, Naomie at her heels.
“What is it?” asked Rowan. Zaide shoved her phone into Rowan’s hands, revealing a page full of graphs. They illustrated a steady rise in traffic and then, suddenly, a sharp downturn.
“Metrics,” explained Naomie, “for our social media accounts.”
“What changed?” asked Rowan.
“I’ve got a guess,” said Zaide. She swiped her phone to a new tab, showing off a list of all the Goshen Group board members, one of whom was the founder of Facegram. “Fucking assholes are burying us.”
“Who?” asked Gavin, walking through the door at that exact moment. When they showed him the trail of evidence, he nodded with a frown. “Everything’s incestuous at that level. They’re all invested in each other.”
“What’s that about incest?” asked Stephan, walking in with Kel a few paces behind.
Zaide ignored him, responding to Gavin. “What the hell are the rest of us supposed to do, then?”
Rowan piped up to say, “Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?
Social media was never ‘the plan.’ This is a setback, but…
” Her gaze found Gavin, and the way he looked at her, with total confidence, inspired her to say, “We are going to build something they don’t own.
Something they can’t bury. Something uniquely us. Uniquely Elk Ridge.”
“I still don’t know what’s going on,” said Stephan, raising his thermos of coffee. “But hear, hear.”
Zaide did not look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyway, and the members of Operation Holly and Ivy gathered at the Midwinter table to plan.
For the rest of the day, they plotted and pondered, argued and evaluated.
What had once been a seed germinated and sprouted with every conversation, as they bridged the divides between their unique visions of what the festivals could be.
Like the grains of sandpaper in the body of a rock tumbler, their differing skills, experiences, and perspectives worked to polish away the rough exterior and reveal the gemstone beneath.
Whenever she happened through the house, Liliana evaluated their progress, pointing out gotchas they hadn’t known to look for.
Zaide’s visual sketches of their concepts lent it all a sense of tangibility.
Naomie offered insight into trends and marketability, and when they got stuck, she would draw them a card for inspiration.
Gavin kept them all grounded with his analysis of cost and time estimates.
Kel’s ideas came out less often, zooming in from left field to mix up their perspective in the way only someone from a younger generation could, while Stephan shared a working vendor perspective that even Liliana hadn’t entirely understood.
There were times Rowan worried she wasn’t offering as much as the rest, but whenever the group would go on a tangent, everyone looked her way, and she could remind them what they’d been trying to solve.
When people struggled to articulate an idea, she jumped in to ask the right questions to bring it out.
She held the complete picture in her head, freeing everyone else to rabbit-hole in their specialties.
They focused on a single festival as a proof of concept to narrow things down—Gavin’s idea. “We’re better off presenting one well-polished example than a bunch of roughs,” he’d argued.
“Whole ass or go home,” agreed Zaide.
They chose the fall festival, given that Zaide had already produced dozens of sketches on the subject. It would last until Día de Los Muertos, after which the grounds would shut down for the transition to winter.
At the end of the day, Rowan emerged from a haze of sugary treats and coffee to take a few steps back and evaluate their work—its details scribbled onto a series of whiteboards. There was a tremor in the air, and she picked up that humming world song again—completely sober this time.
She danced over to Gavin, winding her arm through his.
He assented to being led back to where she had been standing, though not without a quizzical quirk of his brow.
Zaide, Kel, Stephan, and Naomie kept on arguing over what kind of musical act would be the best to headline a spooky festival; all prepared to die on their respective hills.
Darkwave, Death Metal, Horror Punk, and Witch House were all contenders.
Rowan leaned in close to Gavin and whispered, “What do you see?”
“A group of people who have eaten way too much butter and sugar,” he whispered back with a smile. She rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger at the whiteboards, where scores of ideas stood under the heading The Elk Ridge Wheel of the Year. His eyes swept along the boards.
“A plan,” he said. His eyes shone. “I see a plan. Your plan, brought to life.”
“ Our plan,” she replied. She puffed out her chest in a silly way and continued, “And is it an economically sensible proposition, in your expert opinion?”
“Yes,” he said with a laugh. He looked down at her with those soulful eyes that she had once accused of being a front. “But more importantly: a plan I believe in.”
Swept up in his gaze, she took him by the hand and dragged him out onto the back porch. “What’s going on?” he asked with a laugh.
“Just wanted to do this…” She got up on her tiptoes and pulled him close, capturing him in a kiss.
It was all tongue and teeth, hungry and hypnotic.
In moments he had moved on from devouring her mouth to her neck and then on down to as much of her chest and collarbone as he could reach through the scoop neck of her sweater.
“I want to taste every part of you,” he said in a low voice.
“Please,” she gasped.
But then she remembered that they hadn’t announced their departure, and the meeting was far from over.
“But maybe not right now,” she said, slowly extracting herself from his arms. “Considering they’ll send a search party any minute.”
“Logic,” he said with a tsk, but he pulled away, his face turning to profile as he gazed into the snowy wood beyond.
“You really think this could convince him?” asked Rowan.
“I think it has a chance,” said Gavin. She knew that was as much as he’d offer. He would never simplify a complex issue for her comfort.
“Have you had a chance to talk to him at all?” she asked. “Get a sense where his head’s at?”
He wrinkled his brow. “We talked a bit…Obviously he’s still pretty bullish about Goshen’s offer. But he doesn’t like that they’re pushing hard for the trust land as part of the deal. He’s really only been open to selling his in-town properties.”
“If it came down to it, would he do it? If they insisted and it was the only way the deal went forward?”
Gavin frowned. “He won’t sign any deal that ends up with the old growth being cut down.”
“Are you sure about that?”
A flicker of frustration passed over Gavin’s face. “Yes, I am.”
She hesitated but pressed on. “It’s just that when it comes to him, you kind of…”
“I kind of what?” he asked, his brows knitting.
“You take a lot of what he says at face value.”
He took a step away from her. “And I guess you think he’s lying.”
She raised her hands. “I didn’t say that. I only wanted to make sure that you were considering the possibility that he…might not be sharing the whole truth.”
Gavin shifted a step away, turning his face from her. “I recognize that my father is as capable of deception as anyone. I just don’t assume everything he says is a lie.”
“I don’t do that,” protested Rowan.
“I know you don’t trust him, but trust me. ”
“I do trust you, but…”
“But what?” he pressed. She hesitated. “I would really like to know what you were about to say.”
“You just let him walk over you sometimes,” she shot back.
It took him a moment to respond. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, I don’t know, like maybe how he completely took over our date the other day? Pushed me to ski through a dangerous snowstorm?”
“You asked to come down the mountain with us.”
“Because I wanted to be with you! The way I’d planned to, before Dennis McCreery decided he couldn’t let his son fraternize with the Midwinter girl.”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that. He and I had plans. It was my fault for being late.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Always covering for him.”
His dark eyes flashed. “Is that your opinion? Or your mother’s?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “What?”
“I know your mother thinks of my father as her personal antagonist, that your family has always looked at mine that way. It makes it easy, doesn’t it?
Having a villain in your story? Someone to point to and say that if they hadn’t stood in your way, everything would be perfect. Because it’s that simple, right?”
He shook his head and pulled away from the railing. “I have to go.” His voice was quiet. “I’m sorry to leave in the middle of the planning, but I’ve got a family thing. And in case you think that’s my father interfering again—he and I had plans first. ”
She reached out, but he dodged her hand. “Gavin…”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
The promise of it echoed hollowly as he retreated back into the house, and the sound of the door closing landed in her stomach like a blow.
When she returned to the living room, Naomie was studying her closely. Or rather, studying the space around her, reading her aura. But what she saw, she kept to herself, only giving Rowan a look of sympathy.
“Bad news about tomorrow,” said Stephan, mumbling through a mouthful of cookie. “I can’t do it again. I’ve gotta work the festival all day.”
“Wait,” said Zaide, snapping her fingers. “Yeah, shit. We’re all busy. It’s the Hunt.”
“Wait, the Hunt?” repeated Rowan, her thoughts still stuck halfway in what had happened on the porch. “That’s already tomorrow?”
“The Hunt” referred to the Krampus Hunt. By day, it was a family-friendly event in which children chased down people dressed as characters from the many Wild Hunts of winter lore. Not just Krampus but also lesser-known mischievous holiday figures like the Yule Lads, Frau Perchta, and Lussi.
When night fell, it transitioned into an adults-only affair that embraced the true nature of the Wild Hunts—when creatures of the otherworld gathered their minions to descend on the streets and judge humanity.
With December coming at the cusp of deepest winter, such creatures encouraged people to fully prepare for the darkest nights by rewarding those who worked hard and punishing those who slacked off.
To Elk Ridge and its visitors, it meant a party in the streets, culminating with the burning of a straw goat.
“I’m Lussi this year,” said Naomie.
“I’m a Yule Lad,” said Zaide with a sigh. “The one that licks bowls for…reasons.”
“I’m the one with a weird thing for sheep,” said Kel.
“And I’m the troll mama,” said Stephan, sticking his hands on his hips. “Typecasting much?”
“I’m Frau Perchta,” said Rowan, her heart falling as she looked at their list of notes. It was close—so close. “What are we going to do?”
“We finish it now,” said Zaide, picking up her stylus and tablet. “Since Gavin isn’t here, we do it our way.”
She held out a hand and Naomie took it, their fingers entwining. “You are brilliant,” said Naomie, kissing the back of Zaide’s hand. Then she offered her other hand to Kel, who held out theirs to Stephan, who snatched Rowan’s without asking.
Zaide touched her stylus to her tablet, and they were off.
Together, they made magic. Magic to bring to the surface what lay in scattered notes across the whiteboards and in their deepest hopes for the future. Magic to help others see. Magic to help others believe.
Images took shape, sparked in Zaide’s visual imagination, and then flowed into motion as Kel gave them movement. Naomie cast them in light and shadow, and Stephan held it all together. Finally, Rowan overlaid words.
Words to which people might listen. Words that might hearten them to act.
When they were done, they marveled at what they had created together, watching the looping video playing on Zaide’s tablet. A hand-drawn visitor explored the brand-new delights the fall festival had to offer.
At the end, the words Festivals by, for, and of Elk Ridge lingered on the screen.
“You’re going to have a hard time explaining to Gavin how we made this so fast,” said Zaide, pale and sweaty but beaming. “Unless you finally have ‘the conversation.’?”
“I’ve been trying,” said Rowan, “but…” She stopped herself there. She had not been trying.
She was too afraid of the consequences.
“This might be the perfect opener?” offered Naomie.
“He’s coming tomorrow too, right?” asked Stephan.
Rowan started at that, remembering how that morning her mother had asked Gavin if he could fill in for Arnauld, who’d been called in for a last-minute shift at the firehouse. He would be their Krampus.
“No better time to talk about magic than one of the wyrdest nights of the year,” said Stephan.
Everyone looked at her, waiting for her response.
“She’s not gonna do it,” said Kel, shaking their head.
“Not a chance,” agreed Stephan.
“Let’s have a little more faith in her than that, guys,” said Naomie.
“I appreciate your confidence, Naomie…even if it is drastically misplaced.” Rowan put her head in her hands. “Why is this so hard?”
Her big brother’s large hand came to rest on her back. “Because he might run,” he said in a knowing way.
“There’s a reason I’m dating a fellow witch,” said Zaide. “That and the fact that Naomie is really fucking hot.”
Naomie blushed and laughed, but nodded. “I think we’ve all been left by someone who couldn’t handle it. We get it.”
Rowan nodded and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “He deserves to make that choice.”
But though her rational mind could acknowledge it, that didn’t mean her heart was in it.