Page 36 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart
The Eighth Day of Yule
The morning of the Hunt arrived. There had been no new snow since Christmas, but the world had frosted over in the night. It was a perfect day for staying inside with a hot drink and a warm blanket, and yet most of Elk Ridge would take to the streets—most but not all.
Of the winter festival’s traditions, the Hunt was the most unabashedly Pagan, unfiltered by church fathers or consumerism, and so those who believed in the wickedness of the old ways steered clear, but the adventurous, the young, and the open-minded were joined by an influx of tourists who came specifically for its unique flavor.
The tourists were primarily of the witchy variety, as the event attracted most of the covens in the Pacific Northwest and even some from farther afield.
The wary weren’t entirely wrong to avoid the nighttime half of the celebration. The ritualistic elements truly were ritual—an invitation for otherworldly beings to join in the festivities, and the fair folks’ idea of fun wasn’t always so for the hapless mortals.
Rowan was struggling into her costume when Gavin arrived. They shared a lingering look before he walked over to where the Krampus costume was laid out on a table.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice neutral, his expression guarded.
“Morning,” Rowan said, swallowing a lump in her throat and returning to the fight with her costume. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I made a promise,” he said, as if it were that simple. Of course, with him, it was.
As Frau Perchta, she had to wear a high-necked black Victorian dress, and the effort to loop its many thin crocheted closures over smooth pearl buttons was proving vexing.
The costume had been made for someone smaller than Rowan, and she struggled to both hold it closed and manipulate the buttons into place.
And then he was there, hulking with the bulk of his Krampus costume.
Gavin took over buttoning her bodice without comment, and despite the awkward tension and the layer of fabric between them, the brush of his fingers against her chest did not go unnoticed.
She yearned for him to keep touching, but he stepped away the moment he was done with a clearing of his throat.
“Remind me,” said Gavin, fixing his eyes back on his own costume. “What tradition did this come from?”
Surprised by his making conversation but relieved to fill the silence, Rowan said, “It’s…a bit of a pastiche.”
A half smile passed over his face. “So it’s made up, then?”
Rowan moved over to where the masks waited. The Perchta was a wrinkled old woman with a hooked nose and a wicked grin.
“Well, the exact way we celebrate it is, but it’s based on Krampusnacht and the other traditional celebrations that are, essentially, Wild Hunts.”
He lifted his own mask to study it. It was mild as Krampus masks went, no dripping blood or yellow eyes; only a sneering, tusked and horned face of gray, knobby skin.
“Wild Hunts?” he asked.
“A Wild Hunt is when some fae or the other descends onto the world with a team of minions to hunt down misbehaving mortals. Most of the December hunts are pretty tame, and it’s usually about encouraging you to get your winter chores done.
If you did, they rewarded you. If you didn’t, you got a punishment instead. ”
“Coal in your stocking?”
She chuckled. “In its mildest form. But yes, Santa is a Wild Hunt. Just a slightly less terrifying version than Perchta or Krampus.”
Rowan slid on her mask and looked over just as he put on his own. His face disappeared beneath the Krampus mask.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Terrifying.”
“Well then, I guess it’s time to scare kids into their best behavior.”
The Hunt was well underway when they emerged. The team had set out many more firepits than usual, cords of wood stacked beside them to prepare for the night’s festivities. Additional concession stands were also being set up in empty booths, offering strong libations come nightfall.
A giant troll woman, Gryla of Icelandic lore, lumbered past, stooped with her long arms swinging nearly to the ground.
Her head was a mottled construction of papier-maché, which swung their way and gave them a nod of acknowledgment.
In that brief lapse of attention, a crowd of children erupted from behind a stall to surround the troll.
“Curses!” she shouted, raising a fist to the sky. Gryla hunched over, scanning each of them and sniffing her enormous nose. “Are there any naughty children present?”
They all shook their heads and cried out, “No!”
“Ahh…how disappointing.” She stuck out a basket from which they all grabbed bags of pebbled chocolate before running away in a flurry of giggles.
When they had cleared out, Gryla stalked over and tipped up her mask, revealing Stephan underneath. Sweat beaded on his cheeks from the heat and weight of the costume.
“Hey, guys,” he said, glancing between them, furiously scratching at his beard. His voice, which had only moments before been a perfect mimicry of an old troll woman, was his own again. “Thanks for coming. Looks like I can take a break.”
“Happy to help,” said Gavin. “You are frighteningly good at voices.”
“I’ve had some practice,” said Stephan, glancing at Rowan with amusement in his eyes.
It had been a spell, but of course they couldn’t tell Gavin that. Not until she came clean.
“One tip,” said Stephan, “watch out for the Franklin kids. They think this is a high-contact sport, and they hunt as a pack.”
“Noted,” said Gavin. Then he gave them each a nod before disappearing into the crowd.
“Guess you two haven’t cleared the air,” said Stephan, watching him go.
“Not yet,” said Rowan, her stomach flipping.
“Well, there’s plenty of time and mead to go, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But hey—don’t get so caught up you forget the ritual tonight.”
Rowan winced. “Right.”
She had, in fact, forgotten about the night’s ritual.
There had been so much going on that she hadn’t spared a thought for the ceremonial burning of the massive straw Yule Goat, but her mother was convinced it would help them in their dealings with the Goshen Group.
An offering to whatever sympathetic entities might have taken an interest in their fate.
And at this point, they needed all the help they could get.