Page 30 of Run, Run Rudolph (Fairy Godmothers and Other Fiascos #2)

~ Haden ~

T onight was getting weirder and weirder. Mrs. Claus was a witch? That sweet old woman with the curly white hair?

“Haden,” Tamara whispered, waving me over to a quiet part of the barn. She was leading one of the reindeer by his collar, and her look meant business.

“What’s up?” I asked, instinctively running my gaze down the length of the reindeer for injuries. Crashing the sleigh had to have been hard on them, too.

To be truthful, I was hoping to find another private moment with Tamara. I’d only started to express how I felt about her before that danged elf came banging his way back into the barn.

“You okay?” I read the reindeer’s medallion. “Prancer?”

“Just fine,” he replied primly.

“Give us the straight goods,” she demanded, releasing his collar.

“What straight goods?”

“About Mrs. Claus, her witchcraftery, the oats, the fight, Hugo, the naughty list. All of it.”

“This is confidential magical world business.”

“Prancer, don’t give me that crap.”

“I’m not a narc,” he said loudly, the rest of the herd nodding in agreement.

“Come on, boys. You know Christmas is screwed.”

My jaw slackened at Tamara’s no-bull attitude. Prancer pawed the barn floor and twitched his head, sending his rack from side to side.

“This is no time for rules,” she insisted.

“You’re going to have to lock me in your trunk,” he said, lifting his head in defiance. “Rudolph will confirm that we are not to reveal these integral and vital pieces of information to a non-magical human.”

He was still nattering on, lecturing Tamara even though she was already stalking toward Rudolph’s stall.

“Santa, I need a minute with Rudolph,” she said loudly.

I strode after her, wanting to be a steamroller to any obstacles in her way.

That was my job, my role. Give her the space to shine, so she could be the kindness the world so desperately needed.

Or in this case, so she could grill the reindeer about the inner workings of the magical world.

“Of course, Tamara Madden. Oh, hello, Haden Powell. Did you enjoy your dirt bike? Oh, but you were just a boy then. You’re a man now.”

“I am, yes.” I smiled at the warm memories the machine brought up. “I loved that bike. Thank you, Santa.”

I helped the man up off the bale we’d set in the stall earlier, and he winked at me, then smiled at Tamara as though he was keeping some juicy secret from us. I settled him outside Rudolph’s stall on the stack of bales close to Dolly, and I rejoined Tamara, curious about what she was up to.

Like a practiced interrogator, she already had Rudolph spilling magical world secrets.

“She’s a black magic witch,” he was telling her.

Prancer stood in the stall’s entrance. “Don’t tell her anything! It’s against protocol!”

“She needs to know what she’s dealing with,” Rudolph stated.

“Maybe you could keep Santa company,” I suggested to Prancer, trying to gently steer the rule-follower away from the stall so Tamara could get all the info she needed from the herd’s leader.

“Naughty list, Rudolph!” Prancer called out as I managed to edge him back. “I won’t protect you.”

“I’m in charge,” Rudolph snapped.

Prancer finally turned from the stall. “It’s your funeral, boss .”

“Remind me why you’re not friends with Hugo?” I mumbled to Prancer as he trotted away, giving a defiant little kick as he went.

“Santa’s magic is white,” Rudolph continued to Tamara. “Good, pure. They fell in love, and now she lives in our world. But they aren’t allowed to have children.”

“Why not?” Tamara asked.

“Interworld species propagation is forbidden, unless permitted under special circumstances.”

I nodded. That made sense to my scientific mind. You didn’t really want inter-species propagation here on the non-magical earth, either. Things tended to go funky when different species mixed and matched.

“Okay. And?” Tamara prompted.

“Santa really wanted kids. So, they created Christmas. In a way, all of the earth’s children became theirs, and they could spoil them once a year.”

“That’s really sweet.” Tamara was beaming, clearly liking this warm and fuzzy workaround the no-kids thing. “And she makes you and the rest of the herd fly, too?”

“She makes enchanted oats for us each year. And she wraps additional spells around us to keep us secure and protected when we travel.”

“Did she remove that spell? Is that why we can see you?” I asked.

“No, it’s because they were drunk,” Tamara said. “It weakens the wall between the worlds.”

“It also weakens the effect of her spell,” Rudolph said. “Plus, she only wraps us in that protection spell once a year, and last year’s spell is wearing off.”

“She sounds integral,” Tamara said, catching my eye. I could read her worry, and I wanted to ease it and make things better for her.

She absently stroked the side of Rudolph’s neck, and the animal’s earlier agitation waned.

“Christmas is a strain on her,” Rudolph confided, “and I worry…”

“Worry about what?” Tamara asked when he didn’t continue.

“She won’t want to come back to us. With the herd sticking with Santa, I think she felt excluded and alone.”

“Yeah, Hugo isn’t much of a prize, eh?” she asked, knowing the elf had chosen her side in the fight. Tamara’s joke fell flat, and her brown eyes flicked to mine, then to Rudolph. “I’m sure she still loves you all very much.”

“That might not be enough.”

“Why not?”

“Being in our world means that she’s constantly fighting against her black magic nature.”

“But she loves Santa, too, right?”

“TM,” I warned, knowing love didn’t solve everything, especially if Mrs. Claus was battling major forces within herself.

“She does,” Rudolph said, looking at me as though I was out of line for warning off Tamara.

“Because of him, she does the work, stays civil, and acts like she has natural white magic. But Christmas reminds her that she can’t give Santa what he truly wants, and that she will never fit in or be accepted. ”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Tamara murmured, and I moved to her side so I could place an arm around her in comfort.

“On summer solstice she can go before the council of white magic to request the hex be lifted—” Rudolph shivered, and I instinctively checked his ice packs to make sure he wasn’t getting too cold.

“What hex?” Tamara asked.

“The one that keeps her from having kids. Last summer, she was denied again.”

“But they’re so old. Surely it’s too late?”

“It’s become about being accepted by the white magic community,” Rudolph explained.

“She’s always upset and angry after she gets denied.

And then she saw Santa with a fairy. She hates fairies.

She tries so hard to live up to her public image, and fairies are naturally cheery and good.

She resents them and the ease in which they flit about the white magic world.

So when Santa and that young fairy godmother with red hair almost kissed?—”

Tamara gasped. “Wait! Estelle ?” She pointed to her chest. “ My fairy godmother? Oh, no.” Tamara’s gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers resting on her bottom lip.

Rudolph nodded. “Mrs. Claus lost her mind.”

“What? What does this mean?” I asked. I understood that a woman in love, one who’d had her trust and heart broken, was a powerful force to reckon with.

And this one had super powers called black magic.

She wasn’t simply going to throw harmless bags of potato chips at someone in the grocery store.

But the question was, what was she going to do?

“She hates my fairy godmother—she was the source of their fight. And now I’m ruining Christmas.

Mrs. Claus is the judge at the magical court of rules, and I’m on her naughty list because of tonight.

If she learns I’m associated with Estelle…

Or I make a wish to Estelle to get out of this mess…

What happens to me?” Tamara sucked in a swift breath and gave me the most plaintive look I’d ever seen.

I gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”

“Mrs. Claus loves doing the white magic world’s dirty work with her naughty list. She holds us and others accountable, and she’s ruthless. It’s the one way she’s permitted to release her dark magic nature into our white magic world.”

Tamara had gone pale.

“And how does Hugo tie in?” I asked.

“He tried to play peacemaker, and now she says she won’t make our flying oats.”

That meant the herd couldn’t fly on Christmas Eve—even if Rudolph was feeling better.

The state of Christmas was looking grimmer by the minute.