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And a partridge in a pear tree! Well, okay, no.
But close.
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It was cold, colder than Schrodinger had expected. The scent he’d been following for the last two Roads wound through the cold like a sharp ribbon, cutting the air around him into shards of icy glass, just out of reach. Old Man Winter was on the move, and moving fast, for some reason. Which meant that Schrodinger also needed to keep moving.
After two days of chasing the man through the Roads, though, the CrossCat had to admit he was getting tired. He sat on his haunches and considered his options. He could continue to follow what he was increasingly convinced was a false trail, or he could think. If I were a cranky old man, and I knew there was someone looking for me, since I haven’t been that circumspect, where would I go? Schrodinger washed one paw absently as he thought about his options. Especially if I didn’t want to be found.
Wait a minute. What if I’m wrong? What if Old Man Winter isn’t trying to hide from me? After all, why should he hide from me? I’m not anyone important.
Except I know Molly. And Drew.
Drew!
Schrodinger’s eyes widened. Why didn’t I think of that? If I find Drew, I’ll find Old Man Winter!
And I know where that trail started…
A firm destination in place, Schrodinger got up and oriented himself, then jumped onto another Road and went back to the small way station where Drew had been captured. When he’d gone before, he’d simply followed the strongest scent of Old Man Winter. This time, when he hopped off the Road and found the station (which involved getting off before the Gate, but not too far before), he sat down in the snow and proceeded to try and untangle the various scent trails.
Old Man Winter had been here a few times, and there were other scents – the other tech and the engineer, both familiar to Schrodinger. And underneath it all, Drew’s scent, of woods, and musk, and the cologne Molly had picked out for him for his birthday. Once he had the scent firmly in his nose, Schrodinger closed his eyes and wound Drew’s signature scent around the peppermint ice of Old Man Winter’s. Then he sifted through the smells again, looking for the strand that matched the image of the one in his mind.
That one was buried in the others, almost as if someone had tried to stamp it into oblivion. Which is why I didn’t find it before, he thought. Old Man Winter is a crafty spirit. Then again, he is ancient. I suppose he got that way by being crafty.
I wonder if I could get to be that ancient by being crafty?
With those thoughts whirling in his head, Schrodinger trotted off down the path, to another Road that wound off into the ether.
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“Do you think we can still find it?”
Molly and Lai climbed out of the Land Rover and looked over the sea of people moving around the parking lot. Unlike Monday night, when they had been one of the few people there picking out a tree, this was a mob. Trees and people ebbed and flowed around the two bonfires that were blazing in the darkness, and above the chatter of happy children and amused (and sometimes tired) adults, there was Christmas carols, of course. It was all a bit overwhelming.
“We don’t have to,” Lai said. “Didn’t you get your tree here last year?”
“No, my uncle got it for me,” Molly said, following her friend to one of the two sheds near the bonfires. “I assumed he had to go and cut it. That’s the way we had to do it before when it was Spencer’s.”
The Spencer family had run the only tree farm in Carter’s Cove for as long as Molly could remember, but old Mr. Spencer had fallen two years ago, and rather than try to run the farm and care for her aging parents, Cara Spencer had sold the farm to a new family in the Cove.
“It’s much easier now,” Lai said, as they got into line. “I called today and told them we’d be here to pick it up tonight, so they cut it down about an hour ago and all we need to do is pay for it.”
“That’s brilliant!”
It was fast, too. In twenty minutes, they were at the front of the line, handing money to Josh Lavalle, the new owner. “Hi! Molly Barrett, right?” he said cheerfully. “You picked a beautiful one.”
“Schrodinger picked it,” she said. “He gets the credit.”
Josh leaned over the counter, looking for the CrossCat. “You didn’t bring him?”
Molly shook her head. “He’s had a busy couple of days,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. “He’s guarding the tree stand at home.”
“Well, let me get Casey to get your tree, so you can get home to him. Wait over there, by the fire.”
They did, and in another five minutes, a young man with a shock of red hair came out carrying the tree, already wrapped in protective netting. “Do you folks have rope to tie it on?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lai said, leading him over to the Land Rover. “I remembered from last year.”
“Great!”
Between the three of them, they got the tree settled carefully on the roof and lashed in place. Then, just as he was leaving, Casey said, “Oh, wait, there’s one more thing.” He turned back and handed Molly a small box. “Dad said this was supposed to go with the tree, but we didn’t want to crush it. He found it under the tree when we went to cut it down.”
Molly smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What is it?”
She opened the small cardboard box and lifted out the evergreen and silver ball out. “It’s a gift from a friend,” she said, and watched the beads glitter in the firelight. “A very determined friend.”
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The cottage was lovely – and huge. Schrodinger sat down in the snow, pondering his options. He’d noted the yetis patrolling the outside of the grounds, but avoiding them had been easy. Now he had to decide what to do.
In the end, he slunk through the bushes to the back of the stables at the rear of the house. Here, the scents of Old Man Winter and Drew were joined by another smell, one that Schrodinger had only run across once before.
Dragon.
He slipped into the stables, wondering what he would find. Dragons were notoriously retiring, regardless of the myths, and very secretive. How had Drew found one? Or had Old Man Winter bribed it to come out, promising it…what? Destruction? Drew? Something else?
Come out, little one, he heard, and stiffened. I know you’re there. I promise, I will not hurt you.
Her voice was gentle, quiet, like Molly’s when she dreamed. Cautiously, Schrodinger stepped forward, into the stable proper, looking for the dragon.
She was lying in a big box stall, curled up on a pile of hay. Her rear leg was swathed in bandages, and her sapphire eyes were bright as she looked at him. Welcome, little one, she said softly, bowing her head down to look at him. You have come a long way today. Rest.
Schrodinger curled up in the straw, grateful for the respite. How did you know I was here?
I could smell you, she said.
Ah.
They sat in silence for a couple of moments, while Schrodinger warmed up. Then he asked, Who are you?
I am Ember, the dragon replied. Your friend Drew helped me out of a trap after Old Man Winter found me.
Drew is a good man, Schrodinger said. He’s why I’m here.
Yes. He’s spoken of you.
He has? Schrodinger blinked. Really?
Yes. He misses you and Molly very much. Ember raised her head as the stable door opened. But you didn’t come to see him. You came to see someone else.
Yes. Schrodinger got to his feet as Old Man Winter came into the stable. Yes, I did.
Old Man Winter towered above him, clad in grey and silver and white furs. Snow danced around him, and ice frosted his beard and mustache. His blue-green bore down on the CrossCat. “What do you want?” His voice rumbled out, harsh in the silence.
I have a message for you, Old Man Winter. Schrodinger’s voice didn’t waver at all. He was rather proud of that. An invitation.
The old man’s eyebrows rose into his hat. “What message?” The rumble didn’t quite hide the hint of interest in his voice.
Molly Barrett invites you to have tea with her tomorrow, at CrossWinds Books Tea Shop, in Carter’s Cove, Schrodinger said. She wants to talk to you.
“Then why didn’t she come here?” Old Man Winter said.
Because she can’t. She promised the Snow Queen she wouldn’t go looking for Drew. So she’s not. Schrodinger cocked his head. She’s a very good cook, you know. Even if you don’t want to talk to her, you should come and let her feed you.
Go, Old Man, Ember added. You stole her lover from her, at Christmas. You owe her the courtesy of hearing her out.
“Fine,” Old Man Winter grunted, coming into the box and kneeling down next to the dragon. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Now scoot. I have things to do.”
Schrodinger scooted.
Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.
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