Monsters Under Mistletoe

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

S cene change. Darkness.

Night took the city early, as it does in December. On The Luckey Chance’s stage, the company gathered in a wide ring of candles. Flames glowed on the glossy rinds of oranges cupped in their hands. Carolina gazed down, bountiful and attentive.

Hortense held hers the way bishops hold the orb and cross. She glanced with affection at her daughter. Renée smiled. Together, they sang in resonant alto.

“In the bleak midwinter,

Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron,

Water like a stone.”

The company joined. One-by-one they stepped into the centre of the ring to lay their orange in offering. The song transformed the gaudy, shabby theatre into a great abbey, its vaulted rafters carrying their haunted hymn to the angels.

“Snow had fallen,

Snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago.”

Eryri joined hesitantly. Singing jarred in the hooves-in-mud rhythm of English. Welsh moved like an adder in grass, textured but continuous, each rich word melting into the next. Was his family singing now, snuggled in the caverns, echoing off rock and metal? His chest swelled painfully. Renée’s voice rang out, strong and sweet. It calmed his conflicted homesickness.

“Worship night and day.”

Renée caught friendly eyes as she sang. She looked to Carolina. Candlelight laid marigolds in her cheeks. Her smile looked wider, warmer, giving them hope and faith and joy. A princess could do that.

I promise to pass it on. I’ll be a princess just like you.

She lowered her gaze to her mother, the flames a sheen on her glasses. Her voice was warm and strident. It had filled her childhood, still cradled her when she felt alone. Renée was immeasurably proud of her immeasurable mother. If only she was also immeasurable.

“But only His mother in her maiden bliss

Worshipped the Beloved…”

She leaned subtly away from Hortense towards Eryri on her other side. Powerful Chanel gave way to the pleasant smell of paint, peppermint and pine. His voice was a coal-crackle rumble. Her heart fluttered.

“With a kiss.”

It was their turn. Eryri turned to Renée tentatively. She held out her orange. He palmed the other half, making sure not to touch her with his cold fingertips. It was almost like holding hands. They walked in the song’s sombre rhythm to the little hoard of glimmering oranges and stooped to lay theirs down. Their hands stayed close. Together, they looked to Carolina. All Eryri saw was his princess. He bowed his head. Renée sneaked him a secret smile, her eyes gilded. His blood prickled like cinnamon. They lingered in the darkness. Their hands parted. As they returned to the circle, the final verse unwound from that eternal feeling in the pit of Eryri’s chest.

"What can I give,

Poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb.

If I were a wise man, I would do my part.

Yet what I can, I give,

Give my heart.”