Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 12

TWELVE

T he bitter wind howled through Mystic Moon Magic Shop, rattling the glass bottles on their shelves despite the protection spells. Multicolored potions caught the late afternoon light, casting dancing shadows across the worn wooden floor.

The scent of herbs—sage, rosemary, and something distinctly magical—hung thick in the air. Briar wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of peppermint tea, seeking warmth as she huddled with the other witches near the shop’s ancient hearth. The fire crackled merrily, a stark contrast to the malevolent storm raging outside.

“There must be something else we can try,” she said, watching ice crystals form intricate patterns on the frost-covered windows. Her own reflection stared back at her, dark red hair tumbling in waves around a face pinched with worry. The dark magic grew stronger by the hour, and their attempts to counter it had proven futile. Even their strongest protection spells had barely made a dent.

Celeste brushed her auburn hair back from her face, exchanging a meaningful look with Daisy. The pink-haired witch fidgeted with her bright glasses, a tell-tale sign she was about to drop some interesting information.

“Well...” Celeste began, her voice careful. “There might be someone who could help. Though he’s not exactly the friendly sort.”

“Who?” Briar leaned forward, hope flickering in her chest. At this point, she’d take help from a grumpy garden gnome if it meant saving Christmas for the orphanage kids.

“Falkor Grashen,” Daisy said, adjusting her glasses for the third time in as many minutes. “He’s a fire dragon shifter who lives deep in the woods outside town. He’s got in spades the kind of raw power we’d need to fight this storm.”

“A dragon shifter?” Briar’s eyes widened. Something stirred in her memory—golden eyes in the darkness, overwhelming warmth during her near-accident on the mountain road. She pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present. “Tell me more about him.”

Celeste sighed, crossing her arms. “He’s... complicated. Powerful, yes, but he’s what you might call a recluse. Keeps to himself, barely comes into town except for absolute necessities. Some folks say he hasn’t celebrated Christmas in centuries.”

“Centuries?” Briar blinked, her tea forgotten. “How old is he?”

“Old enough to have some serious baggage,” Daisy replied, her usual cheerful tone softening. She perched on the edge of a nearby counter, swinging her feet. The crystals hanging in the shop window cast rainbow prisms across her face. “But his fire magic is legendary. The stories say he once melted an entire glacier to save a village. If anyone could help us battle this storm, it’d be him.”

“What’s his deal with Christmas?” Briar asked, curiosity piqued. As someone who lived for the holiday season, who spent months planning perfect gifts and decorating every inch of available space, she couldn’t imagine choosing to ignore its magic.

“Nobody really knows,” Celeste said. “Though Kade mentioned once that it has something to do with his mother. Whatever happened, it left some deep scars.”

Briar stood, straightening her emerald sweater. The soft wool sparkled with tiny, enchanted snowflakes—a touch of whimsy she’d added herself. “Then I’ll go talk to him. We can’t afford to overlook any help, not with the children at the orphanage counting on us.”

“Are you sure?” Celeste’s brow furrowed. “He’s not exactly... welcoming to visitors. The last time someone showed up uninvited at his cabin, they say he turned into his dragon form and scorched the ground at their feet.”

“That was just a rumor,” Daisy interjected quickly, noting Briar’s raised eyebrows. “Though he did apparently growl at the mailman last week. Poor guy refuses to deliver packages now—just leaves them at the edge of the property.”

“I’ll take cookies,” Briar declared, undeterred. “Nobody can resist Molly’s famous sugar cookies, right? Plus, I’m pretty good at dealing with grumpy people.”

“This is different,” Celeste warned. “Falkor Grashen isn’t some mischievous pixie. He’s powerful, dangerous, and very deliberately alone. Plus...” She hesitated.

“Plus, what?”

“Plus, he’s gorgeous,” Daisy blurted out. “Like, unfairly gorgeous. Which somehow makes him even more intimidating.”

Briar laughed. “I think I can handle an attractive recluse. I’m not looking for romance right now anyway.” Her last relationship had ended amicably six months ago when she and James realized they wanted different things. He’d wanted to settle in the city; she’d felt called to Whispering Pines. No drama, no trauma—just two adults making adult decisions.

The wind rattled the shop’s sign outside as if nature itself doubted her optimism. But Briar squared her shoulders. She’d grown up in an orphanage herself—she understood isolation and the walls people built around their hearts. Sometimes all it took was one person brave enough to reach out.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “But we have to try something. Those kids deserve a magical Christmas, not... whatever this is.” She gestured to the increasingly ominous storm outside.

Back at her cottage, Briar prepared with careful consideration. Into a wicker basket went a thermos of rich hot cocoa, still steaming and fragrant with vanilla and a hint of cinnamon. She wrapped Molly’s cookies in festive paper, their sweetness promising comfort. Last came the scarf she’d knitted herself, deep burgundy wool shot through with golden threads that sparkled like dragon scales.

“Maybe a little kindness will go a long way,” she murmured, studying her reflection as she pulled on her warmest coat. She dabbed on a touch of tinted lip balm—purely to protect against the cold, she told herself, definitely not because of Daisy’s “unfairly gorgeous” comment.

The magic-resistant cold bit through her layers immediately as she stepped outside. Even her strongest warming spell seemed weak against the supernatural chill. Her breath frosted in the air, and the wind cut straight through her coat.