Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

B riar trudged through knee-deep snow, juggling an enormous box of Christmas decorations while trying not to slip on the hidden ice beneath. The dark storm clouds still loomed overhead, their unnatural purple-black swirls promising more magical mayhem, but she refused to let them dampen her spirits. After days of battling supernatural frost alongside Falkor, she’d made an executive decision: his cabin desperately needed an injection of holiday cheer.

A gust of wind whipped her red hair around her face, carrying the scent of pine and winter magic. Through the trees, Falkor’s cabin came into view, looking as unwelcoming as ever. No wreaths adorned the heavy wooden door, no lights brightened the windows, not even a hint of festivity touched the place. It stood dark and brooding against the white landscape, rather like its owner.

“Everyone deserves a little holiday magic,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on the box. Inside, specially enchanted garlands sparkled with Luna’s frost magic—guaranteed not to melt and specially crafted to bring joy to even the grumpiest of souls. The proprietor of Mystic Moon Magic Shop had even thrown in some extra-strength cheer charms, along with a knowing wink.

Briar didn’t bother knocking. After spending the past few days fighting side by side against an evil spirit, such formalities seemed unnecessary. She shouldered open the heavy door, nearly stumbling under her burden of holiday cheer.

The cabin’s interior wrapped around her like a warm blanket, the temperature drastically different from the bitter cold outside—a side effect of having a dragon for an owner. Falkor sat in his usual spot by the massive stone fireplace, an ancient-looking leather-bound book open in his lap. He looked up at her intrusion, one dark eyebrow rising as he took in the overflowing box and her unwavering expression.

The firelight caught his features in fascinating ways, turning his golden eyes molten and highlighting the sharp planes of his face. His long black hair was loose today, falling past his shoulders in gorgeous waves. Not that she was noticing such things.

“What,” he asked carefully, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room, “is all this?”

Briar beamed at him, setting down her box with a theatrical flourish that sent a shower of magical sparkles into the air. “We’re transforming this place into a winter wonderland!”

“No.” The word came out flat and immediate.

“Yes,” she countered, already pulling out lengths of sparkling garland. “Your cabin is practically begging for some Christmas spirit. Listen—can’t you hear it? ‘Help me, Briar ,’“ she mimicked in a squeaky voice. “ ‘I’m so cold and lonely without decorations .’“

A muscle twitched in Falkor’s jaw, but Briar caught the hint of amusement he tried to hide. This close, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes more clearly, like embers floating in honey. “My cabin,” he said with dignity, “does not beg.”

“Well, I’m begging on its behalf.” She draped a garland experimentally across his mantelpiece, the enchanted frost catching the firelight and sending rainbow prisms dancing across the walls. “Come on, where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Dead. Buried. At peace.”

“Then we’ll resurrect it.” Briar pulled more decorations from her box, humming “Deck the Halls” under her breath. To her surprise, Falkor didn’t stop her. He returned to his book, but she noticed his eyes tracking her movements as she flitted around the room.

The cabin slowly transformed under her touch. Each decoration had been carefully chosen, not just for aesthetics but for the magic woven into it. Garlands framed the windows and doorways, their enchanted frost creating delicate patterns that complemented the natural ice outside.

Ornaments in deep reds and golds hung from the ceiling beams, each one containing a spelled light that cast warm circles onto the wooden floors. The air began to fill with the scent of cinnamon and pine from the magical potpourri she scattered in strategic locations.

“The thing about Christmas decorations,” she said as she worked, “is that each one tells a story.” She held up a hand-painted ornament depicting a snowy scene. “This one was made by one of the children at the orphanage last year. See how the snow actually falls within the picture? That was his first successful spell.”

Falkor moved closer, studying the ornament with unexpected interest. “He has talent.”

“He does.” Briar smiled softly. “Christmas at the orphanage is special. It’s when the children’s magic often first manifests—something about the joy and wonder of the season brings it out.” She hung the ornament carefully. “That’s why I love this time of year so much. It’s full of possibilities.”

She pulled out more lengths of enchanted garland that sparkled like freshly fallen snow caught in sunlight. Tiny bells woven throughout chimed softly with each movement, creating a melody that reminded Briar of winter mornings at the orphanage.

“These aren’t ordinary decorations,” she explained, holding up a strand so Falkor could see the intricate spellwork woven into each crystal. “Luna enchanted them to bring light to dark places.” She glanced at him meaningfully. “Both literally and metaphorically.”

“Subtle,” Falkor drawled, but he reached out to touch one of the crystals. The moment his finger made contact, the entire strand blazed brighter, responding to his magical essence. His eyes widened slightly.

“See?” Briar grinned. “The decorations like you.”