Page 21 of A Cursed Noel
“I’m eighteen.” Ifight the cold snap that strikes my bare arms. “It’s almostspring back home.”
Celia manages a fewslow breaths, their visibility barely perceptible in the snow. “I’mnineteen. Christmas is in two days.”
“I picked up onthat,” I say. The tension accelerates in the quiet that follows.Our time together is brief, and we both know it.
She wants to say more.I do, too. But the misery between us is as palpable as the snowslapping against our faces. It keeps us silent. As does the knowledgeof our inevitable goodbye.
We pass several moreblocks before she speaks again.
“Why is thishappening?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” Iadmit. It’s all I can say, the words of comfort I seek are too farfrom my reach.
“It’s cruel that wehave to keep meeting like this.” She swallows hard. “Is notremembering supposed to be some show of mercy?”
“Mimi has no mercy togive,” I admit, bothered by how much I mean it. I’m out of mymind to see Celia again, but like she says, it’s cruel.
The light at theintersection changes, forcing us to stop. I take her by surprise bylifting her in my arms and kissing her. It’s not as long as I want,and it’s not all I want to do, but I’ll take any moment I canshare with Celia.
My shirt is soakedthrough, and if I wasn’t running as fast as I was, I’d freeze.Celia doesn’t care, leaning into me even as I lift my mouth fromhers.
“I don’t know whyI’m here,” I murmur against her lips. “All I know is that I’mhere for you and that’s good enough for me.”
She smiles, appearingreluctant to move when the light changes. “More later, okay?” sheglances up ahead. “The storm isn’t letting up and we have to keepmoving.”
It’s only because Iknow she’s right that I let her go.
We reach the downtownquickly. Instead of cutting through the back lots and alleyways,Celia takes me down the main street. Smart. Enough humans linger andsome shops remain open. The activity will make the local pack thinktwice about starting trouble.
I extend out my sensesto be sure. Buildings erected sometime during the 1800s line eitherside of the street while more modern buildings stretch out along theside streets.
It’s two worldsspread out in a small area. Somehow it works. Where typewriter repairshops and small grocery stores once stood, trendy clothing stores andrestaurants now lure in current shoppers, promising a good sale or adelicious meal.
Jersey is not my ideaof a good time. It’s also not what I expected. Not this side of it,anyway. Everything that screams Christmas: twinkling lights, garland,and mistletoe dangle and adorn every post and window along this smallpiece of America. Not in a bad way. It’s nice. Pretty. There aren’tany cheap plastic decorations, overinflated snowmen, or reindeerwaving hello with their hooves. There’s just cheer, I guess. Thekind I’ve forgotten since Dad died.
I shouldn’t sensethat cheer now, not with Celia in danger and what I might have toface. But with her presence this close, thingsarebetter.We’re unstoppable, she and I. As lame as it sounds, I can take onanything with her by my side. Anything.
Until she’s gone.
Celia increases herspeed, racing us past large open alleys blocked off from cars. Theymust have concerts here in the summer, show movies, and haveperformances. Just like they do back home. It’s perfect, given allthe places to eat. I wish I could take Celia to dinner here, on areal date. I wish I could celebrate Christmas with her, spoil herrotten with gifts, and kiss her under the mistletoe. Except herwell-being is the priority and, knowing Mimi, I won’t have theluxury of more than a few days.
Mimi didn’t come outand say it, but knowing her, the minute my mission is complete,she’ll yank me far from Celia and drop me in a pile of manure.
My wolf perks up as theenergy shifts, pulling me back into the moment. Almost at once,everything starts to shut down. The few and daring last minuteshoppers huddle into their scarves and rush to their cars. Unlike us,they slide here and there, almost falling in their haste to reachshelter.
Lights flicker off asshop owners close down for the night. A couple disappears into therear of a jewelry store and out the backdoor.
“I was hoping to hidein the open,” Celia says, quietly. “Too late for that, now.”
She slows her pace to ajog. We’re still in hurry, but like me, she knows we’re beingwatched.
I see him half a secondbefore Celia. A man with dark skin and a beard eyes us from anapartment window above a trattoria. He’s muscular and tall,dwarfing the woman rocking the small baby on her hip. He’s one ofthe bears. I can tell by his dense build and the way he carrieshimself.
He says something tothe woman, his attention, never leaving us. She nods and hurries off.I don’t hear his snarl, but I catch it in the way he glares.
Bring it on, bitch.You don’t scare me.
“We can make a runfor it,” Celia suggests.