Claus

Thirty-Eight

She climbed the five steps to the front door and raised her hand before once more hesitating. Who would answer the door? Her mother? Grandfather? What did he think of Faryn? She wanted to believe he was ready to claim her as his own.

She knocked thrice, and let out a deep breath, mist curling in the air before her. This felt as if it should have been a scene where she was coming home for the holidays, but how far—

The door flew open and then Faryn's mother was right there before her. Safe. Whole. She didn't have time to react before Clora's arms had wrapped around her, sealing her against her mother. Faryn clung to her mother's white sweater as if she was in danger of being tugged away.

"Mom." A sob worked its way up her throat.

Clora pulled back enough to take in Faryn's face. "Your hair."

She suddenly felt self-conscious. "It's—it's always been like this. I just . . . hid it."

Clora ran her fingers through Faryn's locks, white strands caught sliding through white fingers. "It's beautiful. You shouldn't have."

Faryn bit her lip. Of course, her mother wouldn't understand why she had had to hide it. Her mother was proud of her ancestry.

Clora's gaze shifted to a point past Faryn, and her gray eyes sharpened.

"They're my friends."

"Are they coming in?"

"Not yet."

Nodding, she tugged Faryn inside and closed the door, never taking more than one hand off her. The walls of the entryway were painted a crisp white, and the furniture along the walls, the shelves, and the tables was made of crystal. Even the frames bearing paintings of past and present Morozkos were carved of it as well. Any decorations were the light blue of a peacock's feathers.

The floor, a white marble, reflected her and her mother in smears, as if a painter had messed up a canvas by featuring them.

Mrs. Claus led her daughter into a dining room that continued the white, crystal, and blue scheme. A white runner stretched from one end of the table to the other. The table was only set for two guests, and one of those seats was already filled by an older Acurial. His age was apparent in the wrinkles on his face and around his eyes—her mother's eyes, Jack's eyes. His beard was trimmed close to his face that betrayed no emotion. His hair and beard were white, but then they had always been, hadn't they? Because this could only be her grandfather, the Father Winter. His hair hung a few inches long, but it grew outward instead of hanging down as if it had been blown by the wind. The suit he wore reminded her of the colors of a blue morpho butterfly—his jacket, shirt and tie all within a monochrome pallet. She didn't know her grandfather's exact age, only that he was over seven hundred years old and in the presence of someone like that, who had seen so much of the history of both her world and the Human one, she couldn't help but feel as if she, with only her twenty-two years, amounted to nothing.

"Dad," Clora dragged Faryn across the room in his direction. "This is Faryn, your granddaughter."

His eyes softened. "Hello, Faryn. I've waited a long time to meet you." But compared to his lifetime what did long even mean?

They both motioned for Faryn to have a seat in one of the chairs, and her mother asked if she was hungry. Faryn was certain that she was, but her stomach felt as if it wouldn't be able to handle a thing.

She shook her head.

Her mother placed her hands flat on the table, one on top of the other. "You've been on quite the adventure."

Was her father here? Was he waiting for her?

"I've been trying to find you." Faryn toyed with the tip of her boot against the floor. "I was worried whoever took Nick would come for you."

Her mother frowned. "You should have only been worrying about yourself."

"I couldn't—" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I couldn't lose you. You were my only family."

Clora shifted in her seat. "What's important is that you're here now, and we're together."

Now that she had seen nothing horrific had been awaiting her, she should really go get Cassian, Peter, and Clíodhna. They would love a hot meal. A chance to stretch their legs after all the traveling they had done. But if her father was here, she wanted the chance to meet him without prying eyes.

"Where all have you been since Oxford?" her grandfather asked, and she told him, starting with Eiraacia, and she didn't hesitate to explain to him exactly how she had gotten tangled up with Cassian Etend. Her mother seemed to take each part of her journey in with horror and pride, and Faryn felt warmth bubble up in her chest.

But the conversation never steered toward her father. If he was here, surely her mother would have mentioned him by now. She couldn't wait any longer to have her friends join her.

How long had she been referring to them as her friends?

"I'm sure my friends are starting to worry about me." She pushed back her chair.

"Wait." Her grandfather looked at her mother. "Did you not tell her?"

Clora frowned. "Faryn, your friends can come in. We'll feed them. Let them rest for a few hours but they cannot stay."

Faryn leaned back in her seat. "Why? Because Flozzie and Peter are suspects?"

Her mother held up her hand. "No." She bit her burgundy painted lips. "It's not safe."

"They've risked so much for me when they barely know me. They got me out of Ruhnerium, and you want me to send them away? I can't do that."

A harsh wind swept through the room, blowing Faryn's hair across her face. Her grandfather's eyes narrowed. "You will for all of our sakes."

She felt something inside her tremble. But it wasn't fear. It felt like power. "Why?"

Clora placed her hand over Father Winter's, and the wind quieted. "We didn't want to involve you. We only wanted to make sure you would be safe. But I see this is the only way to convince you." Pushing back the crystal-clear dining chair, Clora stood.

Faryn's stomach didn't feel right. "Mom?"

Mrs. Claus offered her something of a smile and held out her hand for her while Father Winter got to his feet. "It's okay," she said, and Faryn placed her hand in her mother's. "We're together now."

Faryn's grandfather led the way out of the dining room and into a hallway before taking them down another one, finally stopping before a door that opened on a set of stairs leading down into a white basement that was definitely too shiny and bright for any self-respecting basement, but Faryn liked it. It wasn't scary. Or foreboding and her stomach even unwound some.

The basement held more crystal furniture, mainly tables that were covered in snow and tiny ice sculptures. There were reindeers and polar bears. Christmas trees and round ornaments with such intricate detail, Faryn expected them to pop if she stared too long. She had the power to control ice. Could she one day do something like this?

"Who made these?"

This wasn't bad at all, unless they were about to tell her that all the sculptures had once been Acurials who had been turned to ice.

"Your grandfather." Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to where he stood before a wall bare of any decorations. He laid his hand on it, and the wall rippled before it vanished completely revealing a wrought iron door inlaid with blue gems. It was like Peter's door that led into his workshop.

As Faryn's grandfather's hand pressed into the door, his eyes closed, the gems began to glow, brightening until the door opened inward, and there, shackled to a blindingly bright white wall, was Nick.

Anyone dressing up for Halloween this year? If so, what's your costume? I'm going as a Flapper.