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“Whoa! What happened?” Larry asks in concern.
“I fell,” I lie, reaching up and snagging my white cloak, which is nearly impossible to spot if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Angels wear almost exclusively white, but I had a red lining put on mine after I’d lost my fifth cloak in one year. Now, the angels won’t touch it. Bonus, the lining is velvety soft.
Larry mutters concerned phrases like “Oh dear, are you all right?” and other generic nonsense that I ignore.
I throw on my cloak and pull up my hood, then peer carefully around the edge of the doorjamb.
Alan’s back is to me, green wings tucked in.
Score!
I bolt for the door and don’t even care when I’m blasted by arctic wind as I step out into the night. Instead, I tilt my face up and admire the aurora borealis that stretches between the human realm and ours for a second before hurrying across the street through the snow. Luckily, the sleighs packed it down today, but there are still drifts as tall as houses in places. No one ever wanders off the road in Christmas Village. They stick to the straight and narrow path.
But of course they do. They’re angels.
I open the door to the stable, which is packed tonight. Cheery golden lanterns hanging from the ceiling give the barn a golden glow. Unfortunately, the smell of the place is not nearly as good as the look of it. Every stall is full, and some reindeer are even squished in two to a stall. I guess everyone and their brother has ridden their reindeer out to the town.
It is getting close to Christmas, so it makes sense that they all want to decompress before the twenty-four-hour shifts start.
“Blitzen!” I call out, trying not to step too far into the hay-strewn barn. Parking stables are not very hygienic places.
A low groan sounds, and a massive reindeer emerges from one of the stalls, hay sticking out of either side of his mouth. “You goofy boy! Have you been eating this whole time?” My voice automatically reverts to a baby tone, and the smile on my face is automatic.
I love the reindeer. They’re one of my favorite things about the North Pole.
Blitzen trots over, opening his mouth and just letting bits of hay drop off his tongue. I laugh. “You’re so lazy! Come on, I’m ready to go home!”
At the word “home,” his brown ears perk up and his eyes widen. He walks a bit faster, butting my shoulder with his head in what I deem a reindeer hug. When we get just outside the stable door, I shove it closed, and then Blitzen pauses near a stump. I climb up onto the stump and then use it to help me mount his back.
Once my legs are on, he jolts forward. I hurry to grab onto his antlers so that I don’t fall off. “Whoa, big boy! What’s your hurry?”
Blitzen moans out something that I’m certain is a reply in reindeer-speak. Unfortunately, I have no idea what it means.
I move my hands, trying to slide them down from his horns so that I can find the reins, but as soon as I do, he moves from a walk into a jolting trot, and I have to grab back on to his horns and squeeze for dear life.
“Blitz! Are you crazy?” I squeal as he picks up speed and darts down the road, rounding a corner.
Of course, there’s a reason I picked Blitzen. Out of all the reindeer, he’s the absolute laziest. His little jaunt doesn’t last longer than sixty seconds before he slows back down to a walk. Sixty more seconds, and his pace is absolutely glacial. I chose him tonight because he typically has the perfect pace for a drunken ride home, or a drunken ride of shame home the next morning.
The wind picks up, and magical little snowflakes dance around us as Blitz leads me back towards my little log cabin.
To my amusement, but not surprise, Blitzen’s favorite pals are waiting for us. Grouped around my front door are Cupid, Comet, Donner, and Dasher. The five reindeer are like a little club, always hanging out together. And for some reason, they’ve adopted me, which really seems to irk Dad.
But I’ve got a way with animals, what can I say?
They love my cookies. And the belly rubs I give them, though I constantly have to tell Comet to stop getting a red rocket when I scratch his belly. And they really,reallylove it when I stroke their horns. I didn’t think animal horns were that sensitive, but I guess that just shows how little I know.
“My guys.” I smile when I see them, my heart warming. They’re so loyal. And they wouldnevermake a wreath out of my hair.
A chorus of lows and bellows reaches my ears as they say hello back to me. Cupid sits calmly back, watching the others come to greet me, while Comet runs around me in circles, his teeth nipping at the pair of gloves in my back pocket, the scoundrel. Donner rolls onto his belly, demanding tummy rubs, while Dasher gives him the reindeer equivalent of a scowl and annoyed huff.
“Gosh, I just love you guys,” I say. “I had the worst date in the history of the world! Who wants to hear about it while I bake cookies?”
More lows and bellows.
I giggle. “All right then. Come on. Let’s go to the workshop kitchen, because there’s no way all five of you will fit into my tiny cabin. And if you need to do your business…do it now. Anyone who makes a mess on the floor there will not get any of my cookies!”
Five reindeers immediately poop, including the one I’m riding.
