Poison Fruit

“Right,” I said. “Ellie. Okay, bring a thermos. I’ll make hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps. Lee can come, too, of course.”

“I’ll ask him,” Jen said. “But you and me? We’re on, Daise.”

It made me glad, and that was enough. Friendship and community were another shield to raise against whatever darkness might come, whatever darkness lurked inside of me. El Arbol, the Tree.

These were my roots, and I needed to hold fast to them.

It was a gray, overcast day, the temperature hovering a bit below freezing. Nothing had changed by the time the sun began to sink in the west, so I guess whatever surprise Sinclair had hinted at remained within the realm of possibility. Inspired by yesterday’s bout of extreme domesticity preparing dinner with my mom, I went to the trouble of making hot cocoa from scratch. I’d just finished whisking it to frothy perfection when Jen arrived with Lee in tow.

“Check you out!” Lee seemed impressed. “I never figured you for the Martha Stewart type, Daisy.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.” I took the cocoa off the heat and opened the bottle of schnapps. “Did you bring a thermos?”

Jen passed me hers. “We’ll share.”

Seeing them as a tentative couple made me happy for them both, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little jealous, too. Envy, one of the Seven Deadlies. Just the thought of it made the shadow of my nightmare loom larger. I pushed the emotion resolutely to one side, filling Jen’s thermos with a generous pour of peppermint schnapps before ladling cocoa into it.

Outside in the park, the ceremony was beginning, the strains of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” rising into the cold air. I filled my own thermos and put on my Michelin Man coat, and the three of us trooped down the stairs and into the park.

A good-size crowd had already gathered around the big spruce in the center of the park, tourists and locals alike. A dozen carolers bundled in layers of nineteenth-century costume attire launched into “Here We Come A-Wassailing” as we joined the throng. Stacey Brooks was there with a video camera, filming the picturesque scene.

“Daisy!” Mom called to me across the park, beckoning with one mittened hand. “Come on over.” She was standing arm in arm with Lurine, who was looking fabulous in a full-length ermine coat. Damn, I really needed a new winter coat. Gus the ogre, my mom’s neighbor, loomed behind them, imposing even to mundane eyes.

“You should have told me you were coming,” I said to Mom. “I would have had you up for cocoa.”

Mom waved a dismissive mitten. “Oh, we’re just here for the lighting.” She gave Jen a hug. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

“You, too, Mom Jo.” Jen smiled. “I hear you put on quite the feast yesterday. Hi, Lurine. Hi, Gus.”

“Hey, pretty girl,” Lurine said to her. “Nice to see you.”

Gus ducked his boulder-size head, shuffled his feet, and rumbled something inaudible. Have I mentioned that Gus has a crush on my mom? Well, he does.

“You must be Lee,” Mom said to Lee. “My, but you’ve turned into quite the gentleman around town! I wouldn’t have recognized you. This is my neighbor Gus, and I think you know Lurine Hollister,” she said, squeezing Lurine’s arm.

Lee’s reaction also involved foot shuffling and mumbling, something about having had the pleasure. I couldn’t tell if he was blushing in this light, but I’m pretty sure he was. I may have rolled my eyes a little, and Jen may have let out a faint sigh.

“Shhh!” Mom shushed us as the carolers finished a-wassailing and the town crier stepped forward, ringing his bell. “They’re about to light the tree.”

“Hey!” Sinclair squeezed through the crowd to join us, sounding a little out of breath. “Glad I didn’t miss it.” I offered him my thermos and he smiled at me before taking a swig. “Thanks, sistah. Don’t mind if I do.” He handed it back to me, lowering his voice. “Are you doing okay, Daisy?”

“More or less,” I said. “Tonight, more than less. You?”

Sinclair hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I think you were right—the end justified the means. Just don’t ask me to put a curse on you again anytime soon, okay?” He shuddered. “I can’t say I feel good about having done it.”

“No problem,” I assured him. “I can’t say I feel good about having it done to me. So what’s this big surprise you mentioned?”

He glanced up at the night sky and pursed his lips. “Wait and see.”

I waited; we all waited, standing around the park, stamping our feet on the frozen ground and blowing on our fingers while the town crier announced Jason Hallifax, the mayor of the city of Pemkowet, who made a long speech about the virtues of community and togetherness and the spirit of the holidays.

At last, the mayor gave the order.

The tall spruce came alive in a dazzling rush of light, a kaleidoscopic beacon against the darkness. The crowd applauded. Overhead, a generous handful of big, fluffy snowflakes drifted down from the hidden clouds—

No, wait. There were sparkling silver-white figures darting amid the snowflakes on gossamer wings.

“Frost fairies!” Jen exclaimed in delight.

There were oohs and aahs from the assembled watchers as the frost fairies spiraled around the tree, descending to hover just out of reach above our heads, their translucent wings making a faint, musical tinkling sound and refracting the Christmas tree lights in blurred glints of red, gold, blue, pink, white, and green. One alighted atop Sinclair’s head and, with a smug look on her exquisite, minuscule features, gave his dreadlocks a fond tug that coated them with hoarfrost.