Page 8 of Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells

Steam rose from his coffee cup, curling like spectral fingers in the cold air. As Falkor sipped the bitter liquid, unwanted memories surfaced – crystalline and sharp as the frost outside his windows.

“Christmas is for the weak, my son. Those who need trinkets and traditions to feel worthy.”

His mother’s voice, cold as midwinter ice, echoed through the centuries. Morganna Grashen had wielded the holiday season like a weapon, using it to demonstrate her power and their dependence. Every Christmas became a lesson in control, each gift a chain binding them tighter to her will.

Falkor’s grip tightened on his cup until the ceramic creaked in protest. Even now, eight hundred years later, the memories retained their poison. He forced his fingers to relax, watching the coffee ripple in the cup.

Evangelina’s face floated to the surface of his thoughts – his sister, the only one who truly understood. Where was she now? The last time they’d spoken... Falkor pushed the memory away. Better to maintain the distance. Their shared trauma created a chasm too wide to bridge.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, drawing Falkor’s attention outward. He strode to the door, stepping onto his snow-covered porch. The storm had intensified overnight, farbeyond natural weather patterns. Dark clouds roiled overhead, filled with more than just snow.

Falkor inhaled deeply, his enhanced senses cataloging the scents carried on the wind. Pine, frost, wood smoke from distant chimneys – and something else. Something wrong. An undercurrent of magic tainted the crisp mountain air, leaving an acrid taste on his tongue.

“This isn’t natural,” he growled, intense eyes scanning the tree line. The storm carried echoes of old power, reminiscent of... No. He wouldn’t indulge that thought. Yet the similarity nagged at him, impossible to dismiss entirely.

Back inside, Falkor glared at Cedric’s note again. Perhaps venturing into town held some merit, if only to gather information about the strange weather. He could maintain his distance while still assessing any potential threats.

Decision made, Falkor changed into dark jeans and a black sweater. Simple, practical clothing that wouldn’t draw attention. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, securing it in a loose tie at the nape of his neck. The signet ring on his finger caught the firelight, its ancient engravings a reminder of obligations he’d rather forget.

The walk into town gave him time to fortify his mental barriers. Christmas decorations appeared with increasing frequency as he approached civilization – wreaths on doors, twinkling lights strung between buildings, ribbons and garlands everywhere he looked. Each festive touch grated against his carefully maintained composure.

Hartley’s Brewery emerged in the distance, its warm lights a beacon in the deepening gloom. The establishment’s rustic charm suited its bear shifter owner. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, supporting strings of amber lights that cast a gentle glow. Holiday decorations remained tastefully minimal – Bram Hartley understood the diverse nature of his clientele.

The instant Falkor stepped inside, Cedric’s commanding presence drew his attention. The mayor sat near the massive stone fireplace, accompanied by Kade Blackwood and Bram Hartley. An interesting gathering – dragon, wolf, and bear. The town’s most powerful shifters in one place.

“The prodigal dragon returns!” Bram’s booming voice carried across the room. The bear shifter’s broad grin stretched his neatly trimmed beard. “Quick, someone mark the calendar. This requires commemoration.”

“I’ll add it to the town records,” Cedric played along, his golden eyes twinkling. “Historical event: Falkor Grashen remembers civilization exists.”

Kade pulled out a chair. “Sit before Bram declares a holiday in your honor.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bram wagged his finger. “I’ll brew a special beer and everything. We’ll call it ‘Dragon’s Descent.’“

Falkor suppressed a smile as he took the offered seat. “Your wife might object to another holiday. I heard she’s already planning three festivals for next month.”

“Ah, so you do pay attention to town gossip,” Bram clapped his hands in triumph. “See? He’s not completely hopeless.”

A bottle appeared in front of Falkor – dark glass containing an amber liquid that sparkled mysteriously in the firelight.

“My latest creation,” Bram announced proudly. “A smoky ale with hints of cardamom and star anise. Been aging it in whiskey barrels for months.”

NINE

Falkor took a careful sip. Complex flavors bloomed across his tongue – smoke and spice with an underlying sweetness that reminded him of ancient feast halls. “This... isn’t terrible.”

“Translation from dragon-speak: it’s fantastic and you want more,” Kade interpreted, earning chuckles from the others.

“Speaking of fantastic,” Bram leaned back in his chair, “have you heard about the new manager at Enchanted Essences for Kids? Briar something?”

Falkor’s hand tightened imperceptibly around his bottle. Of course, her name would come up.

“Rhee,” Cedric supplied. “Briar Rhee. She’s made quite an impression already, especially at the orphanage.”

“Tabitha mentioned that,” Bram nodded. “Said she enchanted their Christmas tree. The children haven’t stopped talking about it.”

“Ellie told me the same thing,” Kade added. “Apparently the ornaments respond to the children’s emotions – glow brighter when they’re happy, play soothing music when they’re sad. Clever magic.”

Something twisted in Falkor’s chest. The image of children gathered around a magical Christmas tree, faces bright with wonder, contrasted sharply with his own memories of cold halls and calculated cruelty.

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