Page 14 of Matches and Mistletoe
Just in time to see my daughter Ellie change her shape.
One second she’s Ellie, blue eyes, dark curls, blue coat. The next second, she’s a strange, lumpy creature with green skin, a blobby nose, and pointed ears. The creature leans over the side of the crib, jagged nails and green claws reaching for my baby.
A scream rips from my throat.
The creature whirls, snarling between sharp yellow teeth. “She is here? She is supposed to be in the kitchen!” it hisses at me.
I grab Ellie’s wooden rocking horse and I throw it at the creature. The horse smashes against the crib, knocking the creature to the floor, where it squirms and squeals and then vanishes.
It’s just me, and Mary, and the silent bedroom, and the dark wood of the rocking horse gleaming in the lamplight.
Where is Ellie?
That creature had her shape. It fooled me, so it could get in and take the baby. But where is Ellie, the real Ellie?
Snatching Mary out of the crib, I run outside. The cold strikes me, snaking between the buttons of my dress, piercing my skin as if I’m wearing nothing at all.
“Ellie!” A broken cry, muffled by snow and silent trees.
No one lives within a ten-minute walk of our house. I’m alone.
Barefoot, I run through the freezing snow to the center of the yard and call again. “Ellie!”
Mary whimpers against me, and I realize that I’m gripping her much too tightly. I relax my fingers a little.
“Ellie,” I whisper.
A twig snaps in the forest. And another.
A flash of red among the trees, dark at first, then brighter as the figure comes out from the shadows.
Across the snowy yard strides a man, dark-haired, dressed in a long red coat. He’s carrying Ellie in his arms.
I run forward, wanting to take her from him, but I have the baby. “Mother Mary above! Where was she?” I ask, almost crying with relief.
“I found her in the woods. She’s cold, but she’ll be fine.” The low melody of his voice catches my attention, and I look up at him. He’s tall, well over six feet, and his face—handsome isn’t the word. Beautiful, maybe. Angelic.
Maybe he’s an angel. Of course he is! A guardian angel, sent to watch over us. Maybe sent by Tom.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Please, bring her inside, if you would.”
“Of course.”
Ellie’s face is smooth, relaxed in sleep, but once he lays her on the couch, I can see that her lips look faintly blue. Her fingers are ice-cold to the touch.
“I—I need to get blankets, to warm her,” I stammer. I lay Mary in the bassinet in the living room, and I run to the bedroom for the blankets.
When I rush back in, the dark-haired man is just removing his hand from Ellie’s forehead. I would swear by the saints that a faint golden glow lingers on her skin and shimmers at his fingertips. But the next second it’s gone; and when I touch her hand this time, she’s warm.
While he’s watching her, I look at him—at his smooth forehead, the way the dark hair tumbles over it in waves; at his straight black brows. Under thick, dark lashes gleam gray eyes, so pale they’re almost luminescent. Over his bold cheekbones and straight nose there’s a sprinkling of light freckles, like brown sugar. And those lips—thin, with a sexy twist to them.
He turns to me, his gray eyes meeting mine. “What’s your name?” he asks. “You remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago.”
As I’m about to answer, Ellie’s eyes open.
“Mama,” she says, sitting up. “What happened?”
I have no idea. I’m beginning to think I hallucinated the creature in the girls’ room. Or perhaps it was a demon, driven off by the presence of this angelic-looking man kneeling beside my couch, his shoulder just a few inches from mine as we both lean over Ellie.
