Page 4 of Saved By Her Guardian
“I thought you might give me a different one.”
“Hmm, like ferrying elderly souls that have had a nice, long life and no regrets?Give me a break, Aralyn.You don’t get to pick your assignment, and you don’t get to make a fool out of me.You will stay here in Cairnwood until you’ve learned your lesson and accepted your assignment.And you will work with Church to keep the cemetery clean and safe.”
“It’s staying here and losing my magic or ferrying children’s souls?”she asked as bitterness filled her.
“Yes.”
“It’s not much of a choice.”
“Well, spend some time here, and then we’ll see how you feel.It won’t be long before your magic wanes and you feel the effects of it.”He walked by her, the edges of his coat swirling the fog as he moved.
She watched him walk through the gate and lift his hand, opening a portal.He didn’t look back at her as he stepped through, and the portal disappeared.Then it was just her and Church.
“Shit.”She looked at the dog and he tilted his head slightly, his red eyes glowing in the darkness.Then he walked away, and she was left alone again.She picked up her bag and followed him, making her way to the side of the building where she found the abbey and a room where she could sleep.Setting her bag under her bed, she walked out of the abbey and saw Church padding along the perimeter of the cemetery, a faithful watchdog who would patrol every night.And now he was her coworker.
Well, she wasn’t one to sit around doing nothing and feeling sorry for herself, so she decided to explore the church and the grounds and get the lay of the land before she settled in and found something to do to occupy her time.Without any souls to reap and an assignment to keep the church and cemetery safe and clean, she was basically a magical custodian.
Not exactly what she’d expected to happen to her after graduation.
But she didn’t want to ferry children’s souls.And if the choice was that or cleaning the church, then she’d clean the church.Maybe Uncle Grim would change his mind before she lost all her magic.She didn’t know what she would do if she had to actually choose between the magic that made her a reaper and the part of her that didn’t want to ferry children’s souls.
The wind howled across Northernmost like it had a mind of its own, sharp and biting.Saint Nicholas—Santa to the world—stood near the Well of Magic, snow sticking to his thick, wool coat.He was aware of the cold but not bothered by it and had come outside for fresh air so he could think.
And mourn.
December was a particularly hard month, and not just because his brother had painted a perpetual target on his back and tried to kill him constantly.
In his hand he held an ornament the size of a plum.
Asugarplum, in fact.
It was a beautifully carved wooden sugarplum hanging from a red silk cord that his late wife, Maryann, had made for him.She’d never gotten a chance to give it to him.He’d found it under the tree after she was killed by his brother Angel—known the world over as Jack Frost—in retaliation for the death of his own wife.A death Saint had been blamed for, but hadn’t caused.
The sugarplum was sanded smooth and enchanted with Maryann’s own witch magic so that it warmed whenever he held it.The note she’d placed in the box had said she’d wanted him to feel her warmth and love wherever he was.
Now he was just hollow and aching.
And constantly fighting for his life.
He whispered her name, and it vanished in the howling wind.
He squeezed the plum a little tighter, his hand warming, and lifted his gaze to the Well that was pulsing with golden light as it responded to the arrival of a trio of fairies.Their delicate wings flickered with iridescent colors as they greeted their Guardian escorts—two of the nine shifters who worked for Saint at the top of the world in Northernmost.
The fairies came to the Well to replenish their magic, the golden glow of the Well mimicked by the Northern Lights overhead.
As the fairies finished, they walked with the Guardians to the Portal to return home, and he let his gaze move around the perimeter of the town, which was protected by his own magic and prevented anyone evil, like his brother or his followers, from getting inside.
The Well of Magic was the source of good magic in the world.If Angel took control and turned it dark, the world would be lost.Fairies, witches, warlocks—they would all turn to dark magic or lose their magic entirely.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
Christmas?Hope itself?
Would be snuffed out like a cigarette.
And that was something he would never allow to happen.He would fight to the death to ensure the Well remained good and his brother never gained control of it.
His phone buzzed, drawing his thoughts from his brother and the grief that was a constant prickle in his heart.
