Page 27 of Holly and Ivar
Holly paced the worn rug in sock feet, robe belted tight over plaid pajamas.The map lay open on the desk, but she wasn’t looking at it.Not yet.
Her eyes flicked to the corner.To the broom.
“I know you’re trying to tell me something.”The words came out as a mutter.“You followed me to Winterwood.You turned up in the forest.I get it.I’m listening.”
The broom leaned in silence, its straw bristles curled with age.Rough-hewn and handmade, crafted in Italy ages ago and carved from the Tree of the Ancients.La Befana’s voice echoed in her mind.“When the time comes, it will guide you to the truth your heart has forgotten.”
Holly’s legs went weak, so she sat at the small desk.At the time, she’d chalked those words up to poetic ceremony.The broom was a tool.Transportation.Like a sleigh.Like a snowmobile.Like any other piece of operational equipment.
But what if it was more than that?It had followed her to Winterwood of its own free will, and now, she was talking to it.She didn’t talk to her car.Or her sleigh.Neither of those followed her around.So… what did that mean?
Growing up around magic meant never questioning its existence.But she’d always seen it as infrastructure.An energy grid to be harnessed, measured, forecasted, and distributed.Magic as logistics.
And yet, Ivar had said a tree had helped him.Not covered him.Not sheltered him.Helped.It had kept him warm through the night.
Her fingers twitched.
That wasn’t systemized magic.That was… intent.
Ivar’s tree.The Yule Tree.The Tree of the Ancients.
With a slow exhale, her focus returned to the map.She smoothed the crinkled edge, appreciating the topographical lines, color-coded markers, GPS overlays, and coordinates.Comfort.Structure.Logic.
Then she pulled out Ivar’s map.
It was everything hers wasn’t—hand-drawn grids, smudged pencil notes, a faint coffee stain in the corner, some tree doodles along the edges.Messy.Real.Totally him.
She should’ve laughed it off.
Instead, she placed them side by side under the lamplight.
The crossed-out sections and directional arrows all seemed to orbit a patch of forest that didn’t even appear on hers.A blank spot.A gap.A pocket of nothing.
Her finger tapped at that spot, and her eyes returned to the broom.
“Is this it?Is this where we're supposed to go?”
The broom didn’t move.Or did it?No.The floor creaked.Old houses did that, right?
A sigh escaped as she rubbed her forehead.“I’m not doing this.I’m not becomingthatKringle.The one who talks to brooms and follows breadcrumbs into the woods like she’s in a Christmas movie.”
The broom said nothing.
“I’m a businesswoman.I run supply chains.Forecast global toy logistics.I don’t believe in—”
A whoosh of air brushed past her, making the curtains stir, but the window was closed.
Then the fire flared, just for a heartbeat.Shadows stretched along the far wall like reaching branches, then melted back.
Holly’s breath caught.
Another look at the broom, voice barely above a whisper.“You really are trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”
The air in the room held still but charged, as if full of static waiting to spark.
Her finger slid across the map, stopping over the blank spot that pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat.
Because she knew where that blank spot might lead them.
