The Witch of the North Pole by Snow Eden

Author:Snow Eden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christmas, witch, mayhem, magic, Santa, elves, Xmas, elf, fairy, fairies, holiday, cozy, paranormal, paranormal women's fiction, paranormal mystery, humorous holiday book, witch cozy
Publisher: Azure Willow Press
Published: 2017-12-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“THIS TECHNOLOGY ISN’T even out yet,” he said as we entered the Command Center and he looked around. “I’ve only been out of the business a year since my wife left...” He looked at me, scrutinizing what it was about me that made him share that bit of information. He shook his head. “These systems are more advanced than what I worked with.”

“But it all looks so old,” I said.

“It may look old, but it’s most definitely not.”

“Do you think you can figure it out?”

“Of course, I can,” he said as he spun the chair around and plopped down in front of the mainframe.

I paced around behind him for a bit. The images of the gifts for the Naughty List continued to sputter through my mind in little snippets. I got used to them, to where I didn’t stumble every time they danced across my vision, but they still made me feel like I had a box of angry bees in my head.

“What’s your name?” I suddenly blurted. Had the man not been so on edge from my pacing and my blundering when the images came through, he probably would have jumped at my outburst.

He stopped what he was doing and spun his chair around to face me. He grabbed my arm and forced me still. “Please, you’re making me nervous. The elves captured me, remember? Now, I will help you, but you’ve got to let me think. Why don’t you go get us something to eat from the kitchen? I saw some egg salad. And maybe a hot cup of cider?”

His eyes were kind, and he spoke as if addressing an upset child. Most men I had an experience with would have snapped at my restlessness. Without argument, I did as he requested and headed for the door.

“Oh,” he said, “my name is Danny. What’s yours?”

“It’s Mercy,” I said, but suddenly turned back around to face him. I felt my heart give a sudden gallop; it insisted I be more open with those around me. I argued with myself for a moment within my head. Finally, I said, “But you can call me Cinnamon.”

His lips twitched, and that scared me inside; the one that wasn’t comfortable with sharing panicked, awaiting his sneer, awaiting his laugh. But he didn’t laugh. His lips turned up into the hugest smile.

“That’s my little girl’s favorite cookie this time of year. Cinnamon swirl.” He blinked rapidly, seeming to ponder why he’d said that out loud and not just in his head. But then his smile returned. “I like it. Cinnamon. Cinnamon swirl. Like a little spicy tornado.”

I backed out of the door before he could see me smile. People have described me as a tornado before, but never in a good way.

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