Sweet Magik By Penny Watson
Dedication
For Carl, With All My Love
Extra thanks to Natascha (my German consultant), Sarah and Jill (my beta readers),
Meghan (art cover genius), Donna (my editor), and The Quirky Ladies
for all of their love and support.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Bibliothek Magik—Magik Library in Glasdorf Council of Seven—governing elfin body of Glasdorf Glasdorf—Village in the North Pole where the Klaus family resides
Honigbienchen—little honeybee
Klaus Kuche—Nicholas' bakery in Glasdorf Magik Bandiger—magik tamer/spell kaster Silvester—New Year's Eve
Sternschnuppen—"shooting stars," bits of sparkling magik Suddie/Sudlander—any person living south of Glasdorf Sudenwelt—the "Southern World"
Tag der Rache—the "day of reckoning," when the Council determines the punishment for a law breaker in Glasdorf Teufelchen—little devil
Uberholen—the "passing of the torch," when the current Weihnachtsmann steps down and his heir takes his place Weihnachtsmann—Santa Claus
Zauberwort Buch—sacred book of elfin magik Zauberzimmer—Room of Spells
Zottig Herz—Ragged Heart, a spell of vengeance
Chapter One
"Holy Mother, Nicholas sure knows how to cook."
Oskar Johann Klaus raised a brow at his brother Sven, who stuffed an entire miniature mushroom quiche into his mouth.
"That's not even the best one," added Wolfgang. "You have to try the chicken sate. It's incredible." Wolfie dipped the charred meat into a cup of peanut sauce. "Damn, that's good.
Glad Gregor invited us to his New Year's party. This is the best I've eaten in months."
Sven chuckled. "Yeah. And the supermodel eye candy really adds to the decor."
Oskar stole a skewer off Wolfie's plate. "I think Lucy made these. Nice to have two culinary geniuses in the family." All three brothers turned to watch their oldest sibling and his new wife. Stationed behind a buffet table loaded with gourmet appetizers, bowls of roses and flickering votives, Nicholas and Lucy took turns serving the guests. And stealing kisses. Oskar smiled to himself as Nicholas slipped an arm around his wife's waist and nuzzled her neck.
Wolfgang grinned. "Newlyweds. What are you gonna do?"
Oskar laughed and nodded in agreement.
He turned to gaze at the lights of Manhattan through the tall picture window. The view from Gregor's penthouse was breath-taking. Below him the city shimmered in the bitter cold, alive and vibrant with festive revelers. Gregor had certainly spared no expense on this luxury set-up. His elegant 12
apartment building boasted the requisite stuffy doorman and celebrity tenants.
Personally, Oskar would have preferred a cozy lodge in the mountains. He managed the city well enough for short stints, but his soul yearned for crisp mountain air, freshly powdered trails, and the exhilaration of flying on his Burton. His favorite way to unwind after a hectic holiday season was a couple of weeks in Mammoth, testing out the new jumps, and revisiting favorite runs. Especially if his brothers joined him on the slopes.
Typically New Years didn't garner a lot of attention at the North Pole. After the insanity of Christmas day, Klaus Enterprises took an extended vacation. But this year Gregor decided to entertain in high style and insisted all of his brothers gather for the shin-dig. Honestly, there was nothing Oskar would rather do than hang out with his family. He could manage to step it up for a night and hobnob with Gregor's ritzy friends. The fact that a crowd of supermodels mingled with the guests didn't hurt either.
Oskar took a long swig of his beer, sighed and leaned back against the sofa.
Sven finished the quiche and gave Oskar a once-over. "You okay? You look a little wiped out."
Wolfie nodded. "I noticed the same thing. You're not your usual chipper self."
"Just tired. That last week before Christmas was a killer."
Oskar rubbed his forehead.
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"I heard Monie and the gang gave you a real run for the money. Peppermint schnapps jello shots? That all-nighter must have gotten ugly the next morning," said Wolf.
Oskar rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? I had about two hundred elves with hangovers from hell, and only a week to get Christmas orders done and loaded." He blew out a breath and shook his head. "I am seriously getting too old for this crap."
Sven put down his plate. "Are you heading to Mammoth for a break? You haven't been boarding for a while. That will get you revved up again."
"Yeah," Wolf agreed. "You need a change of pace. You're usually the first one ready for the New Year's countdown. I've never seen you this exhausted."
"Don't worry. Nothing a couple of weeks in Cali won't fix.
Conditions sound perfect. They just got twelve inches of fresh powder. I am so ready for that." Oskar tried to reassure his brothers. He didn't want them pecking at him like a mother hen.
Gregor appeared with a platter of champagne. Oskar had to laugh at his impeccable appearance. He had the whole Manhattan "man of finance" look down to an art: the designer suit, the power tie, a perfectly groomed goatee, and the latest Rolex.
"Champagne?" Gregor asked.
Sven chose a gold-rimmed flute and whistled. "Hey, real crystal. Nice touch, Gregor."
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"I thought I told you guys to dress up." Gregor shot a perturbed look at his brothers. "What is that?" he asked, gesturing to Sven's vest.
"You told me not to wear my poncho, but you never said I couldn't wear my Guatemalan vest. It's festive...for the holiday."
"You're wearing Birkies. To a cocktail party."
Sven shrugged. "I'm wearing them with black dress socks."
Gregor turned to Wolf, who held up a warning hand. "Oh no, you cannot possibly find fault with this outfit. Khakis and a blue button down shirt are classic."
"Classic...and boring." Gregor took a sip of champagne and examined Oskar. Oskar had traded his layered vintage Tshirts and cargo pants for slacks and a nice shirt. Of course his sleeves were rolled up high on his arms, displaying his tattoo collection. Green spiked hair and burgundy Doc Martens completed the ensemble.
Gregor shook his head. "Nice hair. You couldn't tone down the punk look for a night? Come on, Oskar. Do you even remember what your real hair color is?"
"The ladies don't seem to mind." Oskar gestured to a gangly model who was watching him coyly. "I think they're probably bored to death with you yuppie types and ready for a new flavor." He winked at the blonde who giggled and turned back to her friends.
"And what flavor would you be?" Gregor regarded his brother's hair and sighed. "Lime? Spinach? Pistachio?"
Sven nodded. "Looks like broccoli."
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Wolfie grinned. "Definitely asparagus."
"Artichokes?" Gregor suggested.
"Brussels sprouts," Sven added, fist-bumping Wolf.
"Am I missing a conversation about food?" Nicholas queried, offering a platter of miniature crepes to his brothers.
"I thought you guys hated Brussels sprouts."
Gregor laughed as he carefully removed an hors d'oeuvre from the plate. "Oskar's hair. I'm trying to figure out what flavor of green he represents. What do you think?"
Nicholas raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "It's the exact color of spinach and cream souffle, actually. Hmmm, maybe I should have added that to the menu..."
"The menu's perfect. Thanks again, Nick, for all of your hard work. You and Lucy have outdone yourselves. Everyone loves the food."
Oskar folded his arms across his chest. "My hair color is not that big a deal, guys. And I left the Seuss hat at home.
Give me a break."
Gregor stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "I would kill to get you into one of my favorite shops. For God's sake, O, you're almost thirty and you're still dressing like a high school kid."
"I need something to spice up my life. You get to spend your days in a stimulating and cutting-edge urban environment. I'm stuck in Glasdorf with the little terrors."
Gregor frowned. "I thought you loved your job. No one can motivate the..." Gregor paused and looked around him
"....'crew' the way you do."
Oskar smiled and raised his beer bottle. "Don't worry, Greg, I'm not going to quit and leave you in charge of the 16
'crew.'" Gregor blanched at the comment. Oskar laughed and pounded him on the back. "I need a vacation, that's all."
He would never admit to his brothers just how disenchanted he felt with his "career." Nicholas, Sven, Wolfie and Gregor all excelled in their various occupations including master pastry chef, chief toy designer and wood-worker, director of charitable donations and financial guru, but his position within Klaus Enterprises bordered on embarrassment.
Oskar was saddled with the least appealing position in the North Pole—Director of Elfin Resources.
Yep, his job involved babysitting a bunch of ornery, cussing, hard-drinking elves who would rather pound back a few than toil in the factories. Cracking the whip with a cantankerous group of elves didn't quite measure up in the Klaus family. Living in the shadow of a legend, St. Nicholas himself, didn't help either.
Nevertheless, Oskar usually felt a sense of accomplishment after Christmas wrapped up. He worked hard to keep the employees motivated, made sure they were on schedule with production, and managed to troubleshoot even the most difficult situations, which seemed to crop up with alarming frequency. This year, for the first time, he felt completely burnt out. Whether he liked it or not, thirty was right around the corner. Maybe he was having a mid-life crisis.
Damn, time to get off the pity wagon. I'm at a chichi party in Manhattan with gourmet food, sexy models and unlimited alcoholic beverages. Buck up, man.
Just as he turned back to Greg, a woman across the room caught his eye. Funny, she didn't blend in with the other 17
stylish guests. She reminded him of a librarian, in a gray, shapeless suit, hair pulled back into a bun low on her head, and clunky tortoise shell glasses perched on the end of her nose. What the heck was she doing at this party? She looked like a mourning dove lost in a nest of strutting peacocks. In spite of her dowdy outfit, there was something about her, something...he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Sven slapped him on the back and cocked his head toward the models. Leaning toward Oskar, he lowered his voice.
"Don't look now, bro, but one of those supermodels is checking you out. She must like green punk hair and Doc Martens."
Wolf nodded. "It's the tats. No model can resist them."
Oskar tore his gaze away from the Librarian to look at the Supermodel. Tall, blonde and sexy. He raised an eyebrow at her. She swung a handful of golden tresses over her shoulder and smiled at him. He smiled back.
Pity party was officially over.
He grabbed a glass of champagne from Gregor and downed it. "Okay, let the New Year's celebration begin."
"Bloomin' shame about the promotion, Ingo." Loki pursed his lips and took a gulp of lager. "Per's got balls to take credit for your work."
Hieronymus patted Ingo on the shoulder. "Don't worry.
We'll set Sven straight soon enough. Per doesn't know the first thing about the line you created. It's gonna fall flat without you at the helm, and you know it, man."
"It was a stroke of genius, the Mother Bond design. Best stuff to come out of the wood shop in years," added Loki.
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Hieronymus nodded his head in agreement. "Your workmanship is superb, my friend."
"Per can't work the wood for shit. His stuff looks like my dog gnawed up a hunk of lumber for a couple of hours, yah."
Loki slammed his beer stein onto the sticky countertop and flipped his long white braids over his shoulder. "Dag, I'm empty over here!"
Dag Jorgensen, owner of Dag's Pub, slid a frothy brew down the bar top, past a long line of elves clamoring for another drink.
"Thanks, yah!" Loki pushed the drink in front of Ingo. "I think you need this more than I do," he whispered.
Ingo Hertz grabbed the frosty glass with scratched-up, callused hands. "There's nothing to be done about it now.
Sven's made his decision, and that's that." He released a drawn-out sigh and glanced up to catch his haggard reflection in the mirror above the bar. Saw dust liberally coated his russet colored hair and beard. Spots of grease flecked his flannel work shirt. There were dark circles under his eyes, like two shadowy crescent moons. Didn't really matter how many hours of work he put in at the shop, Per was leader of the new project, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
Loki crammed some ginger snaps into his mouth. "What I don't get is why Sven would promote that lyin' bastard, anyway. His work's never been that good."
Hieronymus, Ingo's best friend, wrapped a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. "I heard that Oskar stopped by the wood-working studio on Ingo's day off. When O saw the 19
model Ingo carved and started going on about how cool it was, Per jumped right in and took credit. Oskar told Sven, and then Sven gave Per the promotion. Per's an a-hole."
Loki shook his head. "Ah. Hard to believe that Sven can't see past Per's line of bull shit."
Ingo grimaced. "Honestly, our boss is so wrapped up in his work, he doesn't know what's going on around him half the time."
"Per's done a good job pulling the wool over Sven's eyes, but he's not gonna get away with this one. The whole crew was so pissed off, we went to see Sven right away about his mistake, but he'd already left for New York," added Hie.
Dag sauntered up to the disgruntled group of elves and raised a brow. "It's New Year's Eve, boys, why you lookin' so down? Jens is about to start his set. It's a night to celebrate."
Loki nodded toward Ingo. "He got passed over for the promotion. Per got it instead."
Dag cocked his head in surprise. "Per? He's a lazy son of a bitch. Why'd Sven give him the job?"
Hieronymus chimed in. "Because Oskar got swindled by Per's pack o' lies, and told Sven that Per created the new Mother Bond line. The Klaus boys need to 'work on their communication skills'!"
The elves erupted with laughter. As the official Director of Elfin Resources in Glasdorf, Oskar Klaus liked to ramble on about communication skills, honesty, integrity, and all of the other attributes that made for good workers. The fact that he sported punked-out hair and a Dr. Seuss hat on his 6'5"
frame didn't seem to water down his authority much. But still, 20
Ingo thought wearily, it would have been nice if he'd gotten his facts straight before talking to Sven. Tree-hugging, Birkenstock-loving hippie Sven Klaus was a damned fine toy designer and woodworker. And Ingo's boss.
Ingo finished his beer. "Not much in the mood for celebrating tonight, I guess."
A screech of fiddles interrupted their conversation. "Worry about it tomorrow, Ingo. Tonight is Silvester, New Year's Eve.
Party tonight, worry tomorrow, okay?" Dag said. He whistled shrilly and scrambled up on top of the bar. "Let's all give a warm welcome to our entertainment for the evening.
Ushering in Silvester is the Schneider's Band, with Jens Schneider and his brothers. Let's give 'em a hand, boys!"
The roar of the crowd drowned out the first few notes of the music as the horde of elves rushed to surround the stage at the front of the room. Ingo's friends attempted to drag him along, but he shook his head and told them he'd see them tomorrow. He tugged his coat from a peg next to the door, and wrapped a tattered muffler around his face.
"Going somewhere?"
Ingo was startled to see Wiebe Reiner leaning against the wall. The weaselly little elf seemed to blend into the shadowy corner. His eyes darted around the room as he leaned toward Ingo.
"Heard you're a mite pissed off at Oskar. Screwed up your chances for the promotion, eh?" Wiebe's gravelly voice continued. "Bet you'd like to let him have it good, huh? He's off partying with his brothers in Manhattan, entertaining some 21
hoity-toity supermodels at Gregor's party, and you're here, all alone...."
Ingo hesitated before he opened the door. "What's your point, Wiebe? It was just....sort of a misunderstanding, you know?"
Wiebe barked out a laugh. "Sure. That Oskar is always butting into our affairs. Thinks he's better than us elves, since he's a Suddie, and a Klaus, to boot. He pisses me off." Wiebe pushed the greasy hair off his face and smiled at Ingo. A disturbing, oily smile that made Ingo take a deliberate step back.
"Of course you're pissed off at Oskar. He caught you cheating on your time sheet and you had to go before the council. He was just doing his job, Wiebe. I think the council let you off easy."
Wiebe's face contorted in anger. "You've never had a Tag der Rache, have you, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Facing the Council of Seven is no fun. Oskar has some frickin' nerve being such a stickler for the rules, when he's off snowboarding, boozing it up..."
Ingo held up a hand. "Enough. I'm heading home." He opened the door and was greeted by a bitter gust of wind. His Silvester was going to suck, in more ways than one.
As though he could read his thoughts, Wiebe snickered behind him. "What's Lys doing tonight? Too bad you didn't get that promotion. She'd probably give you the time of day if you were a project leader. But you're just a regular schmo, nothing special, and she doesn't even know you're alive."
Wiebe's lips curled into a smile. "Just think, Oskar is enjoying 22
his evening with some hot supermodel, and you're going home....alone." He winked patronizingly at Ingo. "Wouldn't it be fun to cast a little bitty spell on Oskar tonight? Screw around with his good luck with the ladies? Doesn't seem fair that he has a sexy babe on his arm, when you can't even work up the courage to say hello to good ole' Lys..."
Ingo's eyes snapped fire at Wiebe. He didn't like the sound of her name on his oily lips. "Shut up, Wiebe. You know casting spells is strictly verboten. Especially on one of the Klaus brothers! Are you crazy?"
"Just saying, it would be sweet revenge, my friend. He wrecked your chance with Lys, and you could dole out a bit of payback." Wiebe smirked one last time before he disappeared into the crowd. "Enjoy your Silvester." The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Ingo alone in the dark, freezing sleet, under the buzzing neon sign for Dag's Pub.
Happy Freakin' New Year's.
Ingo tightened his muffler as a gust of wind whipped across his face. He wondered fleetingly if Wiebe was right.
Maybe Lys would have finally noticed him if he'd been promoted to project manager. He pulled a tarnished flask from his front pocket and took a nip. Anyway, didn't matter now thanks to Oskar's mistake. Per would be polishing his new name badge and flinging it in Ingo's face, the damned cheat.
Ingo sighed and began to trudge home in the snow.
Somehow he found himself veering off the path to his cottage, and meandering his way to the Lady's Auxiliary 23
Lodge. He scrambled on top of a barrel and peeked through a window at the end of the building.
Inside was a crowd of elves celebrating Silvester. Strands of twinkling lights adorned the beamed ceiling of the old stone building and a frenzy of violins echoed throughout the hall. He could hear the stomping of feet along the wooden floor as hundreds of elves pounded to the strum of the fiddles. Lys whirled about the room, her long silky braids flying as she spun. Her face was flushed and she smiled happily with her friends.
She looks so beautiful.
She wore a navy blue party dress, and her pale hair sparkled with tiny winter blossoms. Even from this distance, he could see the flash of her eyes, like silver stars. He wondered what it would be like to dance with her in his arms.
Not a fast paced contra dance where they exchanged partners and barely touched. Something slow and sweet and lasting for a very long time. Maybe with the lights dimmed, so he didn't have to observe the fluster in her eyes when she looked at him.
The music stopped and he watched in amazement as Per Adler sauntered over to Lys. His Lys.
No, no, no! Ingo's fingers gripped the edge of the window frame until splinters dug into his skin. He swallowed in horror as Per slid his arm around Lys' tiny waist, attempting to pull her away from her friends. Lys tilted away from the determined elf and shook her head as Per spoke to her. Ingo didn't like the vulnerable look on her face. Finally Lys' friend Helene grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the 24
refreshment table, giving Per a look of pure disdain. Lys let out an enormous breath of relief and followed Helene out of his line of view.
Ingo slid off the barrel and slumped against the building.
He squeezed the flask in his hand and drank deeply, barely registering the taste of the spirits. He hated to see Lys pestered by Per. Ingo should have been there with her, watching over her. If only had enough courage...
Damn Oskar Klaus' hide!
If it wasn't for Oskar Klaus, I would be project leader. Lys would be dancing with me. Celebrating Silvester with me.
Especially on the stroke of midnight, when he could imagine gently kissing her. Hell and damnation, I hope that Oskar is having a shiteous night in New York. That would teach him.
As Ingo stumbled home, he made one stop along the way.
In front of Lys' door he left a tiny package, wrapped with twine. He ambled back to his cottage, his fingers now numb with cold. A plan began to formulate in his mind. It wasn't very nice. Nor was it in the spirit of Silvester. But that weasel Wiebe had planted a seed in Ingo's head and it wouldn't go away. Why should he suffer alone, when he could take Oskar along for the ride?
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