A Midwinter Fantasy by L. J. McDonald, Leanna Renee Hieber, Helen Scott Taylor Read Free Book Online

It’s for you. It seems
you’re
the one in need of caretaking this day. That’s what they said.”
    Michael’s tears vanished and his heart quickened. “You can
hear
them, child?”
    The boy shrugged. “Those of us who live in the shadow of death can often hear the whispers of those who have gone before us. Yes, we’ve been conversing, sometimes about them, sometimes about me. But today they’ve been talking about you. About your doubt.” Charlie screwed up his face and continued. “How can
you
doubt, Father? You’re the kindest man I know. You’re what I imagine angels to be like. Archangels, even. Like your namesake. Doubting does not suit you, Father. I beg you, be done with it.”
    Michael fought off shame. “Would it were that easy, my child, to slay my dragons.”
    Charlie smiled sadly. “I wish I could give you the peace the spirits say you crave. But they’ll help you. Do let them, Father. They mean no harm.”
    The boy shuddered violently, the ghosts’ cool draft was having an effect, and Michael rushed to stoke the fire in the meagre hearth. Turning to address the spectres, he said, “Leave the child be. Come to me alone, if and when you will,” he commanded sternly.
    The spirits vanished, nodding.
    Charlie was looking at him strangely. “That story you always tell,” the boy breathed, narrowing his eyes in thoughtful concentration, “about the princess and her devoted knight. In every adventure they battle the devil himself, and then the knight returns the princess to her attic loft where she sits alone. You’ve told me the moral of these adventures is perseverance against forces that would take us under, and that I must be such a knight and must struggle onward to find my own princess to cherish, as all good men should. But . . . it’s you who’s the knight in these stories, isn’t it? Who’s the princess, Father? Why doesn’t she accept you? And, must you always part ways? How can that be a happy ending?”
    The two of them stared at each other for a moment.
    “Those are questions for which I have no answers,” Michael said thickly, breaking the long silence.
    The nurse came with ointments and gruel, and so Michael was spared telling that familiar story. He kissed Charlie’s feverish head before leaving, heavyhearted. His powers had once kept anxiety at bay. Powerless, he was becoming its slave.
    But, there was a duty to be done. Likely the spirits would chastise him for cowardice. He must anticipate their demands and begin to try and prove himself before their harrowingjourney began. Perhaps he could avoid it entirely. Even better, perhaps he could save Rebecca the trial to come. This, above all, strengthened his resolve.
    He ascended the grand staircase of Athens Academy and up to the third-floor apartments where his princess lived, again taking up his knightly quest. “It will do no good to cloister ourselves away,” he murmured, trying to rally his courage. After all, he was the suitor. He had to call. But his hand trembled as he lifted his fist to knock upon the door. Behind his back he tightly clutched two bouquets, and thorns dug into his palm.
    “Yes . . . ?”
    “Hullo, Headmistress! May I have a moment of your time?” Michael’s voice jarred him as it was reflected back, loud and forcedly jovial, against the wooden door. “It’s been . . . days.”
    Her booted footsteps grew nearer but hesitated. “Hullo, Vicar,” he heard. After a long moment Rebecca opened the door. “I suppose.”
    Michael smiled—a reflex—and took in the sight of her. She seemed taller somehow, there against the door frame in her usual choice of prim grey dress that was blue-grey like her eyes. As it was winter she wore pressed wool, and a cameo brooch at her throat. She was always appointed with quiet elegance. Her face was, as ever, stoic, but those eyes betrayed tides of emotion. As for her hands, one was pressed tightly against the door frame, one was behind her back. He doubted they