The Working Elf Blues (2 page)

This made the third instance they'd encountered each other on Christmas Eve. Coincidence? Impossible. But who
was
Garnet, this man who'd apparently been driving—flying?—a sleigh through sheer force of will? Not to mention the clothes and the ears, which Wes had never seen before tonight. None of it made sense, unless he gave credence to the idea of real elves, red-nosed reindeer, and a fat man named Santa Claus. Which… no. He'd had too difficult a life to believe in some white-bearded guy who shouted "ho ho ho" and shimmied down chimneys delivering presents across the globe one night a year.

Only children blindly believed in those sorts of things—and no part of Wesley was a kid anymore.

*~*~*

When Garnet woke, he realized he was in too much pain to be anything but alive. He welcomed the white-hot bolt of agony in his skull and the ache in his rib cage as his chest expanded with a breath. Somehow, even smiling hurt. He did it anyway.

Because breathing meant living, and living meant he still had a chance. A chance with Wes.

But first he had to figure out where he was.

Garnet peered around the dimly lit room and lifted an arm to finger the tight pressure at his temples. The too-long sleeve of the sweatshirt he wore pooled around his wrist as he felt the material of what must be some type of bandage on his forehead. That explained the pain, then. Not that it was much of a surprise with what he remembered of the accident.

Someone had obviously come to his aid, and already he could feel his magic at work, mending his wounds in a fraction of the time it would take an ordinary human to recover. Garnet didn't have much power, but healing was intrinsic to elves. Even the least talented could summon basic curative spells.

Garnet lifted himself on one elbow, wincing at another flare of pain in his chest. Probably a broken rib, or at least badly bruised. Nothing to be done but let his healing magic run its course.

It took some doing and a lot cringing, but Garnet managed to get his legs over the side of the mattress and sit upright. Nausea slithered in his belly by the time he was done, and suddenly, the path to the door looked a lot longer than the few feet that separated it from the bed.

As he debated whether or not to brave the walk, a scratching noise and a soft bark came from the other side of the door. A few seconds later, it swung open, and there Wes stood in all his tall, broad-shouldered glory.

"You're awake," he rumbled, in that deep voice Garnet had fantasized about for years. "How are you feeling?"

Before Garnet could answer, a huge, furry weight sent him sprawling backward, and a slobbery tongue licked across one of his ears.

Garnet could only groan as pain spiked in his head and across his chest. A shudder racked his body from the touch to his sensitive ear.

"Micah, down!"

The weight disappeared. There was a scramble of nails and then the door shut, cutting off the light from the hallway.

"I'm sorry," Wes said in the dimness. "It's crazy, but I think he might remember you." He stopped beside the bed. "Are you all right?"

Garnet managed half a nod. "Yes. He just surprised me."

"I saw the bruises. I imagine fifty pounds of husky landing on your chest didn't feel too good right about now."

Garnet chuckled weakly. "No. I think one of my ribs might be cracked."

"Here, let me help you." Wes leaned down and started to slide an arm under Garnet's back. Then he hesitated. "Were you trying to get up? Do you need to use the bathroom or anything?"

Garnet blinked. He hadn't noticed the urge when he woke, what with all the aches and pains, but now that Wes had mentioned it… "Yes," he answered, his face burning. "I should probably do that."

Wes didn't comment, simply helped him to his feet with a steadying arm and led him to the bathroom across the room. He flicked on the light then stepped back, gesturing Garnet inside. "I'll be right outside the door, if you need help."

Garnet nodded, his cheeks still hot, and used the sink for support as he went about his business.

Once he'd finished and washed his hands, what little energy he'd had drained away. He opened the door and allowed Wes to assist him as he crossed the room and settled onto the bed.

Wes brushed Garnet's bangs from his forehead, his big hand surprisingly gentle as he inspected the bandage Garnet had seen in the bathroom mirror. "No bleed-through," he murmured. "Do you want something for the pain? Aspirin?"

Garnet shook his head. "No, thank you." Those sorts of chemicals only sickened elves. What they couldn't heal with magic, they treated with what they found in nature.

"There's water here." Wes picked up the bottle from the nightstand and twisted off the cap. "You should drink some."

Garnet accepted the bottle and murmured his thanks before gratefully swallowing a few mouthfuls.

"Do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you in the morning, once the storm lets up and the roads are cleared."

Garnet's eyes widened with alarm. "No," he said quickly. "No hospitals."

Wes stared down at him for a moment. "I know you're tired and hurting now, but as soon as you feel up to it, we need to talk."

"Yes. I know I need to explain. I will, in the morning."

"I'll let you rest, then." Wes took the bottle back and set it on the nightstand. "I'm in the room next door. Call if you need me. If you're hungry or… anything at all."

"Thank you."

Wes started to turn then paused, seeming to lose some battle within himself. He met Garnet's gaze, his own narrowed with suspicion. "You won't disappear again?"

Garnet shook his head, firm. "No. I promise."

With one last look, Wes left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Garnet allowed his eyelids to drift closed. The side of his body that had pressed against Wes's on the walk to and from the bathroom still felt warm.

No. No way was he leaving now. He'd abandoned his home for the boy who'd held his heart for the past fifteen years. Back then, the first time he saw Wes, they were both only children, too young to know romantic love, but plenty old enough to be familiar with loss.

Garnet had snuck onto Santa's sleigh, breaking rules he'd scarcely understood, and when Santa had stopped to deliver presents at a small, dingy house, something had called Garnet to the room at the end of the narrow hall. There, curled up on his side, lay a dark-haired boy a few years younger than Garnet's eleven. His sorrowful brown eyes tugged at something in Garnet's chest, and he'd felt it then—a kinship, a bond. He'd known somehow that Wes was there because his parents had died. Garnet himself had just lost his mother a few months before. Later, he found out that was Wes's first foster home.

Wes hadn't spoken. Neither had Garnet. He simply sat there and held Wes's hand, until Wes finally fell asleep with tears staining his cheeks. Garnet held on even then, when Wes's fingers went limp in his own, keeping his silent vigil as night passed slow and long. He hung on until dawn, when Santa suddenly appeared behind him.

"It's time to go home, son," Santa had said.

Garnet realized then that Santa had known where he was the whole time. He'd simply been allowed to remain while Santa finished his deliveries.

Regretfully, Garnet had untangled his fingers from Wes's and taken Santa's hand. In a flash, they were gone, back in the North Pole. A world away from Wes. But Garnet never forgot, and every five years since, he'd found a way to sneak back, to see Wes again, even for a few minutes. To watch him grow into a man. A man with those same sorrowful eyes that melted Garnet's heart.

This time, no matter what, Garnet was determined to stay.

Chapter Two

Garnet woke to the smell of frying bacon and strong coffee. He dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom, his body slow with unfamiliar aches. His chest still felt tight, but the throb in his temples had eased, a small blessing.

After quickly washing his face and brushing his teeth with the new toothbrush and paste he found on the bathroom sink, he left the room in search of Wes. Four eager dogs greeted him in the hall, and one in particular—Micah, he recognized from the night before—stuck close to his heels as he made his way to the kitchen.

Wes turned from the stove at the sound of their approach, a pair of tongs in his hand. "Morning," he said. "Merry Christmas. How are you feeling?"

Garnet blinked. "M-Merry Christmas," he stammered. Holy juniper, how could he have forgotten it was Christmas? Where had the gift he'd brought for Wes gone? Oh, right. Probably with the remains of his sleigh, wherever that was. If it had even survived the crash.

Garnet's shoulders slumped. How had everything gone so wrong so fast? It was sheer luck he was standing here in Wes's cabin right now instead of a frozen elf-cicle in the snow somewhere. Some Christmas surprise this had turned out to be.

Wes's voice cut into his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

Garnet looked up and straightened his back. "I'm feeling better, yes. Thank you for taking care of me. I should never have done something so foolish. He's going to be furious when he finds out."

"He?" Wes asked, before turning back to the stove. He flipped the bacon in the pan and set the tongs aside. "I hope you're okay with scrambled eggs. I can cook, but I don't make anything too fancy."

"Eggs would be lovely, thank you." Garnet hesitated. "And, yes, he. Santa."

Wes's shoulders went rigid. He faced Garnet again, his mouth a thin line. "Santa? That's carrying things a little too far, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"The costume last night. The ears." Wes gestured sharply toward Garnet's head. "The vanishing act you pulled the last two times I've seen you."

Garnet gasped, his hands flying up to feel the tips of his ears, exposed to Wes for the first time. Oh, by Santa's boots, he'd forgotten that Wes had never seen him this way. He'd always been so careful to keep them hidden before. Now, when it really mattered, Wes had seen them before he could explain.

Garnet could've smacked himself. He was doing this all wrong. Everything was wrong.

"I'm s-sorry." Garnet dropped his hands back to his sides. "I guess I'd better start at the beginning. It's… a long story."

Wes stared at him for a moment. Then he turned back to the stove. "Let me finish this. We can talk while we eat." He glanced at Garnet over his shoulder. "There's coffee, if you like."

Garnet had never liked coffee. It was too bitter unless he loaded it up with vanilla syrup and chocolate sprinkles, but even then. "Do you have any cocoa?" he asked hopefully.

Wes shrugged and pointed to a closed door. "Sure, there are packets in the pantry there. I'll put the kettle on."

Garnet went to retrieve the box of cocoa, and for a few minutes, they worked in silence. Wes dished up a couple of plates of bacon and eggs and popped some bread into the toaster while Garnet mixed his cocoa and tossed in a handful of marshmallows from the bag he'd found in the pantry.

Once they'd settled at the small table just off the kitchen, Wes sent the dogs away with a low command. They went and plopped down in front of the fire, but watched Garnet and Wes intently from across the room.

Wes pushed the butter across the table toward Garnet. "So, talk."

Garnet buttered his toast and sprinkled on a generous helping of cinnamon sugar while he gathered his thoughts. "My ears," he said after a long moment. "They're real. My clothes aren't a costume. This will be hard to believe, I know, but… I'm an elf. I'm from the North Pole, and I work in Santa's shop. I'm a toymaker."

Wes sat watching him, his food untouched.

When he didn't speak, Garnet set down his toast. "The first time I saw you was at that little blue house in Denver. I snuck onto Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve, fifteen years ago. You were in a room by yourself, and I held your hand. Do you remember?"

Wes leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was so carefully neutral, Garnet could only guess at what he might be thinking.

"I thought that was a dream," Wes said after a few heavy beats of silence. "You… I woke up as you disappeared. There was a man with you, dressed in dark green, with a long beard. I thought… I thought I'd just imagined it that night, some fantasy my brain came up with to try to comfort me."

Garnet shook his head. "It wasn't a dream. And I came back five years later. You remember that time, don't you?"

Wes nodded. "The diner."

"And again, five years ago on Christmas Eve."

"The day you saved Micah."

"Yes."

Wes bit his lip and looked away, toward the dogs. Two of them had given up on watching and started to snooze.

"And here I am again," Garnet said when the silence went on. "This time I came in my own sleigh. A prototype my father designed using fir sap for fuel. Santa didn't want to use it. He said the reindeer were part of the magic, part of the legend, and that sometimes traditions are invaluable to belief."

Wes met his gaze. "And what do you think?"

"I think… Santa is old and wise and there is value in traditions."

"But?"

Garnet hesitated to answer, before he remembered there were no prying ears here, no elves who would accuse him of ungrateful, progressive thinking for trying to speak his mind. "But sometimes changes are good. Even necessary."

Wes chuckled softly and rubbed a hand over his face. "I can't believe I'm having a conversation about Santa's politics right now." He tipped his chin toward Garnet's plate. "Eat. Your food is getting cold."

Garnet obediently picked up his toast. He did enjoy it best when it was warm. That time had passed for this particular slice, but it was buttery and sweet, and it felt like forever since the last time he'd eaten. "Do you believe me?" he asked around a mouthful.

Wes shrugged as he chewed a bite of his own food. "I don't know how else I can explain your appearing in the middle of a blizzard in a sleigh with no animals to lead it. Or why that sleigh apparently dropped out of the sky. I don't know how else to explain your ears either. They looked plenty real up close. And they… moved."