* * *
Outside of the library, elbow-deep in fresh snow, Blay fired up the chain saw, the high-pitched whine flaring and receding when he pumped the gas. As the motor settled into a purr, the scents of gasoline and oil were thick, but when the low-level wind changed direction, all of that was wiped clean.
“You got it?” he said.
Tohr nodded and leaned into the shitkicker he’d planted on the fallen evergreen’s trunk. “Hit it, son.”
Blay brought the running blade down on the tree that had broken into the house, the sweet balsam aroma a delicious conifer cologne. As sawdust flew off to the side and the engine sound got loud, the cut went quick, the chain’s barbs making ready work of the job. And when the blade broke through on the far side, the tree shimmied like it was relieved the surgery was done.
“Good work,” Tohr said as he bent all the way over and took hold of the trunk.
As Blay cut the motor, the Brother stood the conifer up and they both nodded. The pointed top was a good twenty feet off the ground and Tohr’s body was completely obscured by the fluffy green branches.
“The kids are going to love it.” Blay traded the chain saw for a tree stand. “I’ll just slap this on if you can lift our little friend.”
Tohr hefted up the tree, and Blay squeezed under on his belly. “Hold on, just getting it—okay, drop it!”
As the fresh-cut stump end was lowered into the stand’s basin, Blay cranked the screws tight—and marveled that he had developed such a core competency in what was exclusively a human tradition. Who’d have thought he’d end up knowing that it was always better to put the stand on outside of the house?
“We’re ready,” he said as he crawled out from underneath.
He would have offered to help, but Tohr was strong enough to just walk the pine-scented albatross into the library. The Brother also knew where it went, setting it down in the corner by shelves that held all the Charles Dickens first editions.
“Yay!” Bitty said from the boxes of ornaments she was unpacking. “It’s perfect! Thank you, Uncle Tohr.”
The little girl ran over and threw her arms around the Brother. Which, appropriately, caused the enormous fighter to completely melt.
“Oh, you are so welcome, baby girl.” Tohr smiled and put his dagger hand on her slight shoulder. “Do you have everything up from the basement?”
Considering the number of Rubbermaid containers dotting the library’s rug? Which were all the size of twin beds? It was hard to imagine there were any more Christmas decorations left in Caldwell: From the strings of lights to the lengths of garland, and the thousand glass ornaments in red, green, gold, and deep blue, it was quite the inventory.
“Okay, hold up, Rhamp, gentle. Gentle.”
At the sound of Layla’s voice, he pivoted around. The twins were on the floor, and both had crawled over to the careful unpacking job that Bitty was doing. Rhamp, naturally, was reaching for a blown-glass ornament that, if he pounded it into the floor, which he was about to do, was going to shatter into a million sharp pieces.
And his blood on any rug was not the goal. Ever.
“I got him,” Blay said as he swooped in and hoisted Rhamp out of range.
Fortunately, the kid loved swooping more than anything, and the giggle he let out was a joy to hear. As chubby hands clapped, that smile was breathtaking. So Blay did it again. And again.
“You won’t need a workout tonight,” Layla said with a laugh.
She’d moved Lyric into her lap, and the young was playing with a pack of tinsel, the waterfall of silver lengths a source of great discovery and delight. Mahmen and daughter were wearing matching red, green, and white Orvis sweaters. Rhamp, on the other hand, had on an Iron Man onesie because he hated sweaters. Then again, he was always moving and running and churning. He was rarely still.
Throw a sweater on that and you’d have a mobile hot-water bottle.
Swinging Rhamp up and around again, Blay’s eyes took a snapshot of the room. Tohr had pulled his mate, Autumn, in tight to him, and they were staring at each other with the kind of soft smiles that happy couples shared when they thought no one was looking. Phury and Cormia were knee-deep in garland, laughing as he wound a length around her shoulders. Rehv and Ehlena were sharing the sofa, snuggled in together across from the crackling fire.
And naturally, Fritz had done a drive-by with provisions for everyone: There was eggnog on a silver tray on one of the coffee tables, along with a setup of hot chocolate and candy canes and gingerbread men. Good thing there was so much of it all. Soon, others would join in. It was a communal event, this now-annual tradition of trimming the Christmas tree, and it was especially signif
icant for those in the house who had grown up human.
And in the future, it was going to be important for the twins and the other current young, Blay realized. They would come to see this as part of their pretrans experience—
Out past the library’s archway, in the foyer, a figure entered his line of sight.
It was Qhuinn, dressed in the casual clothes he’d put on just before they’d left their room for First Meal: Same track pants, same My Chem sweatshirt, same Converse All Stars in black and white. But something had transformed him.