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When Odette skated, the world condensed to the scrape of her blade against ice, the blush of wind against her cheeks. Her thighs burned as she built up speed, her breath puffing like hot cocoa steam. The ground fell away as she hit her jump—rotations one, two, three—then the landing, a solid axel.
Odette extended her arms as she soared backwards around the curve of the rink, a pleased smile on her face. Applause drifted over the ice from somewhere outside her view. The rink was normally deserted this early in the morning. Odette spun around to see a lone figure leaning over the railing, not dressed to skate, just watching.
The applause trailed off as Odette’s smile stiffened. This smelled like work. The figure came into focus as Odette soared closer. A well-dressed woman in a velvet cape, her dark curls tucked into a fine but practical hat. Nobility were uncommon in this part of town.
“You look weightless out there. Truly breathtaking.” The stranger smiled, speaking over the rasp of Odette’s skates as she slid to a halt by the boards.
“I appreciate it. Who should I thank for the kind words?”
“Marzie Charlise. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She extended a hand over the boards, heedless of the frost against her cloak. There was a ring on her finger and a familiarity to that name—her married one, Odette believed. Probably not flirting, so definitely work.
“Odette Van Ives.” She took the hand and chanced a smile, small and sly. “But I’m betting you knew that already.”
“Ah, you’ve seen through me, Ms. Van Ives! Apologies for seeking you out so suddenly. I’ll barter your forgiveness, if you’ll allow it.”
She held out a small jar, like one might use to store spices. Odette shifted the jar, eyeing it. The substance was red and white striped, a rough powder. Crushed peppermint? But the texture was oddly granular. She took it, unscrewed the lid, and tentatively sniffed. The scent of penny candy in holiday markets wafted over the ice. Odette’s mouth watered.
“Give it a taste. It’s not poisoned. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Well, that was good enough for her. Odette pulled off a glove and dipped a finger in. Peppermint pricked her tongue as she licked it clean.
“Good right?” Marzie smiled as Odette went back for another swipe. “The taste of premium candy with the consistence of sugar or salt, Nievelmarch’s newest confectionary treat.”
It sounded like she was quoting an ad in the paper. Odette furrowed their brow. “Who makes this? I’ve never seen it before.” And she’d tried every pastry in the Glacier Express.
“It isn’t made. It’s mined. The old salt mine in the mountains is awash in the stuff. There’s been a new interest formed to extract and process it. Should hit the shelves next year, if all the Lieberklase handshaking goes well.”
Understanding reached Odette like a sunbeam through a snowstorm. “And I imagine you’d prefer that not to happen.”
“Me and a baker’s dozen interested parties. You should talk to the crystal farmers sometime. They swear up and down this season’s harvest is minty—thanks to the mine run off.”
“Which interest would yours be?” Odette asked, screwing the jar lid back on. “I appreciate transparency from my clients. As much as possible, in any case.”
Mazie grinned. “Take your pick. The Charlises are mountain folk, for one. The Velvet Manor sure isn’t happy about industry on their turf, and they claim their magic can’t touch the mine. There’s been word the management is undercutting the Odd Jobs too, poaching members before they reach retirement. Boys who come back say it’s rough work for poor pay. My friends in the Union would like it sorted.”
Odette hummed darkly, tucking the jar into their sleeve. It was bold indeed for anyone to go against the Odd Job Union. “Who’s the mastermind?”
“One Hezekiah James. An upstart investor. If this venture goes well, it could earn them the James family fortune. The clan has been missing an heir ever since their cousin vanished a few years back.”
The lingering chill of peppermint soured on Odette’s tonuge. That name was familiar indeed. She once worked a case investigating their missing cousin’s lumber venture. Kiah had hoped to take it over, until Odette tied the whole thing up in red tape over land use regulations. Ms. Miles of the Firewood Union had been particularly happy with her work on that one—the James family less so.
“I’ve had run ins with Kiah James before. I know what they’re capable of.”
“Sounds like you’ll take the job. I’ll be in touch about your pay. Handle it how you like, I’ve heard nothing but good things about your work—both on and off the ice. Though, as in all things Ms. Van Ives, discretion is key.”
Marzie winked as she pushed off the boards, making her way back down the lane. Her figure was nothing but genteel as she rounded the corner, but still there had been something in those sparkling brown eyes. What kind of noble lady had friends in the Odd Job Boys? Surly there was someone who understood the meaning of the word discretion. Odette could appreciate that. After all, she did too.
~~~
To the Intrepid Odette,
Seems it’s my turn for back scratching duties. Can’t say I envy you your current preoccupation. My results can’t be argued with, but we both know subtlty never was my strong suit. I’ll leave tangling with the upper crust to you, madame espionner.
As for intelligence, your contact has the right of it, whoever they are. I took down some quotes from odd jobbers who quit running supplies to the miners:
“Didn’t like being down there none. Was drier’n dried apricot candies.”
“Worked a whole week straight, I did. Gave me two nickles for it and not even any oranges.”
“Had us hauling water by the barrel. If the diggers didn’t drink nothing they’d shrivel right up, all mummy-like. Just lookin’ at ‘em gave me a fright.”
“My best overalls stink of peppermint.”
Sounds to me like even a minty salt mine’s still a salt mine. The union’s busy trying to track down all the boys doing unauthorized odd jobs up there, and no one’s too pleased about that. We’ll thank you kindly for shuttering the thing, if you can manage it. Course you have my vote of confidence.
Should we expect to see you at the union’s Procession Day feast?
S. Molly
Sharp’s letter was tucked away in Odette’s sleeve as they slipped around the corner into the shadow of a towering spruce tree. Its tinsel garlands caught the sputtering glow of a nearby street lamp, lighting a path up to its crest—and the windowsill of Mx. James’ very own accountant. She’d waited long into the night for the countinghouse to close up shop, after working through rest hours in anticipation of Lieberklase. Tomorrow’s festivities were the last thing on her mind.
They were much more concerned with the rough grit of bark beneath her palm, the earthy scent of pine sap spelling up an illusion of a holiday evening spent by the fire. Odette vanished into the tree with barely a rustle of needles. Hand over hand, with a dancer’s sure step, she climbed its branches like they were her personal spiral staircase.
Nievelmarch had secrets a plenty, but none were truly inaccessible. Not to those who knew which questions to ask. For instance, where was Hezekiah James getting the money to fund their newest venture? Odette knew very well that their latest acquistion had not done well for them, and that the senior James was unlikely to risk further investment in their schemes. There had to be another party involved.
The window latch gave way with a gasp of relief. Odette lifted the pane and tumbled inside, landing cat-like on the rug. If there were any to be found, her answers would be here, in this darkened office. She plucked a pine needle from her hair and turned her attention to the desk.
Its contents spilled out across polished mahogony in ordered chaos. Odette skimmed them, plucking out any mention of Hezekiah or the Marchmont Mine. The accounts were plentiful and flush with cash. Deposit after deposit, each from a different benefactor. Their names were scribed in a steady hand; Easy Stevie 42, The Twiceler, Prince Piscine.
Odette copied the ledger into her dossier, but the confirmation of her suspicions only filled her with unease. She recognized the sensibilities of these strange titles. Could Hezekiah be in business with Vivants?
There were letters from Kiah themself, instructing their accountant on the management of the incoming funds. These she scanned with the nib of her pen, saving their handwriting for later. No sign of their personal seal. Odette frowned. Impersonation would be tricky without it.
Either way, it was a good start. She had the names of Kiah’s silent partners, even if they caused more problems then they solved. As Odette slipped back out the window into the cold winter night, she was left wondering what exactly Hezekiah had promised these strange entities—and what the attention of Vivants might mean for her town.
~~~
Dearest Odie,
So pleased to hear from you!!!! You really should write to me more often, and not just about whatever problems your little mountain town is having. Though, actually, this one is pretty interesting. I took the liberty of doing an ~experiment~ or two (or three) on the sample you gave me… you’ll never guess what I found!
It’s nothing like peppermint at all! That’s right, it’s SALT. And you said they’re selling it as a dessert? As a sweet treat?? Ew. Seriously. I’d stay away if I were you—unless you want to be dehydrated. Dunno how the taste got switched around. Even my illusions can’t do that.
Oh and I did mention your question to the Conservatory. Apparently a lot of the names you listed are known Vivants. Can’t imagine what they want with a salt mine though. Boooring.
Let me know if I should stop by and turn them all into pumpkins ;3 See you on the next mission!!
,｡･:*:･☆ Mana Mixup ｡･:*:･★
The scrolling holographic text exploded into a shower of sparks, filling an otherwise quiet alcove of the Pellier estate. Odette positioned herself between the light and the party-goers behind her, wincing. Mana’s timing was perfect as always. It had taken most of the day to construct an appropriately wealthy persona, after securing a last minute invitation from Marzie.
Kiah James was in attendance at society’s premier Procession Day dinner, which meant Odette needed to be as well. Even if she’d rather be knocking back ciders and squaredancing with Sharp Molly, or mingling with the town’s tradesfolk at the Landslide’s annual event. Instead she was here, in an over-starched pantsuit and cloak ensamble, keeping an eye out for slimey business dealings.
Not that they were hard to find in a place like this. With the ledgers closed for the holiday, handshake agreements were as plentiful as tasteful hors d’ouevres. Odette snagged another deviled egg from a tray as she passed and headed for the main parlor.
The Pellier estate was grand, but refined in its sensibilities. By the standards of the upper crust, that is. Odette imagined they could still hide themself away in its sprawling halls for a fortnight at least, if they really needed to.
Only a section of the house was open to the public today, and this portion was filled with gentlefolk dressed in the season’s most fashionable finery. Odette edged her way around gossipy circles of ruffled skirts, dodging secluded corners occupied by flirtatious young couples. A straight-backed servant with a tray of spiced wine in elegant flutes bowed out of her way. She nodded thanks, and grabbed a glass for their trouble.
As she took a sip, she caught sight of a figure standing aloof by the fireplace, supported by a slender walking stick. Round cheeked with a shock of dark hair, in a forest green suit as sharp as their jawline. Hezekiah James glanced at their companion and offered a smile that, even in the glow of the flames, did not warm their eyes.
Keeping her pace steady, Odette meandered toward a desert table within earshot. She sipped her wine, surveying an array of pastries. Oh, they had creampuffs—but which to choose? With one hand tucked in a pocket, she lightly squeezed her recording crystal, hoping it would pick up something of use.
“As I’m sure you could tell from the samples we sent along, the product is of the highest quality.” Kiah’s voice seeped through the hubbub, honey-smooth.
“Yes, yes, it was certainly minty,” a reedy tone, Odette thought she recognized. “I can see the market for it too. No doubt it would sell, no doubt. I’m simply wondering, I’m sure you understand, how such a thing is made.”
The voice place itself in Odette’s memory. It belonged to MaGuddans, she thought. One Mr Click. So Kiah was hoping for the department store’s mass market appeal—she could have guessed that much.
“I’d like to know as well, if I’m to write a feature after all! It seems a miracle of modern science. Those stories always sell.” This third conversant unfamiliar, with a youthful eagerness. A journalist, perhaps?
“Ah, but I can’t go giving away all my secrets now can I? An industrialist must think of the competition.”
“Oh come on. Just one little hint! You’re among friends here.”
“I don’t care how you’re doing it,” Mr. Click spoke over the wheedling journalist, “As long as the method is reliable, you see. The price you’re offering is well under market rates. Our finest confectioners can’t hope to match it. But if your prices go up after we cut ties with them…”
He trailed off, leaving Odette to imagine what kind of displeased gestures were being made behind her back. Not concerned with putting MaGuddans’ peppermint suppliers suddenly out of business, but at the chance it might be for less profit than expected. She wrinkled her nose.
“A sensible concern. Allow me to offer my word as a businessperson. My production methods are consistent and cost-effective. I have every confidence that will continue to be the case.”
Mr. Click hummed, muttering something inaudible.
“I do understand, but not every deal is too good to be true.” Odette could hear the self-assured smile in Kiah’s words. “Some are simply good.”
“Well, I suppose the market is always changing. One must change with it, as it were. Alright then. Alright.”
“Hah! Enough of that talk, gentlemen. This is meant to be a party! Let’s have a toast. To innovation! To genuine, pre-crushed peppermint! The new flavor of Nievelmarch.”
“To our mutual benefit,” Kiah followed up.
“And a profitable quarter,” Mr. Click finished.
Odette heard the clinking of glasses and decided that was enough loitering. She gave her crystal another squeeze to end the recording and loaded up a plate with creampuffs. As they turned away from the table with a pastry halfway to her mouth, she nearly collided with someone approaching from behind. An arm clad in forest green caught her as she stumbled.
“Careful there. You almost dropped your dessert.”
Odette looked up, meeting Hezekiah’s eye. They smiled at her, expression softened now that they were a few paces away from their prospective business partners. Odette cleared their throat.
“Thank you. I was distracted.”
“By the Pellier’s pastry selection? Who could blame you,” Kiah chuckled. “I swear Chatelaine outdoes herself every year. Is there anything you’d recommend? I haven’t had the time to properly peruse yet.”
“Let me see,” Odette popped a creampuff in her mouth and chewed, savoring it despite her racing heartbeat. They hadn’t anticipated running into Kiah directly. She could only count her blessings that they didn’t seem to recognize her.
“The creampuffs are good. Maybe try those?”
Kiah laughed as they reached for a plate. “I guess I had better. My apologies, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Though you do look familiar. My name is James, Hezekiah James.”
“Holly Somerville.”
Odette turned away, affecting shyness while hoping to keep them from looking at their face. Though they’d only encountered each other in passing during the aftermath of the lumber case, if her cover was blown here the whole investigation was a bust.
“Then are you related to Marzie—Charlise now, isn’t it? I wasn’t aware she had any family in Nievelmarch.” As they reached for one of the puffs, Odette spotted a heavy ring on their finger. A signet, their personal seal no doubt. Subtly, she slipped a hand in her pocket for her pen.
“A second cousin. Just visiting from Canto.”
“Well there’s no place like Nievelmarch during the holidays.”
They smiled at her, the picture of mannered elegance, but there was a flatness about it, like an illustration in a storybook with nothing more substantial than a paper page behind it.
“I must say I agree.” Odette returned the smile with one just as genuine. “Though I’m afraid I’ve kept my cousin waiting too long as it is. It was lovely to meet you, Mx. James.”
She held out a hand. When they came to meet her, signet ring cold against her skin, Odette took their uncalloused hand with her other. A gesture perhaps too forward for a Procession Day evening, for someone she had only just met, for the genteel role she was playing. Surprise barely registered on Hezekiah’s face, even as Odette’s pen rocked in the loose fabric of her sleeve. Close enough to the signet to get the impression of it.
She left her target behind her, keeping her strides sure and steady so as not to show the wave of panic only now subsiding. If she’d learned anything from the ice, it was how to keep her balance on the edge of a blade. With this—Hezekiah’s personal seal—she could impersonate them in writing.
There were still questions about this case, though she now knew who else was involved in the scheme. Why were Vivants funding a peppermint mine? And, if Mana’s tests were accurate, just what was Hezekiah planning to sell Nievelmarchers exactly? The clock was ticking and deals had already been made. It was time for Odette to get some real answers.
~~~
Miss Van Ives,
The Velvet Manor thanks you for your inquiry. Though we are unable to disclose the particulars of magical practice to outsiders at this time, close associates of our organization have assured us you are to be trusted. Thus we shall inform you that under no law magical or mundane should a mineral deposit long sequestered in earth naturally become confectionary. This transformation, confirmed by our own reccoinassance, speaks to a greater shift being worked even now upon the foundations of the very world. We ask, what does it mean for the firmament itself to become entangled with the festive observances of Nievelmarch’s people? Is this now a town built upon strata of peppermint? Shall we cultivate from our land not sustenance, but holiday cheer? Is this so fundamental to us that it might be packaged and sold across a strange realm full of stranger folk, who despite all distance will, upon seeing a striped candy stick in the shop, smile and say “Ah yes, the Marchmont Mountains. What a jolly place.” I ask you, Miss Van Ives, what are we? And what are we becoming?
In more concise terms, know that the Velvet Manor had no more a hand in this change than did you. Which is to say, some curses are wrought only by those they most afflict. We seek an end to it, and a return to wildness. Where the foundation of fallen empire lies rotting, rotted it ought remain.
Go with haste and the blessing of witches.
P.S. We have returned your enclosed sample of the offending substance. You will need it more than we do. Use with caution.
Odette gingerly tucked away a sealed paper packet that the note had been curled around. They could feel the powder inside shift, its heft slightly more than she would expect from something so slight. Some folks said curses had a weight to them.
In the cloudy sky above, the messenger raven circled and cawed, velvet ribbon trailing from its talons. Odette’s horse stirred under her, unsettled by the noise. She soothed it as she pressed her heels to its flank, urging it further up the mountain.
It was cold at these heights and deathly silent; as if the winter had frozen over sound itself. Odette felt almost ashamed to be disturbing it with the crunching of her horse’s hooves through snow. There was no time to waste on such thoughts, however. With all of Nievelmarch still sleeping off last night’s Procession Day festivities, and the mine closed for the holiday, this was Odette’s only chance to take a look for herself.
The letter from the Velvet Manor worried her. They hadn’t really expected a response, but felt it was good form to notify the witches whenever her work extended to the mountains and forests outside town. That they replied at all was enough to raise hairs and the words themselves did nothing to reassure her.
Her horse rounded another switchback and Odette was pulled from her thoughts by the sight of scaffolding and hastily tarped equipment. It seemed she had reached her destination. She dismounted and approached on foot.
The shaft dug into the mountainside at a steep angle, steps gouged into the wall one over the other. Odette took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of peppermint. There was no light in the depths before her, but unlit lanterns were piled nearby. She took one and began the climb.
Odette stepped onto solid ground, lifting the lantern to shed its light around her. They saw ancient looking pillars, carved with familiar looking symbols. The smell of peppermint was almost overwhelming.
As she stepped closer to the pillar, Odette pulled her folio from her bag. The characters weren’t exactly the same, but there were enough similarities to confirm her suspicions. This was the language of the Chimeric Crown. They had seen it before in the bath by Pacina, and now here it was again in the ground below her very own town.
Odette copied down the new symbols and kept moving. Further into the mine, the space opened more than the lantern could illuminate. Blocky steps were dug out of the red and white striped walls. Odette ran her finger along one, gave it a tentative lick—peppermint. So they really were pulling it right out of the ground.
Still, she kept walking. The mine went on and on, sloping ever deeper. Equipment was left haphazardly by active worksites. Odette’s brow wrinkled as she observed towering ladders at steep angles, buckets of material balanced on the edge of quarried blocks. Surely none of this was safe.
Past where the crews were working, the passage grew narrow. Odette had to duck through some sections, the tracks beneath her feet in clear disrepair. They pushed onward as far as they were able. There was no telling when the mine would next be empty. She had to make the most of this opportunity.
As she walked, they noticed the occasional rusted sword or crossbow bolt discarded on the ground, with no sign of who may have once wielded it. It unsettled her, and the weapons appeared in greater frequency the further from the worksite she travelled. Had fighting ocurred here?
Eventually, she reached an impasse where the walls had fully caved in. As she turned to leave, her lantern brushed the wall, scraping the candy striped facade. A trickle of white grains fell after it. Frowning, Odette dug into the rock with her pen, catching the substance in her cupped palm.
A taste confirmed her suspicions. Whatever illusion had been worked upon the upper levels of the mine only extended so deep. Here, where no miners worked, the mineral vein was still salt. She gathered the mixture of salt and peppermint in a small jar for safekeeping and hastily made her retreat.
~~~
Mssr. James,
Many thanks for your correspondence. I pray your query is merely for the benefit of your secretarial endeavors and not, Aquia forbid, doubt cast upon my business acumen! Though in truth I cannot take offense, living as we do in such uncivilized times. No doubt you have grown accustomed to much backstabbing and double crossing in the course of your illustrious career.
To whit, allow me to set your troubled mind at ease and put the terms of our agreement to page, as it is the time honored tradition of the once and soon to be glorious Fish Kingdom to conduct our business with integrity.
Point the first; having provided the necessary funds for the re-establishment of the Marchmont Peppermint Mine, myself and my compatriots are thus entitled to use of the site as a Scionic Pool and a 10% portion of all profits henceforth.
Point the second; should the savory calcification encroach further on the Marchmont Peppermint Mine, myself and my compatriots shall once again serve as its protectors and be charged with defeating all salt ghouls and/or salt skeletons until the Mine is restored to productive sweetness.
Point the third; in recognition of their service toward the Chimeric Crown’s reconstruction efforts, Mssr. Hezekiah James shall be granted unrestricted mineral and lumber rights within the Marchmont Region as soon as said region is brought under the Fish Kingdom’s commerical domain.
It is my hope these assurances demonstrate my commitment to our continued partnership. Your cooperation shall be the very foundation on which the new Chimeric Crown may rise!
Yours in effort,
Prince Piscine
Odette read the letter, then read it again. Her pen tapped anxiously against the tabletop, her brow furrowed deeper with each line. Vivants. Always causing trouble wherever they appeared. Who did this so called prince think he was, giving away Marchmont land? She wouldn’t stand for it. They just wouldn’t.
“Don’t work too hard, dear. It is Lieberklase still.” Marguerite interrupted Odette’s spiraling thoughts as she put another mug of hot cocoa on the table.
“I’ll do my best.” Odette tried for a grateful smile, but even she could feel the strain around the edges.
Marguerite clucked her tongue, but was drawn away by the bell over the door and the arrival of new customers to the Glacier Express cafe. Odette was left alone with an array of documents, notes, and half-written letters addressed to city officials. The papers sat atop plates from the strudel train, long since scraped clean, and sticky rings left by mug after mug of warm beverages. She had been here for hours, even before the Odd Job courier delivered the Vivant’s response.
As angry as the letter made her, at least it made some of the puzzle pieces start fitting together. The Chimeric Crown once held some sort of power over Nievelmarch, the only remnants of that era being an old mine up in the mountains. This drew the attention of Vivants, hoping to restore the mine as a place of power and to further their imperial aspirations.
Clearly, the Vivants’ interest had aligned with Hezekiah’s, leading to the deal they struck together. Kiah wanted wealth and power, and didn’t care if the current order in Nievelmarch had to be uprooted to obtain it. They would take any investment, welcome any new overlord, so long as it brought them a little closer to that goal. For them, the mine was just the beginning.
It was here that things started to get hazy. When did the mine turn to peppermint? The Vivants seemed to believe it had always been that way, and that the lingering salt was some kind of corruption setting in, but surely that couldn’t be the case. The letter from the witches implied otherwise.
As Odette brought it to the forefront of their haphazard stack of correspondence, the richly inked words seemed to echo what the Conservatory had said when they first came to recruit her. Something fundamental has changed. The world was shifting in strange ways and from the gaps left by these transformations, Vivants sprung forth like termites out of wood, ready to gobble up all that they could.
Could it be that Nievelmarch now had a peppermint mine thanks to the power of the town’s own holiday cheer? Might it really all be because peppermint fit some picturesque theme, while a salt mine was, as Mana put it, boring? The thought unsettled her, but no other explanation seemed forthcoming.
Odette sipped her cocoa. It was rich and creamy, with an undertone of mint that she once would have savored. They would have to deal with the existential questions later. Right now, they had a mining operation to disrupt.
Her pen scratched against page as Odette began to write, evidence spilling out inky black. In a neat but generic hand, she pieced together all that she knew, building out the case against the so-called peppermint mine.
When it was complete she read it once over, shuffled her stack of stationary, and settled in to make another copy. Their cocoa steamed in its mug, enveloping them in a warm chocolately fragrence. She was sure to need a few more refills before all her work was done.
~~~
To Our Concerned Citizen,
We at the Nievelmarch Department of Commerce thank you for the information regarding the pending patent for the product known as “Nievelmint”. Due to discrepencies in the patent application, the product known as “Nievelmint” will not be licensed for legal sale within the city of Nievelmarch’s municipal boundaries. Furthermore, production of the product known as “Nievelmint” shall not take place within said boundaries.
Wishing you a very happy holiday,
Nancy Thistledown
NDOC Senior Director
Odette let the note fall onto her desk with a sigh. They leaned back in their chair, digging into the plush cushion. The heavy cardstock sat on top of that day’s paper, the first of the new year. Its headline was in bold print across the top of the page, “Younger James Embroiled in Peppermint Scandal.”
There was no doubt which pushed the NDOC to take action—the evidence Odette submitted or her connections in the Marchmont Moment’s newsroom. Either way, it was a success. Their client was sure to be pleased with the mine’s closure, leaving Odette to relax and enjoy some belated holiday celebrations.
She pushed her chair back and stood, heading to the kitchen of her apartment. There was still some eggnog in the icebox, the perfect way to celebrate another case closed. Maybe Sharp would want to go to the rink tomorrow. It was always nice to skate for an audience, and the younger Odd Job Boys liked learning from Odette when they had the time.
The sun was already setting as Odette poured herself a glass. Outside, dusk glistened across the snowy rooftops of the city. They stood before the bay window in the sitting room, looking out. A horse and rider trotted down the street, past a warmly bundled young couple out for a stroll. In the alley across the way, a group of children were having a raucous snowball fight.
Odette watched them for a while, wondering if her downstairs neighbor was home yet and if she’d like to share a toast without knowing what it was for. In the end, they sipped their nog alone. It wasn’t a glorious pursuit, her life of espionage. It did nothing to feed her desire for recognition, for performance—not like ice dancing did. Yet her city was better off for it. She could be content with that.
The door downstairs opened and closed with a creak. Footsteps sounded on the stairs that led up to her level of the duplex. It was a heavier stride than the soft-spoken magazine editor who lived downstairs. Odette furrowed her brow, setting her eggnog on the sideboard.
When the knock came, she was ready. Their stance wide, Odette opened the door to reveal a smartly dressed figure, looking a bit worse for wear. Hezekiah James turned toward her and tipped their hat.
“Odette Van Ives. I knew I recognized you at the banquet. Funny how we keep running into each other like this.”
“I live here.” Odette didn’t know how they got her address, nor what they hoped to gain from turning up alone like this. “So if you’ll excuse me,” she went to close the door, but Kiah wedged their walking stick in the gap.
“I meant professionally. This makes twice now that you’ve gotten in my way.”
Odette’s grip on the door faltered and Kiah pushed their way inside. They stood in her foyer like they owned the place. A charming smile graced their face like always, but through gritted teeth. Alone, their dashing persona was falling away like wrapping paper. Odette slipped her butterfly knife from her sleeve.
“There’s no need for that. I only wanted to chat.” Kiah stepped closer.
“Make an appointment.” Odette nodded to the still open door, “You can still leave.”
The smile fell away. Without it, Kiah looked wan and haggared. Their eyes were sunken and bloodshot, absent sleep.
“I don’t think I’ll be doing that, my dear Odette.”
They twisted the head of their cane. Odette heard the scrape of a blade inside and made her move. Still half sheathed, she blocked their rapier with her knife. They danced a few steps backwards out of the entryway, pulling out their blade.
“I was disinherited, you know.” They laughed, humorless. “I lost everything. Because of you.”
Snarling, they lunged. Odette side-stepped, reaching for her whip. It wrapped around their wrist and she ducked under their blade, going for the throat.
Almost too late, she noticed they had grabbed a decorative snowglobe from the mantle with their offhand. She dodged the blow, and it shattered on the ground instead. Her whip fell slack across glass shards and pools of glitter. Odette scowled. Her sitting room rug was ruined.
Kiah closed distance, poised to run her through. Odette parried, moving to the side. She was forced back a step, her whip little use in such close quarters. She dropped it, fending off another blow. As she made to draw her second blade, they felt something else shift in her sleeve. A small paper packet, filled with powder.
Struck with inspiration, Odette pressed the offensive. Dropping low, she swept Kiah’s legs, forcing them to leap backwards toward the bay window. Up again, she dipped under their guard and her blade tore through their jacket, grazing skin.
Swearing, Kiah stumbled backwards. They pressed a hand to their chest, looking aghast as it came away stained in blood.
“You— How could you? I am of noble birth! I’m going to rule over this whole city. You’re nothing.”
As they sneered, Odette let the packet fall from her sleeve. Swiftly she tossed it in Kiah’s direction, following its arc with her knife. The blade tore through the paper, pinning it to the wall behind Kiah. In its wake, a trail of peppermint dusted the room.
It fell across the ruined rug, settling on Hezekiah’s shoulders like the season’s first snow. For a moment, they only looked baffled. Then a great wind stirred up, as if from nowhere. The picture frames on the walls rattled. A strand of tinsel tore itself from Odette’s tree, joining the maelstrom.
Odette shielded her eyes from debris, overcome by the sudden scent of warm baked goods and pine sap. When she looked up again, Hezekiah was gone. Her knife was embedded in the wall, an empty packet dangling from the blade. On the floor, sat an unbroken snowglobe.
She leaned down to pick it up. Inside was a village scene, as it had been before, only now the snow falling down on the Nievelmarch rooftops was striped red and white. Odette turned it over once, then back again. There, in miniature, was a familiar looking villager.
Their suit was well fitted and stylish, if torn open. They carried a slender walking stick with a hat sitting just askew. Their face was frozen in an ugly snarl of rage.
Odette snorted and set the snowglobe back on the mantle. It never paid to be on the bad side of witches. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting her rug cleaned. The knife came out of the drywall, leaving behind a gouge in the wallpaper. So much for the deposit.
Still, they thought to themself as she refilled her eggnog, this holiday could have gone much worse indeed. Outside, the sun slipped below the mountains. The lamplighter walked the street below, illuminating streetlights one by one. Odette watched them from her window, a light flurry of snow beginning to fall.
Nievelmarch moved ever onwards. Soon the snow would melt and spring would be upon them. The hills would bloom in a pallette of wildflowers and the rain would wash away memories of the past winter.
In the kitchen, Odette flipped through her address book, looking for a baker who might deliver to the mountains. It was only proper that she send something nice to the Velvet Manor in thanks.