A Soul As Cold As Frost (The Winter Souls Book 1)

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After dinner, Uncle Ralf read a Christmas poem as we gathered around the large stone fireplace in the living room and tried not to ogle at Aunt Sylvia’s horrendously fat spruce tree, held together with gold ribbons, crystal teardrop ornaments, and ropes of tiny white lights. The display gave off the fresh scent of pine needles, sap, and the sort of inconsiderate wealth-flaunting that practically shoved spare bills up one’s nose. Antique streetlamps illuminated downtown, prismed in every direction like hovering confetti. Carols blared from the speakers of a newspaper stand whose buzz-like radio sound muddied the familiar melody of Jingle Bells and swallowed most of the other noise in the street. Buildings hosted glassy bouquets of scarlet, green, and gold ornaments, but it was difficult to enjoy the splendour of the season in this bitter flash-freeze. I rubbed my eyes, questioning what in the world was going on with me when a Toooot! blasted through the space, bringing a startled scream from my throat. Alarmed customers stared, taking in my dripping wet coat and soggy-butt pants. I turned to go after her, more curious about what she was doing than what was happening in the family room, even if she was just cleaning up in the kitchen.

Throughout the reading, Ralf’s children begged him to let them open just one gift from the pile beneath the tree. It severely disrupted the poem, but we all clapped nonetheless when he was done, and finally, he told his kids they could each choose one present to open early. A dozen people herded through the lines, snatching up lemon pastries, coffee cakes, and boxed pumpkin pies from the shelves. These people were all regular—no beak-noses or teardrop ears. I sighed, wondering if a good night’s sleep would fix me since most of the medical journals in the Waterloo Region Library advised that rest was the best remedy for people out of sorts.I would rather stay in for the month of December and have my grandmother read us boring old Christmas tales to spare us the holiday drama. I approached sluggishly to keep it from springing away, and I crouched to study the specimen while my mind raced with explanations based on things I’d read in books. Something was seriously wrong with me, and there was no chance I’d be bringing it up with these people who stuffed themselves with spiced bread and hot turkey and declared their opinions with loud voices. Because even though I sat in a room crowded with relatives, I felt the familiar pang of being alone. Same as I did every year during the holidays when I woke up to the cold bite of winter and relived the ache of bad memories that came with it. I had to drop it. I would drop the glass ball on the sidewalk and leave. And I would never, ever think about this moment again; the moment I realized I was losing my mind. Chapter, The Second It's the Chronicles of Narnia meets Harry Potter. This fantastic winter tale is the perfect blend of classic portal fantasy and the magic world co-existing with our own. It's a beautiful reminder of what is truly important in life."

Hide it! The girl snapped at the sight of me holding it up like a beacon. I’ll confuse them while you get away. No time to waste, Trite. Blink twice and chase the train! A twinkle lit the girl’s eyes. There’s a reason we lean on the sciences. Theories give us ways to cope with things we can’t otherwise explain. Brilliant minds scribe papers and books, journals and lists, all in the name of trying to find the most supported reasons why things happen the way they do.She smiled again like it was a secret, but I knew she didn’t have any secrets from me. In some ways, I was the daughter to her that my mother had been, replacing an old memory with a new body. A hand emerged to pull the scarf down, revealing the distinct face of a girl who looked younger than I’d assumed. Despite her ruggedness, she had a soft mouth. Hoisting my book bag from the slush, I followed the animal in long strides, imitating the chimney across the street with my puffs of visible steam. I had only one memory of my father chasing us into an ocean of snow so unblemished. My sister Kaley was just a baby, and my brother Winston and I could barely run on our toddler legs. After Winston and I had exhausted ourselves building forts, my mother had brewed hot chocolate on the stove, and we’d spent the day listening to my dad sing off-key Christmas carols while decorating the tree with popcorn we’d strung ourselves. My muscles seized, lurching me to a halt. I thought I was dreaming, but I couldn’t peel my stare away, even though all I could think about was running for my life.

My gasp was lost in the cold wind drifting down the walkways overcrowded with holiday lights and Ontarians in multicoloured mittens. But the street wasn’t just busy with the usual Waterloo crowd, it was also busy with birds.It's the Chronicles of Narnia meets Harry Potter. This fantastic winter tale is the perfect blend of classic portal fantasy and the magic world co-existing with our own. It's a beautiful reminder of what is truly important in life."

As though summoned by the girl’s lunacy, a horn-like blast echoed down the city street, and I whipped around in alarm. Open my…what…? I got the strangest impulse to turn and run—a nervous reaction to her husky, outlandish blabbering and harsh features. My father used to roll his eyes at Sylvia’s collections and had always found excuses to leave the room to avoid my aunt. It was one of the memories that came easily in this house. I jumped in surprise when the still haze erupted into a volcanic blanket of white flakes, littering the end of the street and temporarily eating a streetlamp before it calmed.

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The Quarrel of Sword and Bone was a death sentence for anyone who stepped into the arena with the deranged Queen, whose soul had crisped to frost in an age long since past. I jogged for it, chiming a small bell as I entered, and was immediately encompassed by the scent of pie crust, freshly ground coffee beans, and the sour impatience of old ladies shivering in skirts just like my aunt’s.