Christmas is Harry’s favourite time of the year, but it looks like he’ll be spending it alone. When it comes to the men he fancies, his luck is non-existent. Harry’s nerves always get the better of him—especially when he tries to talk to Andrew, the hot guy downstairs.
Everything changes when Harry meets a mysterious girl in the woods who professes to be a witch. He dismisses her claims, but when odd things start happening to him, he has to reconsider.
Andrew was attracted to Harry from the start, but their awkward encounters put him off. All goes well until Harry opens his mouth—and ruins it with his stupidity and silly comments. When Harry suddenly becomes more relaxed and they have a proper conversation, Andrew realises his first impression was wrong. As the days count down to December 25, they get swept up in the Christmas spirit and their relationship moves faster than either expected.
A little winter magic might have been the push they needed, but Harry worries that when it wears off, he’ll no longer be the man Andrew wants.
Talk about the magic of the holiday. I already love Christmastime and all the glory and magic of the season but if I didn't this is the story that would make me believe. Another new author for me and I can't wait to check out her other work in the new year.
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CHAPTER ONE
“Um… who are you?” Harry stared as the girl casually tossed the fireball between her hands. He wondered how their Saturday walk through the woods had suddenly turned into an episode of Merlin.
The girl stared back, her gaze darting between the four of them before landing and staying on Harry. “My name is Melia, and this is sacred ground.” She gestured at the surrounding forest with a tilt of her head. “Why have you strayed from the path?”
He should probably keep quiet and not engage with the crazy lady in front of him, but as usual, his mouth ran away with him. “We haven’t. We’re on the main path, according to the map. And what’s with all the…?” He pointed at the fireball with a wave of his hand. “Should you be playing with fire in the middle of a forest?”
Melia scoffed. “I can control my magic. I would never cause harm to my woods.”
Magic? “There’s no such thing as magic.” Harry rolled his eyes for good measure, and turned to his friends, expecting them to back him up. But all three stared back at him with matching expressions of horror and disbelief. “What?”
They couldn’t seriously believe that shit was for real? So the freaky hot girl had appeared out of nowhere—one minute he and his mates were laughing about falling over twisted tree roots, and the next there she was. And okay, she also had what looked like a ball of fire floating above her palm, which, while impressive, was clearly sleight of hand. Harry had seen Dynamo do way better things on the telly—he’d walked on water, for fuck’s sake!
The girl eyed Harry with obvious amusement. She smirked and continued to toss the fireball from one hand to the other as she spoke, the flames dancing in the air as though alive. “You don’t think this is real?”
Her voice came out softer than he was expecting this time, sounding rich and soothing to his ears. Harry blinked and shook his head, feeling a little dazed.
The light from the fire cast her face in an orangey-yellow light, and her eyes appeared almost black. She had short, spiky purple hair—although it was hard to be sure in the shadows of the trees—and looked about as menacing as Harry’s younger sister, Chloe. And Chloe cried at adverts.
Harry shook his head, standing his ground as the girl got closer. “Um… no,” he answered, ignoring Jason’s hissed warning next to him. “Look, I’m sorry if I sounded rude before.” He sighed, not wanting to come across as a twat, but she’d clearly lost contact with the mothership. “Honestly, that’s a great trick”—his gaze flicked to the fireball again—“and I would love to know how you’re doing it. But no, I don’t think any of this is real.” Harry’s voice wavered on the last words, and he swallowed down his growing apprehension. The way the flames licked over her palms and curled lovingly around her wrists sent a shiver up his spine. No way was that normal.
Why anyone would want to waste such an elaborate hoax on him and his mates was beyond him, but the longer it went on, the more uncertainty began to creep in. Melia had bare forearms, and Harry frowned, trying to work out how she was doing that without getting burnt. There was something off about her too.
Then it dawned on him. The forest had gone oddly quiet around him, no rustling of branches or crunching of dead leaves, as though the trees and whatever animals were around all held their breath to see what would happen next.
Not that he would admit it—and the idea was still crazy—but perhaps he’d spoken too soon. It wouldn’t be the first time. Harry hoped it wouldn’t end up being the last either. Or something like that… he couldn’t think properly with the way she was watching him.
“Hmm….” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him for a second longer. “What to do….” She blew gently on the fireball and it disappeared in a puff of smoke. She tapped one slim, delicate finger against her chin and met Harry’s gaze. He shuddered. It was as though she looked into his soul. “I like you, Harry, you’ve got spirit.”
Shit, how does she even know my name?
“Even though you and your friends stumble through my forest like a herd of cattle and you’re a stubborn arse who won’t admit when he’s wrong.” She stepped closer. Harry wanted to flinch back, but his feet wouldn’t move. “Like now, for example. I know you’re having second thoughts about me, but you won’t admit it, will you?” She clicked her fingers and purple lightning crackled and danced over her bare hands as she held them out in front of her. “Despite what your eyes tell you.”
Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat, his eyes transfixed on her fingers. “That’s not—”
She tsked at him and held up a hand that was thankfully back to normal now. “Do you always speak without thinking?” She glanced over at his friends, and the traitors all nodded vigorously.
Harry glared at them and bristled. “Only when I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”
Like now. The worst thing was he always got nervous in front of guys he liked, too, and ended up saying stupid shit. His brain went offline and his mouth took over. It was as though his own body cock-blocked him.
“I imagine that has some unfortunate consequences.”
Harry huffed. “Sometimes.”
“That’s what I thought.” Her smile was all teeth. For the first time since she’d appeared, Harry felt afraid. She reached into the pocket of her black cloak—Come on, could she be any more cliché?—and withdrew a small pouch. “Tell me, Harry, and think very carefully before you answer, what do you honestly think about what you’ve just seen?”
Harry bit his lip. The urge to say it was all a load of bollocks was on the tip of his tongue, but that would have been more of a knee-jerk reaction. If he stopped and considered everything he’d witnessed in the last few minutes, then things weren’t as black-and-white as he’d thought. “Fine. I’ve never believed in magic, never thought there were things we couldn’t explain with science. But….”
He searched for the right words, and she raised an eyebrow, expectantly.
“But?”
“But you’re different, aren’t you?” Now that he paid attention, Harry realised how true that was. Melia had an aura of power around her—not something you could see, but a sense that there was more to her than they were looking at. She smiled again, no teeth this time, and Harry’s whole body relaxed. “To be honest, I’m not sure what to believe anymore. And the fact that I’m even thinking that is a little terrifying.”
Wow. That was so much more than Harry had meant to say. He didn’t dare look at his friends, not wanting to see what they thought of it all. Heartfelt speeches weren’t exactly in his usual repertoire.
“Ahh,” she said, still smiling softly at him. “It’s always better when you think before you speak. Don’t you agree?” Harry nodded and her smile got wider. “You may not be able to help yourself, but I can do it for you.” She shrugged. “It is almost Christmas, after all.”
Before Harry realised what she was doing, she’d emptied the pouch onto her outstretched hand. Pale green powder spilled out onto her palm, and she chanted a few words in a language Harry didn’t recognise, then blew the powder in his face.
“It’s a beautiful winter’s day. Let’s go for a walk,” Harry bitched, mimicking Jason’s voice. “I saw an advert for this cool forest. It’ll be fun!” He almost fell over a huge tree root that came out of nowhere. The forest was full of things doing that, apparently. “It’s where they filmed Merlin and Doctor Who—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jason stopped walking and spun around to face him, stopping Harry in his tracks. “How was I supposed to know we’d run into some crazy witch-girl who would try to put a curse on you?”
“Try?” Harry’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.
As soon as the girl had blown the powder in Harry’s face, she’d disappeared. With the evidence no longer staring them in the face, his friends decided that it was some Morgana wannabe trying to scare them. Harry pointed out that she’d done a bloody good job, but apart from a few red faces, no one believed anything she had done was real. They couldn’t even accurately recount what had happened. None of them remembered her juggling fire, and they laughed when Harry mentioned it. It was as if they’d watched a totally different scenario unfold, even though they’d been more frightened than Harry when the girl had first appeared. Melia. Maybe she’d put a spell on his friends too.
Harry shuddered at the thought, and the cool forest air turned considerably colder as the afternoon wore on.
Jason’s features softened a little, and he reached out to clasp Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t actually believe any of that shit she said, do you?”
Harry was erring on the side of yes. The skin on his nose and cheeks tingled from where the powder had landed, and the taste still clung to the back of his throat. Hopefully it wasn’t poisonous. “No, of course not,” he replied instead. “Don’t be daft.”
“Good.” Jason grinned at him and turned around to carry on walking. They’d almost caught up with the others when Jason glanced back over his shoulder. “Although saying that, she did have a point. You do say shit without thinking.”
Alex and Lewis laughed up ahead of them, looking back and nodding in agreement.
Harry groaned. “Fuck off.” He didn’t bother to deny it. It was true, and they all knew it.
“Hmm… Jase, what’s the name of that guy who moved into the ground floor flat last month? The one Harry always manages to annoy.” Alex waited for them to get closer and then carried on walking.
Harry narrowed his eyes at Jason, willing him to keep quiet. “I don’t annoy him, he just hates me for no reason,” he muttered when Jason grinned at him.
“You mean Jon Snow?”
“He does not look like Jon Snow.” Harry cut in before Alex could say anything.
“Oh, come on. He’s as pale as you like, with black curly hair, brown eyes, and some stubbly beard-type thing going on. Every time I see him, I want to say, “You know nothing.”
“Christ, don’t you dare.”
All three of them laughed at him then, and Harry marvelled at the way the conversation had swung from a crazy witch-girl in the woods to their hot neighbour, who may or may not look like Harry’s favourite character from Game of Thrones. Although Harry had always thought he looked more like Poldark, but taller.
“I’m surprised Harry hasn’t said it already. He seems to piss him off on a daily basis.” Alex dodged out of the way as Harry tried to trip him up. “What was it you said to him yesterday when he was carrying that bag of Christmas decorations from his car?”
“Oh, that was a good one. Maybe his best so far.” Jason laughed next to him, trying to disguise it as a cough.
God, Harry hated his friends sometimes—and to think he willingly chose to spend time with them. They were such arseholes. “His name is Andrew, and all I did was ask him what he was going to do with them.”
He huffed as he remembered the look on Andrew’s face: he’d stared at Harry as though he couldn’t believe anyone could be that stupid, then glanced down at his carrier bag where a big gold star—clearly a tree-topper, now that Harry thought about it—poked out the top and said, “Um… going to decorate my tree?”
Harry had faltered and suddenly felt incredibly stupid, but he managed to force out a laugh. It sounded fake to his own ears, but he waved a hand in Andrew’s direction, muttering, “Oh… well… it’s the season for it. Have fun with that, then.” There’d been more awkward staring before Jason had grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him towards the stairs, saving him from making an even bigger tit of himself.
Harry blushed at the memory. “I don’t think it warranted the raised eyebrows.”
“Really? I reckon you were lucky to only get those. We’d seen him lugging a tree in there the day before. What else was he going to do with a bag of Christmas decorations?” Jason shook his head but reached up to ruffle Harry’s hair.
“Piss off.”
“Aww, don’t be like that. You know we’re only messing.” Jason nudged Harry with an elbow. “I think it’s sweet how you always get so flustered around him.”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “It’s not sweet.”
Harry didn’t want to be sweet where Andrew was concerned. He wanted to be confident, rugged, and sexy. Andrew was all of those things. Despite Harry’s best efforts, he always put his foot in it without fail, and asinine comments fell from his mouth with alarming regularity. Maybe the crazy witch-girl had a point.
Thankfully the car park came into view as they rounded the corner. An inflatable Santa waved jauntily at them with the aid of the breeze, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. His feet were freezing. He wanted to get back to the flat he shared with Jason and have a coffee. Maybe with a shot of whisky in it. As she’d said, it was nearly Christmas, after all.
“So,” Harry began as they all settled in Alex’s car and Alex started the engine, “all joking aside, what the fuck was that?”
Jason turned to face him, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “What, the girl?”
“Yes, the girl. Obviously.”
“I thought we decided it was just some random superfan taking the whole Merlin thing a bit too far. That show finished ages ago. You’d think they would have moved on by now.” Jason shrugged. “Seriously, forget about it, mate.”
The four of them began discussing which pub they were going to later, and Harry slumped back in his seat, more than a little confused. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing? He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window. Jason was probably right. He should forget about it.
Harry’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out with some difficulty, frowning at the unknown number on the screen. He thumbed open the message and promptly froze.
They don’t remember it like you do. Can’t have everyone knowing magic exists, now can we :)
Harry almost dropped the phone. The smiley face only served to make it seem more sinister. He hit Reply immediately, and he got as far as typing What when the whole message disappeared. What the hell? He rubbed his temples, positive he was going mad… or maybe he’d drunk more than he thought last night and was still hung-over?
Jason nudged him with his knee. “Hey, you okay? You look sort of pale.”
Harry sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket before any more weird messages appeared. “Yeah, just tired.”
That sparked another round of piss-taking as his friends ribbed him about his lack of stamina in both drinking and anything remotely physical. It was a bunch of lies—Harry could drink like a fish and run rings around them—so he closed his eyes again and ignored them all.
By the time they got home, it was fully dark and bloody freezing. The forecasters were predicting snow in the next few days, but they hardly ever got snow in Bristol. Alex parked the car in his usual spot, and Harry followed as they got out and walked round to the entrance door of the flats.
The buildings on this part of the estate were relatively new, most of them about ten years old. The block of flats wasn’t like some of the ones he’d lived in growing up—these were only four floors, including the ground floor, and each flat had a living room with big picture windows on the corner of the building. The car park was at the back, and as they walked around, Harry looked up to see Christmas lights sparkling from almost every window, including the one he shared with Jason.
They’d put their lights up yesterday, along with a three-foot-tall artificial tree. Neither of them would be there on Christmas Day. Their families lived only a few miles away, but no way could Harry spend the days leading up to it without Christmas decorations everywhere. He loved Christmas.
They even had a bunch of mistletoe above their front door, and they laughed every time Alex or Lewis knocked on the door and had to kiss them. Alex and Lewis lived on the floor above Harry, so it happened a lot. Alex had already torn down two bunches in a fit of pique, but Harry had been prepared for that. He had a cupboard full of the stuff.
The four of them fell through the main door, laughing at the poor attempt at decorations someone had strung up in the entrance hall—a wreath that had seen better days and a string of lights that had a quarter of the bulbs missing. It looked tired and sad; they needed to fix that later.
Harry was at the rear as they stumbled inside, and he bumped into Jason’s back when the others stopped suddenly. The reason for the abrupt halt became glaringly obvious when Harry peered over their shoulders and saw Andrew standing outside his door, key in hand.
“Oh, hey,” Alex raised his hand in greeting and waved at Andrew. Lewis did the same. “Just getting in from work?”
Andrew paused with his key in the lock and smiled. At Alex and Lewis. Harry hated them both. “Yeah. Just in time too, they reckon we could have snow in the next hour or so.”
Harry snorted, because come on, when did the weather forecasters ever get it right? He opened his mouth to say as much, but everyone turned to stare at him, and he faltered. His mates had varying expressions of amusement, but Andrew had lost all traces of the smile he’d had earlier. He glared in Harry’s direction, and Harry swallowed, the words he had on the tip of his tongue were nowhere to be found. “Um….”
No one spoke, and the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. Andrew scowled at him, and Harry scrambled for something to say to get that look off his face. He blushed furiously and glanced down at his muddy shoes to hide his flushed cheeks.
The weather report had been predicting snow on and off for the last fortnight and they hadn’t seen so much as one flake, and Harry had scoffed at the thought of the “experts” getting it right this time, not at Andrew.
When he finally looked up to say as much, Andrew had already opened his door and was halfway inside. He tossed a “See you later” over his shoulder, which Harry was positive didn’t include him. Then the door clanged shut behind Andrew as if he’d given it a hefty kick.
Jason sighed next to Harry and turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Eloquent as always.” He grinned when Harry groaned and covered his face. “I mean, seriously, what was that?”
“I don’t know?” Harry could easily think of a dozen things he should have said—none of which would have pissed Andrew off enough that he’d be forced to take refuge in his flat. But that didn’t do him any good right then.
“Come on.” Alex shook his head and patted Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll make you an Irish coffee. I feel it’s the least I can do after that performance.”
Harry’s friends headed for the stairs, and he trudged after them. “It wasn’t that bad.” He hadn’t said anything stupid this time. There was that.
Lewis paused on the stairs and glanced back over his shoulder. “He looked so disappointed with you, like you’d failed to meet his expectations. Again. It reminded me of my dad when I failed two of my GCSEs.”
They walked the rest of the way to the second floor in silence, with Harry resigned to the fact that Andrew probably thought he was a knob. So much for witch-girl’s spell helping him out. Clearly it had been a load of bollocks.
Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.
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