Remme has his encyclopedia of magical beings on his lap, or so I am calling the tome. I hover over his shoulder. He flips through the pages in a seemingly chaotic manner, going a dozen pages forward then back a few. Looking for something, anything, that might explain me.

The past few days, I had spent every waking hour trying to make various forms of ice, often only ending up with a few shards in my palm. Until I burnt myself on a baking tray of pretzels - brezel, Remme called them as he guided my hands forming the dough - and the whole kitchen iced over. Magic spilled out of me with the pain of the hot metal hitting my arm.

“There are not a lot of creatures with reported control over ice, but there are some with storm or weather powers. Tell me about your heritage.”

I take a sip of warm mulled wine before I speak. “My father is Bolivian. Both of his parents grew up there and I know his great grandmother was indigenous.” I think of how my grandmother had tried to hide this all her life. I never really talked to my grandparents about their culture as it seemed to remind them of a life they wanted to leave behind, rather they allowed little glimpses in the holiday traditions we celebrated and extended family always around.

He flips to a page. “Well, what about this? You could have the lineage of the Acalica. ‘Weather fairies, wielder of storms from the Bolivian mountains.’”

I move in closer to look at the page, though there is nothing I can understand on the page as it is all written in a language I have never seen. His breath stills and he sits a little more upright. I feel his warmth surround me, the eye of the snowstorm that is constantly his center.

“And your mother’s ancestors?” His voice is breathy. The words are just a cover for a deeper, different conversation that is thrumming between us.

I hum softly. I don't even know my mother knows this answer. “She is from a part of the US where there is a lot of Scotch-Irish and Cherokee heritage, but she doesn't know her family well. She's from a region that holds a lot of mysticism.” I think of the rural town in the hills outside of Asheville we occasionally visited as a child.

“With your mixed heritage, you could be drawing from a lot of lines of magic, but no one you know is from Bavaria?”

I shrug. “I think my dad once said his grandparents immigrated from Germany to Bolivia, but I honestly don't know if that is fact.”

“Actually, there were a few waves of Germans who migrated to South America, it is a possibility.” He's looking for me to confirm that I am what he wants me to be, but I'm just not sure.

I take a deep breath. “I can't make horns or claws for that's what you are asking”

“It would be a compelling reason for you to be included in our community, the first female Krampus in generations, if we could prove it.” He’s no longer looking at me but beyond me. “If you want to stay,” he adds silently.

“Maybe your magic is of storms. Can you do anything besides ice?” My bewilderment answers him. “Would you mind…” he trails off as he turns his body towards me on the couch, “If I smell you?”

He cradles his hands gently around the base of my head, pulls my head towards him, and deeply inhales. The smile that forms on his face tells me something about my magic delights him. My skin under his hands is warming from his touch.

He then smells both sides of my neck as he releases my head from his hands. He slides his hands down to my upper arms and pulls me close while he takes a few breaths at my upper chest, as if he is trying to smell my heart. The heat from his closeness travels deep to my core.

He moves back slightly and opens his eyes. His dark black eyes burn, contrasting with the flurries of snow he has created around us.

“I need to taste you.”

“To understand my magic?” Confused but also completely ok with him running his tongue all over me.

“No, for you to understand our magic.”

All I can think about is how wonderful it would be to create an icy snowstorm as I grab his shirt and pull him towards me.

I learned desperation, for me, comes in many forms. The emotion that fuels my ice happens to be triggered by desperation in Remme's touch. So, I made up a game. Instead of me trying to call ice from nothing, I have to control my ice when he touches me and in turn he has to control his hands on me.

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I fail miserably on the simplest of tasks - a single finger on the inside of my wrist, on the bottom of my foot, on the back of the neck. He drags his finger down my back, along my spine, and it sends my ice crashing into the fireplace. Remme laughs.

“This is all your fault.” As I wave him off me to relight the fire.

We start again, though Remme quickly shifts to his lips rather than his finger. I don’t even try to call to ice as my whole being is molten. I wrap his arms around me as he finds the crook of my neck, and I sink back into the pillows of the couch. As I drift off in his arms, I find the warmth of the fire and his embrace have melted every icy part of my being.

I wake in front of the cold fireplace though still in warm arms, to the jerk Remme's body as he sits upright. The sun is barely cresting the horizon.

He throws open the doors to the balcony and walks out into the freezing sun, bothered by something. He scans the horizon, sensing something more than looking. The winds off the mountain quickly chill the room and bring in drifts of snow, but Remme is not bothered as snow swirls around him.

In a few quick steps he is already across the room towards his bedroom. “Humans are on our lands. If I don’t leave now, they won’t survive much longer.” Before his sentence is complete, he is already down the dark hallway. I know it is not a question for me to come along, but I feel so worthless being left here. Though I was not much help in the sleigh.

In less than a minute, Remme is dressed and armed, and crashes into me standing at the landing.

“Let me come. If anything, I can…” But I hesitate because I am not sure what I can offer. I want to say just to make sure he is safe but I know he won’t be. To make sure he is not reckless, be near him. “I can practice. I’ll stay in the sleigh.”

“You will just be another target. The alps are already on the move.” He gently brushes his hand on my chin, pauses, then turns away and takes two steps down the stairs. He stops again, looking back at me. “I want you to come and I promise you, if this is a life you choose, and are allowed to choose by the council, I will never leave you. For now though, you are to return to your society and I can’t have you in danger while a guest here.” It hurts but I understand, though Remme does not seem to find satisfaction with his own words. He opens his mouth to say something more but thinks better of it and leaves.

I spend all morning, until the sun is high, throwing ice blades at the closest trees from the porch. It is so easy as I feel desperate, helpless about my place in the universe right now. Once I can successfully bury blades there, I move on to the further trees. I am not satisfied until every visible tree has sap dripping down from my fury.

After hours of creating ice and throwing it into the nearest trees, my arms and body ache. My arms from the repetitive movements and recognition that I am so physically weak. The body from the fatigue setting in from making the ice.

I laugh at my body - something I have spent hours in the gym to sculpt and socialize, but not actually giving myself any power. I make up a circuit I'm going to do - push ups, sit ups, stairs, planks. Maybe I can even do chin ups on the testers of the ornate bed I've been sleeping in.

After the first lap, I need to rest. Fatigue and achiness overtaking me. My mind is still moving and won't stop focusing on this freezing heat I feel inside. How did I just call up all that ice? I think about what was making me feel hopeless. Being left, being useless. As horrible as it felt, to feel that wat, I know for now that's I how I can become useful. I scribble down a list of memories that call that up that feeling.

The Alp lair

The ravine

At the lake when Alps ambushed us

Students who hate math. I actually scratch that one out because I have been able to change some minds.

After a break up

When my aunties try set me up

The things my aunties say behind my back

When I try to cook grandma recipes

Being a nerd in high school. But I didn't change myself for that. I leaned into myself.

When I crossed my mom as a kid

Ice skating. I laugh at that one.

The list continues for a while, becoming darker. Things that bring pain to write down.

Being stuck here, at the whims of the council

That alley on new years

Jacob

Thomas. I had forgotten Thomas. Had tried hard to forget him, but he still lurked in the back of my mind. The reason I am skittish of overly affectionate men.

Dylan. My cousin.

That time I had to

I can hardly write a word more, my hands are shaking so bad. From the memories. Also, the chill surrounding me.

I look up to see if the porch doors are open or the fire went out, but instead I see I am enclosed in a thick wall of ice. An ice castle, towers spiraling above me. No windows or doors but completely clear. The fire is not even close to warm enough to melt it.

I imagine the self that I was just a week ago. I would have panicked in here, panicked with all the thoughts that I was writing down. Panicked and stayed hidden behind this icy exterior. But instead I feel safe, strong. I have survived all those things and more. And instead of fear of those desperate times, I feel beautiful with what I have become.

I sit in awe for a while, not even worrying about how to get out. As I know, when I want to leave, all I have to do is create my own door. I take a deep breath, see it, then walk out.