Conrad, Kappa, and I were in the washroom. Kappa and I were hovering around the wolfman as he took his boots off. He’d just come in after shoveling the new snow from all the paths and walks around the mansion. I had a hot coffee for him, but I hovered at a respectful distance because I didn’t want to crowd him until he was ready for it.

Kappa, on the other hand, had no concept of “respectful distance.” The pint-sized bog-monster kept bumping into Conrad as he crawled around the wolfman’s tremendous form, over his shoulder, into his lap, and under his legs, trying to get at the elusive boots Conrad was in the middle of taking off. When Conrad put the first one by the door, Kappa flattened himself against the floor as best he could without touching the cold tiles and crept over to sniff it and occasionally poke the thing.

I wondered what it smelled like.

Conrad never wore socks. I’d asked him about it once. He said that the claws on his feet tore through them too fast. He wore steel-toed work boots for the same reason; they were the only things that lasted.

“Besides,” he’d said, “my fur is thick enough to protect me from blisters.”

Blisters weren’t the first thing I thought about when I considered why people wore socks—but thinking about that only raised other questions. Do wolfmen sweat? Did their feet ever stink?

I hadn’t asked. I didn’t think it would be polite.

Maybe I’d ask Kappa later.

Conrad removed his second boot, lifted Kappa out of the way, and put it down by the first one while saying, “I thought you would have learned your lesson with Christmas.”

“My lesson?” I huffed. “I was teaching all of you about the joys of holiday cheer—Ghost of Christmas Are-You-Crazy. I must have missed the part where I was supposed to learn something.”

Conrad put the bog-monster down, and Kappa went right back to snooffling around, inspecting the snow-encrusted leather. When his nose accidently touched some snow, the fins on the sides of his head flitted like bird wings.

Conrad stood up. “If we never bothered celebrating Christmas, why would we celebrate New Year’s?”

He was close enough, I had to look up to see him. He scratched the back of his left ear, briefly smooshing the triangle down. When he moved his hand, it sprang back up.

“Seriously?” I said. “You guys don’t do anything?” I handed him the mug of coffee.

“What’s in here?”

“One cream, one sugar. I know how you take your coffee.”

He dropped his hand on my bald head and rubbed it. “Thank you, Mera.”

The flecks of snow still caught in his fur were cold, but my cheeks felt warm, and I couldn’t stop smiling for some stupid reason. I still tried to play it off like it was nothing. What meager tough-girl credibility I had would vanish if I let Conrad know how much of a sucker I was for praise.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “But more importantly…?”

I looked at him meaningfully, to emphasize the question-ness of the unstated question.

Conrad finished a third of his coffee in one gulp, then lowered the mug and wandered out to the hall. I followed him.

“For the last few years, Darius, Igor, and I have raised a toast at midnight,” Conrad said. “Happy New Year! That’s it.”

“Oh, come on!” I wailed. “We can do better than that!”

Without stopping, he turned and said over his shoulder, “Then what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure. But I know we can do better.”

Conrad let out one of his chuff laughs and shook his head.

As we passed the kitchen, he called, “Good morning, Igor.”

Igor looked up with the smaller of his two eyes. “I’ve already put breakfast away, but I managed to defend your portion from her.”

Conrad glanced over at the “her.”

“It was coffee cake,” I said. “Do you think I’m made of stone or something?”

The wolfman turned back to Igor. “Thank you, Igor. I’ll come in and grab it later. I need to sit down for a few minutes.”

“You know where the refrigerator is,” Igor grumbled. He went on grumbling, but we didn’t hear anymore because we turned down the main hall.

Conrad was saying, “If you don’t know what you want to do for New Year’s, I’m not sure you get to criticize our plans.”

“You don’t have a plan,” I said.

“Neither do you.”

Dang it. The wolfman had a point. My stomach sank, and I glowered at some harmless corner of the front hall so I wouldn't have to look at Conrad.

He put his hand around my head and pulled me to his side in that rough, friendly way of his. He’d been doing it more often, and it always reminded me of how big dogs bump into each other while play fighting—not that I would ever tell him that.

I didn’t mind. He knew his own strength. He was careful not to hurt me, and it made me feel like I was a part of his pack.

“Come on, zombie-girl,” he said. “Let’s go sit down. We’ll figure something out so you don’t have to pout all day.”

“I wasn’t going to pout all day,” I said. “It gets boring after the first hour.”

We went into the sitting room. A fire was already blazing in the fireplace. Back in late November, when it had started to get really cold, Conrad had helped me move the couch and the armchairs closer to the hearth so we could use the fire to augment the pitiful efforts of the mansion’s ancient radiator system,

Conrad sat down in the corner of the couch, saving the side closer to the fire for the girl without a fur coat.

As I sat down, I asked, “How did you used to celebrate New Year’s?”

“I didn’t” was his blunt reply.

“I meant before you came here.”

He glanced at me, then returned his eyes to the fire. “There was always a big party at the bar in town. I didn’t go.”

I grimaced. There I was, being the world’s most sensitive soul.

“What about you?” Conrad asked.

Ah-ha. Yeah. And that was probably some kind of karma. If I thoughtlessly pried into why Conrad hadn’t been going out to parties, it was only fair he’d ask me the same question. I didn’t even have the excuse of being a six-foot-nine wolfman.

“I never really celebrated it either,” I admitted. “Most people I knew watched the ball drop on TV.”

Conrad shrugged. “Okay. Why don’t we do that?”

I dropped my head onto the back of the sofa so I could roll my eyes even further. The ceiling would know exactly how lame I thought that was. “But it’s so boring. Maybe it’d be different if we were there or something, but even then…”

I had learned through experience that sometimes the thought of the party is more fun than the party itself.

Conrad said, “Mera, if we’re going to try to celebrate this holiday, we’re going to have to think of something you’ll enjoy. Reward’s important when you’re trying to establish a habit.”

“Ms. Elstein told me that when she was young they used to dress up to go out ballroom dancing. There would be this big count-down with confetti and champagne.”

“And that’s supposed to be fun?”

“Of course it is!” I added in a grumble, “But I don’t know any ballroom dancing. And I don’t have a guy I can drag along.”

“Don’t even bother looking this way.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t know if anyone out there still does that kind of thing. At this point I think the Japanese do a better job celebrating New Year’s than we do.”

“Is this something you picked up from anime?”

“Yeah.”

Conrad scratched the fur at his neck. “Isn’t that kind of like trying to gauge how Americans celebrate New Year’s by watching our movies? If you did that, you’d think everyone in the country went to Time’s Square.”

There was a big, fat, blank moment, then my mouth dropped open. No words came out. My body had blue-screened thanks to an unexpected brain-crash.

Of course that’s what it’d be like. Only an idiot would be surprised by that.

I, an idiot, blinked and cleared my throat. “Well, then, I think the anime characters do a better job celebrating New Year’s than we do.”

“And what do they do?” he asked.

“A lot of them stay at home.”

“Good so far.”

“They sit under the kotatsu, eating tangerines and drinking beer.”

“What’s a kotatsu?”

“You take a big coffee table, and you add a blanket and an electric heater to create this perfect bubble of warm.”

Conrad hummed.

I probably didn’t have much chance of selling the fur-covered wolfman on the idea that warmth was somehow magical and important.

I hurried on. “On New Year’s Day, they go out to a shrine to ring the bell and pray for a good year. You can see shrine maidens, buy some charms—oh! And get your fortune.”

“This would be a Shinto shrine?”

“Yeah.”

“That might be difficult.”

An evil grin crept onto my face. “Hey, Conrad, have I ever told you about Gingitsune?”

He looked over, saw the grin, and his eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“It’s an anime that has this giant fox spirit that protects a shrine.”

“And?”

“All we need is some white wash-out hair color—or, in this case, fur color—”

“Not a chance.”

No hesitation! No mercy! Only the brutal murder of a new-found dream.

I put my hands on the couch between us and leaned toward him, “But it’d be the perfect cosplay!”

“Not in a million years.”

I sat back, crossed my arms, and huffed. “Oh, fine. It’s not like there’s a shrine around here anyway.”

“What else have you got?”

I gazed into the fire and cast my mind over all the anime I’d seen. Conrad let me think in silence.

After a minute, I said, “There was one where they climbed up somewhere high to watch the first sunrise.”

Conrad didn’t say anything. When I looked at him, his fuzzy brow was crinkled in thought and, once in a while, one of his ears would twitch.

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

Darius Vasil wandered into the kitchen for a refill on his coffee. As he approached the doorway, he realized that there was a minor commotion coming from the room. He had to tune into it before he remembered why he’d tuned it out in the first place.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to read a map!” Conrad demanded.

“Look,” Emerra said, “I can read any bus or subway map you hand me!”

Ah. It was Emerra being Emerra. Darius had worked with her enough he could differentiate between the panicked noises that meant he needed to pay attention and her general state of loudness. She and Conrad were standing over the dining table at the end of the room.

Emerra pointed to the map on the table beside them. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. Either of them! What’s with these lines, anyway? It makes it look like some kind of weird fingerprint.”

Darius refilled his mug from the urn and walked over to Igor. The chef was grumbling as he prepared for lunch, but it was his standard low-level grumble. The count had learned to tune it out the same way he’d tuned out Emerra.

Conrad rubbed his eyebrow ridge. “Mera, do you have any sense of direction at all?”

“Yes! Away from home and back to home!”

The count leaned on the counter beside Igor, sipped his coffee, and said, “What are they doing?”

“Enjoying a childish argument,” Igor said.

Darius quelled his smile. “Yes, I can hear that. Is there a greater purpose behind it?”

“I doubt it, but they claim they’re planning a sunrise hike for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is New Year’s.”

“I gather that’s the point.”

“Darius!” Emerra called.

The count looked up. She was smiling at him.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Do you want to come with us?” she asked. “We’ve got three pairs of snowshoes, and I’ve already checked the weather. It’s going to be clear and sunny.” She raised one shoulder in a shrug. “Cold, but clear.”

Darius pushed himself away from the counter. “Thank you for the invitation, Emerra, but I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“Hey, Igor—”

“No,” Igor said.

“But—”

“Before you make me repeat myself, consider who it is who decides if dessert is served in this house.”

Emerra tilted her head to the side to gaze up at Conrad. At the exact same time, Conrad tilted his head to the side to gaze down at her. They shared a wry look out of the corners of their eyes.

Darius made no attempt to hide his smile this time. It would have been impossible.

Vasil had met Conrad Bauer under difficult circumstances. The vampire had lived a long time, and he’d known many shy people; he knew the difference between their innate quietude and the dimness of someone whose heart was hurting. There was no shortage of excuses for bringing the wolfman back to the mansion, but the primary reason Darius had done it was to give Conrad a chance to heal.

He hadn’t. For five years, the lycanthrope had stayed dim.

What a difference two and a half months could make.

Emerra put her hands on her hips. “Well, that just leaves Olivia. I’ll go invite her.”

“You think she’s going to say yes?” Conrad asked.

“Nope! But she’s getting the invitation whether she likes it or not!” Emerra whirled and went up the back stairs.

When she was gone, Conrad leaned over the table. He used his compass to orient the map, then scowled down at it as his eyes slowly moved over the paper, searching for something.

Darius wandered over. He looked at the map for a second, then reached out and put his finger down.

“There,” he said.

Conrad looked up at him.

“That place has the best view.” The count moved his finger and took a sip of coffee. As he walked back toward the doorway, he said, “I doubt she’s ever been snowshoeing before. Plan on taking some extra time to get there.”

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

I was bouncing through the front hall toward the sweep of the grand staircase when I heard someone call out to me.

“Good evening, Emerra.”

I swung myself around the banister and up the first few steps. “Good evening, Iset! And good night!”

“You’re going to bed?” the mummy asked.

I stopped to call over my shoulder, “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

Iset’s wrapped hand was resting on the spiral end of the banister. “Isn’t that usually when you stay up later?”

“No, no. I have to change it up. New year, new me!”

“Oh?” She sounded amused.

“Yup! This year, I’m getting up early.”

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

At fifteen minutes to midnight, Darius wandered toward the kitchen. He could hear Igor working all the way from the front hall. There was the quiet chink of the glasses, the metallic sound of the drink shaker being laid on the counter, and the soft noises of ice and glass bottles. The sounds betrayed a confidence and skill that assured the count it really was Igor in the kitchen. Notably absent was the sound of any grumbling.

Conrad was coming down the stairs. He fell in step beside Darius.

“I didn’t know if you’d be joining us this year,” Darius observed.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Conrad said.

“Have you figured out what you’re doing for your hike tomorrow morning?”

“Everything’s planned and packed, and I gave us plenty of time to get there.”

The count nodded with approval.

The hike was little more than an excursion into their oversized backyard, but Darius had a tendency to worry when it came to Emerra Cole. He wasn’t sure if she was the cause or the victim—all he knew was that there was often trouble when she was around.

But if Conrad Bauer was along, she would be fine. The vampire knew that he could rely on the boy’s intelligence and strength, even before he considered Conrad’s outdoors experience—an experience that would have rivaled his own if the lycanthrope’s age had been anywhere near comparable.

As the two men entered the kitchen, Igor glanced at them with the smaller of his eyes. “Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening, Igor,” Darius said.

The vampire sat down on one of the barstools across from the chef. Conrad claimed another.

“Do we have anything special this evening?” Darius asked.

“A standard bar,” Igor said. “I can mix most drinks—not that either of you will appreciate it. I also have a bottle of what’s supposed to be a fine bourbon. I thought we might open it tonight.”

“That sounds lovely, Igor. On the rocks, please.”

Igor pulled out a short glass and extracted one of the ice balls he kept reserved for nights like these. He flicked a few drops of water onto the ball, rolled it around the glass, and added a measure of whiskey. As he slid it over to Vasil, he raised one of his eyes to the wolfman.

“Conrad?”

The wolfman hesitated. “What do you recommend?” he asked.

Igor’s eyebrows rose, one after the other, as if they were two independent objects, equally surprised but dissimilarly determined to hide it.

The hump over Igor’s shoulder shifted in a shrug. “That depends. I don’t think you like your drinks sweet.”

“Not too sweet,” Conrad said.

“Then I’d recommend trying an Old Fashioned. This is supposed to be a damn good bourbon, and we can tell a lot about what you might like from that.”

Conrad dropped his muzzle in a nod. “Let’s try it.”

“At last, a chance to use some skill,” Igor grumbled as he pulled over a tall glass.

Darius idly twisted his drink. “I thought you would die a beer man, Conrad.”

The lycanthrope shrugged.

“Shall we drink to new things then?” Darius suggested.

Igor scoffed. “Drink to ‘new things,’ he says while sipping his typical whiskey on the rocks.”

“Igor, I’m an old man of refined tastes.”

“Set in your ways, Vasil. But I’ll grant you old.”

“And what will you be having?”

Igor pulled an orange over to his cutting board, cut out a chunk, and dropped it in the mixing glass. “I thought I’d try a charred chili and orange Aperol spritz.”

The count and Conrad shared a knowing glance.

“And if you don’t like that one?” Conrad asked.

“I have several other recipes to test out.” Igor’s voice became grave. “You have to stay on top of these things. Cocktail fashions change so fast.”

“Some do,” Darius muttered over the rim of his glass.

“I’ll be damned before one of Mr. Noctis’s guests asks for something that I can’t serve.” Igor finished making the Old Fashioned and passed it to Conrad. “It’s meant to be sipped over time.”

Conrad eyed the drink. “Does it hit hard?”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” Igor pulled out another glass. “It’s meant to be savored.”

“Are you worried about getting drunk?” Darius asked.

Conrad picked up the glass. “I’m getting up at five in the morning. I don’t want it to be any more difficult than it has to be.”

The lycanthrope took his first sip while Darius and Igor watched.

“Well?” Darius asked.

“It’s good.” Conrad looked at Igor. “That’s really good.”

Igor’s lopsided smile had a strong air of smugness. “It’s my own style. If you order it from a bar, you’ll get something a lot like it, only not as good.”

“Cheers.” Conrad tilted his glass toward Igor, then took another sip.

All three men lapsed into a content silence. Darius and Conrad sipped their drinks while they watched Igor prepare what would most likely be the first of many strange cocktails.

After a while, Darius asked, “Who’s idea was it to go on a hike?”

“Emerra’s,” Conrad said. “She wanted to do something big for the New Year.”

Igor rolled the larger of his eyes. “We have to draw the line somewhere, or there’ll be leprechauns in March.”

“You didn’t mind?” Darius asked Conrad.

The wolfman’s voice was quiet. “I liked the idea. I like getting outside, and a sunrise feels more…I don’t know. More meaningful.”

“More meaningful than staying up late?”

“We stay up late every night.”

Darius hummed, then said, “Iset told me that Emerra went to bed at nine-thirty.”

“That is a special occasion,” Igor muttered.

Conrad shook his head and took another long sip. When he put the glass down, he said, “She might have gone to bed around then. I doubt she actually slept.”

Darius smiled. “I’m sure she was full of good intentions.”

“Yeah, but knowing her, she was probably too excited—”

The wolfman suddenly stopped.

Igor paused what he was doing and looked up. Conrad had lifted his nose, and his ears rotated toward the backstairs. He and Darius turned on their stools.

A few seconds later, Emerra poked her head around the break in the wall. The absurdly large shirt she wore with her pajamas wafted into sight.

“Hey,” she said.

“Good evening, Emerra,” Darius said. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“I was too excited.”

The edge of Conrad’s lips ticked up.

Emerra raised her index finger and waved it around to make sure the whole kitchen island was included in the gesture. “Is this, like, a guys-only club, or can I come in?”

Vasil’s gaze wandered from Conrad to Igor. The wolfman still looked amused at his own sagacity. Igor looked indifferent in the odd way that the vampire had learned to associate with the chef’s most positive form of acceptance—a type of pre-tolerance. Neither of them would object.

The count pulled out the stool between him and Conrad while turning to Igor. “All right, master bartender, do you have anything you can serve to a minor?”

“I’d be a sorry excuse for a bartender if I didn’t.”

Emerra skipped over to the stool and tucked herself in the group. “Am I too late for the midnight toast?”

“You’re just in time,” Darius assured her.

“What are you making me?” she asked Igor.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be sugary.”

She grinned. That was all the assurance she needed.

Igor refused to rush, despite Emerra and Conrad teasing him about the swiftly approaching zero hour. Igor slid it over to Mera with seconds to spare. As soon as it was in her hand, Darius raised his glass to toast.

“Happy New Year,” the count said.

The others raised their own glasses, echoed his call, and drank.

When Emerra lowered her glass she said, “Delicious, as always, Igor. Thank you so much.”

His response was a loud harumph.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A mock mojito.”

“Oh. I like that. It sounds punk.”

“I believe the mojito was invented by sailors,” Darius said.

Igor corrected him: “Pirates.”

“Punk sailors,” Emerra said. “Even better.” She took another drink. “All right, gentlemen, what are your New Year’s resolutions?”

“Our resolutions?” Darius grabbed the whiskey to add another measure to his glass.

“If you tell people, you’re more likely to keep them,” Emerra said.

Igor eyed her with the smaller of his two eyes. “I don’t believe it.”

“No! It’s true.”

“She’s right,” Darius said. “The chance is still infinitesimal, but it does increase.”

“Do you have a resolution?” Emerra asked.

Darius glanced at her, then shook his head. “I have enough going on with my work, I don’t bother. My only goal is to survive from one case to the next.”

Emerra turned to Igor. “What about you?”

“Why bother?” he said. “You set yourself up with some big expectation only to fail less than a month later.”

“But that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?”

“How so?” Conrad asked.

“Because you get the chance to pick out some wildly stupid dream about changing your life!” Emerra said. “It’s fun to think about all the things you’d do if you could.”

“I don’t suppose setting a realistic goal ever occurred to you?” Darius said.

“That’s not fun at all.”

“What’s your resolution, Emerra?” Conrad asked.

Emerra stopped dead, her eyes frozen, staring at a random point in space. Her lips twisted into an expression that was half wry smile and half frown—an inverted smirk. “I don’t know. I usually pick them early, but there didn’t seem to be much point this year.” She flicked her glass with her fingernail. “I thought about making a goal to live until spring, but I knew I probably wouldn’t reach New Year’s.”

Igor grunted. “So much for your imagination. Why didn’t you decide to take over hell?”

Emerra’s head jerked back, but then she smiled and said, “What makes you think I’d go to hell?”

“How long have I known you, Emerra Cole?”

“A few months!”

“Long enough.”

“Well, it looks like hell is out of reach for a while, so I guess I’ll have to take over the world. What do you think?”

“You might as well. You’re just as likely to achieve that goal as any other.”

Emerra turned to the wolfman. “What’s your resolution, Conrad?”

“To try to ingratiate myself with the new zombie overlord.”

“She’s not a zombie.” Darius insisted.

Emerra didn’t seem to hear Darius. She was too busy grinning at Conrad.

She nudged his arm with her elbow. “You can be my first lieutenant.”

The wolfman chuffed. “Look at that. Three minutes past midnight, and I’ve already achieved my goal.”

“Yes, yes,” Igor grumbled. “Good for you, I’m sure.”

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

I would have thought that getting up at five-thirty would be more difficult since I’d only gotten four hours of sleep, but it turns out that excitement doesn’t care how much or how little sleep you’ve had. I was already up and dressed in my base layer when I heard Conrad’s quiet knock on my door.

It took me a few more minutes to finish getting dressed because the base layer was only one of several layers that Conrad insisted I had to wear. The day before, he’d lectured me about the importance of wearing layers in cold weather. I’d pointed out that he was only going to be wearing a shirt and a fur coat, and he couldn’t even take his coat off, so he didn’t have the right to lecture me. Then he brought up some nonsense about growing up in Alaska and how the girl who didn’t even know what an orienteering compass was didn’t have the right to judge.

A compromise was reached when I agreed to do everything Conrad told me to.

“But you’re welcome to be a complete twit about it,” he said.

“Gosh. Thanks.”

We crept downstairs and over to the kitchen where our packs and snowshoes were waiting on the dining table at the end of the room. We took them out to the patio to put them on. As I took my first few steps, Conrad had to shoosh me because I was laughing loud enough to wake up Igor who was asleep in the groundskeeper’s cottage.

“But look at me!” I whispered as loud as I could. “I’m like some kind of a monster! Or a dinosaur!”

I lumbered out to the yard while letting out a ferocious rawr! under my breath.

Our luck couldn’t have been any better. The full moon shining down on the snow made it so bright that we didn’t need our flashlights. The blue-white light set the whole world sparkling. As we walked, our snowshoes kicked specks of snow into the air where they would glint like tiny diamonds.

Everything was quiet—except me, of course. But even I would stop to listen to the vast, wild silence that seemed to be as far away as the sky, but still, somehow, close enough to wrap me up. The scent of the snow and the woods filled my head, and when I drew in a breath, it filled my whole body.

It was bitterly cold—still under zero degrees—and the frozen air numbed my cheeks and nose. During a break, I took off my mittens and prodded them with my fingertips, marveling at how unreal they felt. But Conrad had been right about the clothes. Aside from that bit of exposed skin, I was plenty warm. As time went on, I had to unzip my outer layer to shed some heat.

Conrad did his best to keep us on track to meet the sunrise at the barren top of a hill overlooking the forest.

Well, he called it a hill. I think the only reason it didn’t qualify as a mountain was because the man labeling it had grown up in Alaska, which is, apparently, all that’s required to warp a man for life.

“Come on!” he cried from further up the “hill.” “You don’t want to miss it!”

“I’m not—” I stopped to gasp a few times and give my quivering thighs a second to recover. “We’re not going…to miss it!”

“You can see the light along the horizon!”

“Could you…please…pretend to at least breathe hard?”

He dodged back a few feet and wrapped his massive hand over my mitten. “Nope,” he said, turning back around. “Come on.”

He proceeded to drag-slash-pull me up the slope while I laughed and staggered behind him like a drunk dinosaur.

When we made it to the top and I saw the view, my breath caught in my chest. The blue sky was crisscrossed with wispy white clouds, and yellow light bled over the distant horizon, causing the whole world to glow. The sunlight shining off the sides of the snowy trees made them look like winter sentinels, all facing east to greet the morning.

For a few seconds, I was unable to do anything but gaze at the scene.

Then I wiped away the two unexpected tears before they could freeze on my cheeks, stripped off my pack, and dropped it, unceremoniously, on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Conrad asked.

“I have to get a picture!” I dropped to my butt.

“Why are you taking off your snowshoes?”

“My legs are tired! I don’t know. Dinosaurs can’t take pictures.” Once my snowshoes were off, I forced myself onto my wobbly feet and promptly sank into the drift. “Huh,” I said. “It was not this deep back at the mansion.”

“You better get out your phone, Mera.”

I used my armpits to help haul off my mittens, then dug under all those layers to get to my pocket. I took my phone out and got a few shots, but the composition wasn’t right.

“Conrad, can you take it?” I held my phone up to him.

“Why me?”

“You’re taller. You have a better view. I’m, like, two feet shorter all of a sudden.” I wiggled my phone at him. “Hurry! We don’t want to miss the sunrise!”

He held up both hands to absolve himself of all artistic responsibility. “Not happening. I’ve watched you take photos. There’s no way you’re going to be happy with my point and click.”

“But—”

“Come here,” he said.

He didn’t bother waiting for me to slog toward him. He walked over, reached down, and pulled me out of the snow. I tried to say something, but all I could manage was a few inarticulate yells. Conrad hoisted me onto his shoulders, like I was a five-foot-five toddler.

“Stop laughing!” Conrad said. “Get the picture.”

Still giggling, I held out my phone, adjusted the camera settings, and snapped all the pictures I could. If I took a few dozen, I knew at least one of them would turn out. It had to. The moment was so perfect, even Conrad’s point-and-click method would have been good enough.

I lowered my arms, letting my hands and my phone rest between Conrad’s ears. “Look at that! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Conrad hummed his agreement. “Did you get the shot?”

“Oodles of them.” I put one hand between his ears and wiggled it back and forth, ruffling his ears. “You’re amazing, Conrad.” I sat up as tall as possible. “Is this what it’s like to be a giant? I could get use to this.”

“I don’t think so,” Conrad said.

He reached up to grab me, but I leaned out of the way.

“You’re not going to carry me home?”

“Watch it, zombie-girl. All I have to do to dump you in the snow is shrug.”

“Oh, fine.”

When he reached up for me again, I let him grab me without a struggle.

My heart flew when he pulled me off his shoulders, just like it had when he’d lifted me off the ground. Maybe it was the split-second of weightlessness. Or maybe there’s a childish delight when you combine trust with momentary helplessness. The next second I was back on the ground, sinking into the snow.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, looking up at him.

“You’re welcome. Now let’s take a break, drink some cocoa, and head home.”

That sounded like a perfect plan to me.

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

Darius and Iset were in the long gallery, on the third floor of the mansion. The vampire had turned one of the couches around so they could watch as the sun rose over the trees.

“Happy New Year, Iset,” Darius said.

“Happy New Year, Darius. We’ve seen a lot of them, haven’t we?”

“We have. More than our share.”

“But this feels special,” Iset noted. “A sunrise, rather than midnight. I like it.”

“As do I.”

“If all of the younger ones move out, you know we’ll have to find more to bring in.”

Darius raised an eyebrow. “To keep us from getting too set in our ways?”

“Exactly.”

The vampire’s subtle smile pulled up only one of his cheeks..

“Darius?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

“Yes. I have to stop Emerra from taking over the world.”

[https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

It was after ten-thirty before Count Vasil was ready to go to bed for the day. He checked for any urgent messages, then stopped by Big Jacky’s study to wish him a happy New Year. As Darius left the study, his attention was drawn to the room across the hall.

He could hear a fire going in the sitting room, and two people were there. He thought he knew which two, but it wasn’t normal for them to be so quiet.

He went over to the opening and peered inside.

Conrad and Emerra were asleep on the couch. She was curled up with her head on his shoulder. He was sprawled out in the corner of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The arm closest to Emerra was thrown over the back of the couch, while the other was tucked up under his head as a make-shift pillow.

The vampire smiled, shook his head, and turned to the grand staircase.

He hoped that they enjoyed their nap. They’d earned it, and falling asleep in front of a fire on a cold winter day sounded like a good start to any year.