4
The cold slapped her so hard that she lost her breath—as well as her lip lock on Horatio.
“What the hell?”
“The stables.”
“You brought me to a freezing cold barn?”
“I brought you to the source as you requested. These are the reindeer stables of St. Nicholas of Myra.”
Betsy could only look around in astonishment. A long line of stalls appeared to be made out of living yew trees, all trained into walls and stable dividers. Their roots were lost beneath a luxuriant layer of living grass—the brightest green she’d ever seen. The stables were lit by fireflies swarming among the branches.
And the sky.
The ceiling was of glass so clear that she could hardly tell it was there between her and the magnificent night sky. As she blinked away the worst of the pub’s smoke and her eyes adjusted,
