Chapter 6 — Gifts That Don’t Glitter
They followed Eidothea through California like a quiet procession of miracles.
Not in a straight line. Not in a logical way.
Magic didn’t care about maps.
First, she stopped in Antioch, near the edge of Rose Hill Cemetery. Fog curled between headstones. The White Witch was not visible, but Lavender felt her presence like a hand at her back.
Eidothea knelt near a small grave marked with a child’s name and placed a single seashell beside it—one that glowed faintly, like moonlight trapped in pearl.
“Rest,” Eidothea whispered.
Then she rose and continued.
In the Central Valley, Eidothea moved through a neighborhood where holiday lights were dim and the air smelled like cold. She left food baskets on porches—quiet generosity, no attention asked.
Kadira watched with tears in her eyes. “She’s feeding people,” Kadira whispered.
Mateo squeezed Kadira’s hand. “She’s choosing love.”
In Truckee, snow swirled around them like glittering ash. Eidothea stood beneath a pine tree heavy with snow and began to sing.
It wasn’t a siren song.
It was a lullaby.
The air warmed.
A shivering man sitting on a bench looked up, eyes wide, as if he’d suddenly remembered he was worth saving. He stood, wiping his face, and walked toward a shelter lit with soft yellow windows.
Lavender turned toward Flint. “Her song… it’s different.”
Flint nodded. “It’s not taking. It’s giving.”
They returned home to Silicon Valley just before midnight.
The La Cour house glowed like a beacon.
Inside, Grand-mère Catherine’s Candle of Mercy burned bright in the living room, its flame steady as a heartbeat.
Eidothea stepped inside.
Lavender held her breath.
No one screamed. No one ran. No one asked her to explain herself in a world that always demanded explanations.
Grand-mère Catherine simply smiled.
“Welcome home,” she said.
Eidothea’s eyes filled. “I’ve never had a home.”
Grand-mère’s voice was gentle but unshakable. “Then you do now.”
They gathered by the tree.
Nicholas poured warm cider. Maëlle helped Thor place a small ornament shaped like a fish on the lower branches “for our guest.” Kadira wrapped a scarf around Eidothea’s shoulders.
Eidothea looked overwhelmed.
“I don’t deserve this,” she whispered.
Lavender stepped closer. “That’s the curse talking.”
Eidothea flinched. “It’s still here.”
The room cooled suddenly.
The candle flame shuddered.
A shadow moved along the ceiling—like water upside down.
Eidothea’s body stiffened. Her eyes flashed with fear.
“I knew it,” she whispered. “I knew it wouldn’t let me go.”
Grand-mère Catherine stood, calm as a queen. “No,” she said firmly. “It does not get to claim you in my house on Christmas Eve.”
The shadow pulsed, angry.
Eidothea’s voice broke. “I was punished. I became what they said I was.”
Lavender touched her hand. “You became what pain made you. But tonight you chose something else.”
The candle flame steadied.
Kadira stepped forward, voice soft but strong. “You’re not alone.”
Mateo joined her. “You’re not a monster.”
Flint spoke next, firm and grounded. “You’re a person who deserves a second chance.”
Nicholas nodded. “And we’re the kind of family that gives them.”
Maëlle whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Thor chirped, “Merry Christmas!”
Eidothea’s shoulders shook. She began to cry. And something in that cry wasn’t weakness. It was release.
The shadow on the ceiling trembled as if it couldn’t stand to be seen in the light of so much love.
Eidothea lifted her head and spoke into the air like she was speaking to the curse itself.
“My name is Eidothea,” she said clearly. “Not siren. Not demon. Not temptation.”
The candle flared gold.
The shadow tore apart like smoke in wind.
The room warmed again.
Eidothea exhaled.
And for the first time, her smile looked free.
