14. Ecco

14

ECCO

I stride out into the hall, where Graeme stands sentinel. "I'm ready," I announce.

He looks at me like I've lost my mind. "Ecco, that's not going to keep you anywhere near warm enough, not in all that snow."

I cock an eyebrow at him. "Have a little faith, bodyguard. This is Elderberry Falls. We have ways of dealing with the unexpected."

Before he can argue further, I lead him back down to the lobby. The warm, enchanted space has become a bustling hub of activity. Humans and magical beings line up before a transfiguration witch, who turns their regular clothing into enchanted snow gear with a flick of her wrist.

I watch in delight as a dryad's sundress shimmers and morphs into a leafy green snowsuit, while a centaur's tailored suit jacket becomes a cozy, fur-lined cloak. The witch's magic is as impressive as it is efficient, and soon it's our turn.

Graeme watches in reluctant amazement as my chic outfit—a fitted leather jacket, skinny jeans, and heeled boots—ripples and changes.

In a matter of seconds, I'm outfitted in a sleek, form-fitting white and silver snowsuit, complete with thermal gloves and fur-lined boots with blue accents that compliment my hair.

I give an experimental twirl, relishing the slide of the enchanted fabric against my skin. It's lightweight yet insulating.

"Nice work," I grin at the witch, who smiles back. I shoot Graeme a wink. "Your turn, big guy."

He grumbles under his breath but steps forward, allowing the witch to work her magic. His simple black t-shirt and jeans transform into a rugged, all-black snowsuit that hugs his muscular frame in all the right places. His wings stay hidden inside of his clothes.

I decidedly ignore any thoughts I may be having about how well the outfit suits him, determined to focus on the adventure at hand.

"Ready?" I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

Graeme sighs, resignation heavy in his tone. "As I'll ever be. Lead the way, troublemaker."

With a laugh, I grab his hand and tug him towards the door, ready to brave the enchanted blizzard and find some enjoyment in all this chaos.

The streets are all blanketed in a thick layer of glittering snow, the storefronts transformed into something out of a fairy tale. Icicles dangle from eaves like crystal fringe, and the air is filled with the soft hush of falling flakes. Workers with shovels have clearly been through already, clearing walking paths, but even in the shoveled places there's new snow at least a foot deep.

Beside me, Graeme cuts an imposing figure in his black snowsuit. Even in the bulky gear, there's alert tension in his posture. His eyes scan the street, ever-vigilant.

I roll my eyes. "Relax, Graeme. It's a blizzard, not a battlefield."

He shoots me a sidelong glance. "With you, Ecco, it's both."

I stick my tongue out at him, the cold air nipping at my exposed skin. "Come on, grumpy. I know just the place to warm you up."

I lead Graeme through the winding streets, our boots crunching rhythmically in the snow. As we round the corner onto the town square, the mouthwatering aroma of baked goods wafts over us, and I grin.

The Hungry Minotaur sits like a beacon, warm light spilling from its windows onto the frozen fountains and snow-covered benches of the town square. The bakery's exterior is painted a cheery red, with a hand-carved wooden sign depicting a friendly, aproned minotaur holding a tray of pastries.

I push open the door, sighing happily as the scent of cinnamon and cloves envelops me like a hug. "Rian? You in here?"

Rian, a handsome minotaur in his early 40s and the owner of the bakery, emerges from the back room. His broad face splits into a grin and he crosses the shop in three long strides, then pulls me into a warm embrace, chuckling.

"Ecco Waverly, as I live and breathe! It's been too long, songbird," he says. "How have you been?"

I hug him back tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of flour and spices that always clings to his apron. I'm used to being the shortest one in almost every room, but Rian's always made me feel extra tiny, and it's nice to be wrapped in his comforting bulk.

"Oh, you know," I say. "Glamorous pop star life. Endless paparazzi. Crazed stalkers. The usual."

Rian holds me at arm's length, his kind brown eyes crinkling in concern. "Stalkers? Ecco, that's…" He seems to notice Graeme for the first time, looming behind me like a thundercloud. "And who's your friend here?"

"Graeme Grigori, Ms. Waverly's personal security detail." Graeme steps forward, offering a hand that Rian engulfs in his much larger one.

"Security detail, huh?" Rian casts me a glance, his tone laced with fatherly protectiveness. "So this stalker business is serious."

I wave a dismissive hand. "Oh, it's… I'm sure it's nothing. Just some over-enthusiastic fan. But my manager insisted, so." I shrug, aiming for nonchalant.

Rian frowns. "Well. I'm glad you're not taking any chances, Ecco. Your safety is the most important thing."

Graeme's gaze bores into the side of my head and I staunchly avoid meeting it.

"Right. Anyway, enough about my drama," I say. "How are you? How's Jessabel?"

At the mention of his eleven-year-old daughter, Rian's expression turns contemplative. He gestures for us to sit at one of the bakery's handful of tiny tables, grabbing a chair across from me.

"She's doing alright, but you know what, her choir is struggling," Rian says. "The music teacher is out on parental leave and so they've been trying to keep things going with a volunteer choir director who is… well, very nice but not all that experienced."

"Ah," I say. "I know how that goes." I've had my fair share of crappy music teachers.

Rian chuckles, running a hand over one of the two huge protruding horns on top of his head.

"And they're set to perform at the Moonbloom Jubilee next month," Rian continues, "but I know Jessa's worried about being ready. They could really use some expert guidance."

Rian's eyes meet mine, hopeful and earnest.

My heart squeezes painfully. Memories of sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Hungry Minotaur flood my mind— Jessa perched beside me, hanging on my every word as I taught her simple melodies on a ukulele. Rian waving away my protests when I tried to pay for my baked goods.

I blink, Rian's hopeful face coming back into focus. I want to say yes.

But I also have commitments. Interviews to do, fans to appease, an image to maintain. And with the added complication of my stalker, and Graeme shadowing my every move…

I hesitate, torn.

"Ecco, can I speak with you privately?" Graeme's deep rumble cuts through my internal debate.

I glance up to find him watching me intently, his jaw tight.

Rian clears his throat, sliding out of his seat. "I'll just go check on those muffins in the oven."

I shoot Rian an apologetic look as Graeme all but drags me into the corner of the tiny bakery, next to the stacks of baked goods that have recently come from the kitchen. Trays upon trays of glistening pastries, their smells divine, each more tempting than the last.

But Graeme's brow is furrowed, his mouth set in a grim line. "I don't like this, Ecco. That minotaur is far too familiar with you. How well do you really know him?"

I bite back a laugh at Graeme's suspicious tone. "Rian? He's harmless, Graeme. I used to babysit his daughter all the time before I got my record deal. It's how I made ends meet while I was trying to make it as a singer."

Graeme doesn't look convinced. If anything, his frown deepens. "Have you forgotten about the very real threat we're dealing with? Your stalker could be anywhere, anyone. Even someone you think you know. Getting involved with that choir would be an unnecessary risk."

I know I said I'd be careful, but this is just too much.

"You think my stalker is in the children's choir , Graeme? Really? What exactly do you think is going to happen, we discover my stalker is posing as a 9-year-old soprano?"

Graeme's jaw clenches, his eyes hard. "It's not just the children. It's their families, Ecco. There will be lots of strangers involved, people we haven't vetted. Why put yourself in harm's way?"

I can't listen to this any longer.

Rian emerges with a tray of muffins that give off thick fragrant steam.

"Rian," I say quickly, before Graeme can try to interfere further. "I would love to help with the choir. Just let me know when and where."

The minotaur beams, setting down the tray to clasp my hands in his, still covered in flour-dusted oven mitts.

"Thank you, Ecco. Jessa will be thrilled."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Graeme glowering. I hesitate, worried that I made this decision too quickly.

But then my resolve hardens. No—I want to give back to Elderberry Falls, and it's not like I have better things to do when we're trapped here, anyway.

And I won't let anyone dictate my choices. Not my stalker, whoever—or whatever—they are.

And especially not my bossy, moody gargoyle bodyguard.