it. Besides, it gave her the perfect opportunity to figure out her new job without distractions, no matter how welcome they may have been.
With a sigh, she stretched her arms behind her head and leaned back in the chair. Her back popped, reminding her she wasn’t as young as she used to be. She reached for the bun she’d been wearing at the base of her neck and pulled out the pins, enjoying the way her hair fell down around her ears.
There. Now at least she wouldn’t get a headache to go along with everything else.
She’d been living with the Godmothers for a few days now, and it wasn’t all that bad. The food was good, although she’d never actually seen anyone prepare it, and the room she’d been given was bigger than the one she’d rented back home. The traces of the godmother who’d occupied it before her didn’t seem to bother her much.
And the bed certainly was comfortable, but what else could be expected from a woman named Somnolena?
Somewhere in the house, someone was playing music and singing carols. The former wasn’t terrible, but the singing…?
Christa winced at an attempt at a particularly high note. Likely Dorcas was to blame.
She’d cautiously gotten to know the ladies in the house over the last few days as they’d offered support and advice. Helga was the optimist, always ready with the much-too quickly prepared tea and a friendly hug, although her suggestions rarely amounted to more than, “Everything will work out in the end, won’t it, dearie?”
Grunhilda was the opposite, her grumpy mood seemingly at odds with a profession whose sole purpose was to bring happiness to others. Bashful wasn’t that helpful when it came to advice, but she was full of stories about her travels through India and Asia, and Christa had spent an entire evening completely entranced.
Suzy was as academically minded as her aunt—although apparently allergic to snow, which should be impossible—and Dorcas was…
Well, as near as Christa could tell, Dorcas was basically useless, but adorably so. Everyone put up with her, and Christa found herself pitying the orphan cases she was assigned to.
Oh, yes, orphans.
That had been an interesting discovery in The Book. Apparently only orphans were assigned godmothers. And how convenient there was an orphanage right in the center of Everland. But Christa had argued with Doc that it was a silly delineation. After all, most people became orphans by a certain age. Why, she herself had been an orphan ever since the age of ten, which is why she’d had such a hand in raising her younger brothers and sisters.
Doc had just hummed and peered at her over the top of her glasses, and said, “Yes, I know. Don’t argue with The Book.”
And that was, apparently, the only advice she was willing to give.
In the distance, the church bell chimed the afternoon hour.
Feeling the need to do more than stretch, Christa pushed herself to her feet and paced to the door and back, twice, then a third time. She finally settled against the big window looking out over Perrault Street and pushed the curtains far enough aside so she could press a cheek to the cold glass.
Down below, Everland citizens hurried back and forth, finishing up their shopping before it got too dark. The shops were festooned with holiday decorations, and there was a general cheerful mood, but no one looked up.
No one seemed to notice the big purple house nor cared about what went on inside.
Is that what you want for the rest of your life? To be overlooked and forgotten by all except those you help directly?
Wasn’t that what her life was like now?
No. Now you win large sums of money from others. At least they remember you.
Grinning, she traced the frost pattern with her fingertip.
Whatever powers the Godmothers had—powers besides research and thick tomes—might prove useful at the poker table.
But will you give up the chance at True Love?
She snorted at herself. Not this again. It had been almost twenty years since she’d even considered herself in love. There’d been no reason, in all of the years between, to bemoan the fact she hadn’t fallen in love with a man and hadn’t made a life like her sisters.
Right?
Right.
She hated it when her subconscious got sarcastic.
Down below, she watched a couple strolling arm-in-arm. She squashed her cheek against the cold glass, trying to see them in better detail. The woman had red hair under her hat, and the man had an arm around her