Synopsis: Bella Swan catches a man in her living room on Christmas Eve, she expects a burglar—not Edward, the broody and reluctant heir to the Santa Claus legacy. Transported to the North Pole, Bella discovers a world of magic - only its failing. She jeeds to help Edward confront the issue as well as his own demons. Rated M for lemons, canon couples.

Not my characters!

The Magic in Us

ONE

"All right, Maya, one more sip of water, and then that's it," I said, hands on my hips as I stared her down. "No more stalling. I'm onto you, kid."

Maya gave me that gap-toothed grin, clearly delighted with herself as she took an exaggerated sip from her glittery water bottle. Sophie, clutching her stuffed reindeer like it was the most precious thing in the world, giggled from her bed.

"You've been very good tonight," I told them as I adjusted Sophie's blankets. "So, sleep tight, and remember—Santa doesn't visit kids who are awake."

"Will you leave the door open a crack, Aunty Bella?" Sophie whispered, her little voice almost too sweet to say no to.

"Of course." I softened as I bent to kiss her forehead. "But no sneaking around to catch Santa, okay? He's like a ninja—you'll never catch him anyway."

Maya wrinkled her nose. "I bet I could catch him."

"Sure," I said, straightening up and flipping the lights off. "But only if you're asleep first. Goodnight, ladies."

Their soft giggles faded as I closed the door halfway. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter and typed out a quick text to my sister.

Me: Kids are down. Maya stalled, Sophie's adorable. You owe me.

Rosalie's response came immediately.

Rosalie: Good. Thanks, babe. Try not to need me—I'm about to fuck my husband at the lookout. I feel like im in high school all over again. He already took me in the restaurant bathroom.

"Ugh," I muttered, grimacing. I could practically hear her smug tone in the words.

Me: Charming.

She didn't reply, which I took as confirmation that my sister was… enjoying the view. I shoved my phone into my pocket and flopped onto the couch in the living room, letting out a deep sigh.

The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of the heater kicking on. The girls and I had baked cookies earlier, so the whole place still smelled like cinnamon and sugar. The tree lights twinkled in the corner, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow.

I scrolled through the endless options on the streaming service until I landed on White Christmas. Bing Crosby crooning, beautiful costumes, a feel-good ending—yeah, that's exactly what I needed tonight.

I must've fallen asleep somewhere around "Elf" because when I opened my eyes, the TV screen was dark, and the house was eerily quiet. For a moment, I wasn't even sure what had woken me up.

Then I heard it—a faint thud coming from the other room.

I sat up straight, my pulse already pounding.

Probably just the heater, I told myself, straining to listen.

Another sound—a shuffle, like someone moving.

My breath caught in my throat. That wasn't the heater. Someone was in the house.

I glanced toward the hallway where the girls' rooms were and felt a surge of protectiveness. My eyes darted around the living room, and my hand landed on the ceramic base of a lamp. It wasn't ideal, but it was heavy enough to do some damage if I had to.

I slipped off my socks, careful to make my steps as silent as possible, and crept toward the noise. My heart hammered in my chest as I rounded the corner to the living room.

And then I saw him.

A man—no, a trespasser—standing by the fireplace. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a deep red coat that looked like something out of an old Christmas movie. He was digging through the girls' stockings, completely oblivious to me standing there, weapon in hand.

"What the—" I didn't even finish the thought. Adrenaline took over, and I swung the lamp with all the strength I had.

The base collided with his back, and he let out a startled yell, stumbling forward. "Jesus!" he snapped, spinning around to face me.

I raised the lamp again, ready to swing if he tried anything, but I froze when I saw his face.

He wasn't what I'd expected—not that I'd had time to form expectations about burglars, but he looked… wrong. No ski mask, no scruffy appearance. No, this guy looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a magazine. His face was all sharp angles and perfect symmetry, his bronze hair tousled just so, and his golden-brown eyes glinted with irritation as he straightened.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, rubbing his back.

"What's wrong with me?" I shot back, gripping the lamp tighter. "What's wrong with you? Breaking into someone's house at midnight, creeping around like some—some catalog model gone rogue!"

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I—what?"

I waved the lamp at him for emphasis. "Start talking before I call the cops."

His lips pressed into a tight line, and his gaze flicked toward the fireplace. "This is… not how this was supposed to go."

"Oh, really? And how was it supposed to go? You sneak around, steal a few presents, what, maybe raid the fridge on your way out?"

"No," he snapped, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn't stealing anything."

"Sure you weren't," I said, sarcasm thick in my voice. "Then what exactly were you doing?"

He let out a long, frustrated sigh, like I was the one being unreasonable. "I was delivering presents."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Delivering presents," he repeated, like that was supposed to make sense.

"You're telling me you're Santa Claus?" I asked, incredulous.

His jaw tightened. "Yes. Well that was my grandfather. My name is Edward. Santa is more of a job title these days."

I snorted. "Right. And I'm the Tooth Fairy. Try again, Prince Redcoat."

For a moment, he just stood there, glaring at me. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out… a snowflake? He muttered something under his breath, and the little charm started to glow.

I blinked, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "What the…"

The room seemed to shimmer for a second, and when the glow faded, I looked down to see a new package neatly placed under the tree.

My jaw dropped.

"No way," I whispered.

"Oh, now you believe me?" he said, his tone dry.

I pointed the lamp at him again, though less convincingly this time. "Start explaining, Santa. And don't leave anything out."

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Only if you promise not to hit me again."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "We'll see."

Edward groaned as he reached into his pocket, pulling out what I first thought was a small notebook. I squinted, leaning closer to see what he was doing. Instead of paper, he produced… an iPad?

"Wait a minute," I said, lowering the lamp slightly. "Santa uses an iPad?"

He didn't even look up, his fingers scrolling across the screen with practiced ease. "What did you think I used, a quill and parchment? It's the twenty-first century."

I blinked. "I don't know, maybe magic? A glowing scroll? Something that didn't look like it came out of Best Buy."

He ignored me, his gaze focused on the screen as he muttered to himself. "Sophie… Maya… both on the nice list. Of course." He made a small swipe gesture with his finger, and I tilted my head, trying to get a better look.

"What are you doing?" I asked, inching closer.

"Checking my list," he said absently, still scrolling.

I couldn't help it—I leaned over his shoulder, my curiosity getting the better of me. The screen was filled with names, each one accompanied by little notes and color-coded icons. Next to Maya's name, there was a green checkmark and a note that read, Excellent effort in sharing. Next to Sophie's: Adorable bedtime cooperation.

Then my eyes landed on my own name, and I gasped. "Are you serious right now?"

He frowned, glancing back at me. "What?"

"You put me on the naughty list?" I demanded, pointing at the screen. Sure enough, there was my name, Isabella Swan, with a glaring red X beside it and the note: Chronic sass, minor temper issues.

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to argue against the evidence?"

"Oh, you bet I would!" I snapped, stepping back and crossing my arms. "What exactly did I do to earn a red X? And 'chronic sass'? Is that even a thing?"

Edward turned to face me fully, his expression maddeningly calm. "You just hit Santa Claus with a lamp."

"That's self-defense!" I shot back. "You're the one breaking into my house in the middle of the night!"

His lips quirked upward, and I could see he was trying not to laugh. "Well, technically, you're not wrong. But the list doesn't lie."

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess, it's like some algorithm? A magical AI system that tracks everyone's behavior?"

"Something like that," he admitted, clearly amused.

I huffed, glaring at him. "You're unbelievable."

He tilted his head, studying me like I was the one who didn't make sense. "Most people would be more concerned about the existence of a magical list tracking their every move. You, on the other hand, are mad about the accuracy of your rating."

I scowled. "I'm mad because it's wrong. You don't even know me!"

Edward smirked, tucking the iPad back into his coat. "I know enough."

"Oh, we're not done here," I said, stepping closer. "What else is on there? Do you keep a file on everyone? Do you have dirt on Rosalie? Emmett? Can I bribe you to edit my score?"

He finally let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You're exhausting."

"And you're dodging the question."

He exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. "Look, naughty list or not, I've got work to do. And you're not exactly making it easy."

I crossed my arms tighter. "Fine. Do your… whatever. But don't think for a second this conversation is over."

He gave me a pointed look, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Noted."

For the record, I was definitely going to keep arguing. Chronic sass, my ass.

Edward crouched down, rummaging through his enormous red sack as I stood there, arms crossed and still thoroughly baffled by the entire situation. His movements were smooth, almost lazy, as though this whole breaking-into-houses-and-dispensing-presents gig was nothing more than a chore to him.

"You're thin," I said, pointing at him like it was an accusation. "No beard. No 'Ho, Ho, Ho.' Is your name even Santa?"

He paused, glancing over his shoulder with an exasperated expression. "It was my grandfather's name. He's retired, like I said before."

"Retired?" I echoed, blinking. "Santa Claus retires?"

"Of course," he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "My father, Carlisle, took over for a while after Grandpa stepped down. Then he passed the job to me."

"And you just… what? Took it because someone handed you the reins?"

He sighed, sitting back on his heels and running a hand through his ridiculously perfect hair. "It's a job. Someone has to do it."

I snorted. "A job? You sound like you're talking about bagging groceries."

He gave me a dark look. "You have no idea."

"So, what, you don't even go by Santa?"

He hesitated, as if debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he muttered, "I go by Edward."

"Edward," I repeated, testing it out. "Doesn't exactly scream 'jolly.'"

He didn't respond, just went back to searching through his sack, his jaw tight and broody.

"Wow," I said, shaking my head. "The malls have it all wrong."

That got his attention. He looked up at me with the faintest smirk, his golden eyes glittering with amusement. "Actually, they're very spot on to Grandpa. Big belly, loud laugh, beard down to his chest… that's all him."

I stared at him, trying to reconcile the image of the Santa I'd grown up with and this. "And you? No red cheeks, no belly full of jelly?"

He pulled a small package from the sack, holding it up as he turned toward me. "Not my style."

The gift was neatly wrapped in silver paper with a pale blue bow. He extended it toward me, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he said, "Merry Christmas, Isabella."

I froze, staring at the package in his hands. "Is this coal?"

His smirk widened into something resembling a genuine smile. "Not my style either. Open it."

Curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly took the package, tearing at the paper. Inside was a delicate bracelet with a single silver snowflake charm. It sparkled under the light, and for a second, I forgot how ridiculous this whole situation was.

I looked up at him, caught off guard. "This is… really pretty."

His expression softened, though he quickly masked it. "It suits you."

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. "Uh… thanks?"

He rose to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "You're welcome."

"Merry Christmas, Isabella," he added, his voice softer this time, and turned toward the fireplace.

But I wasn't about to let him just walk out like that. "Wait," I said, following after him. "You sound like you hate this job."

He paused but didn't turn around. "I tolerate it."

I grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to face me. "How can you hate Christmas? It's magic and lights and cookies and—"

"It's work," he cut me off, his tone sharp. "And I've been doing it long enough to know that magic and cookies don't fix everything."

I stared at him, stunned into silence for the first time all night. He met my gaze, his eyes hard, but there was something else there—something raw, almost broken, just beneath the surface.

"You wouldn't understand," he said quietly, pulling away.

"Try me," I challenged, refusing to back down.

He shook his head, the smirk returning, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Before I could respond, he stepped closer to the fireplace, muttered something under his breath, and vanished in a flash of shimmering light.

I blinked at the empty space where he'd just been, the bracelet still cool in my palm.

What the hell just happened?

And why did Santa Claus—or, rather, Edward—look so sad?

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