My muscles seized, lurching me to a halt. I thought I was dreaming, but I couldn’t peel my stare away, even though all I could think about was running for my life. There is a subtle Christian undertone to some of the story, in a very similar vein to Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia, so if you’re a fan of Christian fiction you’ll love the added layer, but if you’re not looking for it then you won’t notice it’s there. A Soul as Cold as Frost instantly transports you into a magical world that the whole family will adore. Fans of Chronicles of Narnia will be thrilled with this new wintery adventure!" (Nikki Mitchell, author of Nightshade Forest) My boots thumped up the porch stairs, but the front door swung open before I could grab the handle, startling me more than it should have. There’s a reason we lean on the sciences. Theories give us ways to cope with things we can’t otherwise explain. Brilliant minds scribe papers and books, journals and lists, all in the name of trying to find the most supported reasons why things happen the way they do.

The Quarrel of Sword and Bone was a death sentence for anyone who stepped into the arena with the deranged Queen, whose soul had crisped to frost in an age long since past. I held the ball away from my body, positive it needed to be anywhere but in my hands. My palms were sweating in my mitts, even in this crisp air. My mittens rubbed my numb face as I looked to where Sylvia had disappeared inside the bakery. She was probably already shuffling a pie into her bag and digging through her purse for change. People moved on by as though they hadn’t heard it, chatting and pushing their way through the rush hour crowd.The spark had become a torch behind her eyes, her irises glittering like the diamonds in the jeweler’s window. Clatters echoed through the street like popping fireworks, and a fountain of snow burst up from her boots, its snowy fingers twisting upwards and swallowing her entirely into its throat. Throughout the reading, Ralf’s children begged him to let them open just one gift from the pile beneath the tree. It severely disrupted the poem, but we all clapped nonetheless when he was done, and finally, he told his kids they could each choose one present to open early.

Helen must find a way out, or she’ll be dragged into the arena to face the crooked Queen head on before a crowd ready to watch her die. My favourite thing about the book is Kropf’s way with words. She really knows how to turn a phrase and the descriptions of the settings, people and everything in between had my imagination running wild as the story played out around me like a movie. Kropf’s style is whimsical and captivating, it was like reading an old classic, but much more fun! She smiled again like it was a secret, but I knew she didn’t have any secrets from me. In some ways, I was the daughter to her that my mother had been, replacing an old memory with a new body. Your aunt tells me she had to leave you in the street to make it here on time, she said to me beneath the chatter of the room. The scolding in her voice was entirely overshadowed by the smirk on her face. I hesitated, studying the vintage sign and eyeing the splinters of wood that seemed to have flaked off the storefront into brittle piles over time. It wasn’t an eye-catching place, but still, I was sure it wasn’t here a moment ago, which didn’t make sense because the store wasn’t newly built; all the evidence said as much.

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I had to drop it. I would drop the glass ball on the sidewalk and leave. And I would never, ever think about this moment again; the moment I realized I was losing my mind. Chapter, The Second The rabbit was pure white, even its nose. The only colour anywhere was the fantastically bright, sparkling blue of its eyes. Glory to Elowin! It was a stifled muffle through her facemask as she cast one last look at me and slapped the medallions together. A Soul as Cold as Frost instantly transports you into a magical world that the whole family will adore. Fans of Chronicles of Narnia will be thrilled with this new wintery adventure!" - Nikki Mitchell, author of Nightshade Forest I jogged for it, chiming a small bell as I entered, and was immediately encompassed by the scent of pie crust, freshly ground coffee beans, and the sour impatience of old ladies shivering in skirts just like my aunt’s.

A hand emerged to pull the scarf down, revealing the distinct face of a girl who looked younger than I’d assumed. Despite her ruggedness, she had a soft mouth. I sighed, wondering if a good night’s sleep would fix me since most of the medical journals in the Waterloo Region Library advised that rest was the best remedy for people out of sorts.Antique streetlamps illuminated downtown, prismed in every direction like hovering confetti. Carols blared from the speakers of a newspaper stand whose buzz-like radio sound muddied the familiar melody of Jingle Bells and swallowed most of the other noise in the street. Buildings hosted glassy bouquets of scarlet, green, and gold ornaments, but it was difficult to enjoy the splendour of the season in this bitter flash-freeze.

Hoisting my book bag from the slush, I followed the animal in long strides, imitating the chimney across the street with my puffs of visible steam. As the conversations at my aunt’s dining table grew in volume, I noticed my grandmother’s focus fall distant behind the reflection of her family in her glasses. She was a body here, with a mind somewhere else. Like me. I approached sluggishly to keep it from springing away, and I crouched to study the specimen while my mind raced with explanations based on things I’d read in books.

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I would rather stay in for the month of December and have my grandmother read us boring old Christmas tales to spare us the holiday drama.