Felix counted down the seconds as he adjusted his glasses and glanced at his clipboard.
Sloppy notations filled the margins: Displays bitterness and regret. Reluctant to engage. Replies with Humbug when upset. Bright red letters reading Unchangeable branded the top of the file.
A
“One hundred twenty-one, one hundred twenty-two, one hundred twenty-three…” Scrooge muttered, his thin lips pursed as he stacked the last coin. He paused, squinting at the desk with rheumy eyes. Last time he counted, there had been 124.
“Who stole my sovereign?” he thundered, slamming
Ebenezer Scrooge hated many things, including Christmas, carolers, cheer, children, and the words “limited-time offer.”
Oh, and one more thing—chaos. As in what happened when his router suddenly gifted him a high-pitched whine and then died. An overheating his cold existence was not familiar with. His orderly life was abruptly unplugged.
Yuletide never ceases to remind me of the day I ruined everything.
The wind chills me, and I shiver in spite of thick fur. I stare from my tower balcony to the snowscape below.
I hold the lute in my clawed hands. Living and enchanted, he had once been my father’s minstrel.
I stared through the window from my perch on the eucalyptus tree. Tonight was the night. I crept down the trunk and froze as the lights flipped on inside the house. A human wandered into the room, holding a plate of delectable treats before him. Two smaller humans jumped and skipped around him
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Addie Thatcher was in the wrong place—according to old people, anyway.
They claimed that on Christmas Eve, every child should be asleep in their bed, but Addie found herself downstairs long before dawn. Giggling, she pointed her flashlight at the foot of the tree where an enormous gold-and-red package sat, screaming her name.
“‘Tidings of comfort and joy.’ Such an unhelpful sentiment.”
I scribbled the words across the parchment.
“Greetings aren’t inherently comforting, and joy is rarely found outside of childhood.”
“What morose ponderings, my friend. Especially for this time of year. Please tell me you’re not composing our Christmas cards.”
I glared at Victor and suppressed
Ice battered the door as Newt flipped his farm sign to “Closed” and released a happy sigh. Another year of cutting and baling noble firs seven times his height and trying not to get squashed by troll customers was complete.
He’d survived.
He pressed his body against the door, fighting the wind
“Jack!” I shove a strand of wild red hair beneath the hood of my cloak. “Come out right now!”
As I stomp through the moonlit snow to reach the lake just ahead, my thoughts swirl back to the hustle and bustle of party preparations this morning. To Jack and Holly off in the corner
“I don’t see what the big deal is.” I twitch the reins. “It’s not like this is my first time herding caribou or something. I mean, the Big Man was acting like I’m completely inept, but I wasn’t the one waltzing on black ice with the missus. Maybe it’s the sloping forehead.
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“Five minutes to midnight, folks!” I called out, my voice echoing in the grand workshop. “Get your lists ready and stretch those fingers. It’s going to be a wild ride!”
Black Friday was nearly the busiest day of the year, second only to Christmas. As Head Elf of the Technology Department, I had transformed
Every January, for one week, the North Pole sleeps. Elf families tuck in with enough firewood to last, the kitchen elves pass out reheatable frozen meals prepared before the break, and if an elf so desires, he doesn’t have to see another soul for seven blissful days.
This is my favorite week…
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