Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series: Cinnamon Mercy Claus

By Snow Eden

Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series - Books 1-4

Whether it's Christmas chaos or supernatural mysteries, Cinnamon Mercy Claus is never too far behind!

 

The Witch of the North Pole - Book #1 of the Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series

A heart-warming tale of Christmas, elves, Santa Claus…and a really mad witch.

There are many things Cinnamon Mercy Claus is struggling with this holiday season: the memories of long-forgotten holidays when the Christmas season was about family; that she's just found out her grandfather is Santa Claus; and that her grandmother is a witch—who is bent on destroying Christmas for them all.

A dose of Hallmark-warmth mixed with crazy witch mayhem!

All books in this series are considered a clean read. There is no profanity.

 

The Full Moon's Slumber - Book #2 of the Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series

Cinnamon Mercy Claus has been a witch for two years.

At least that's how long it's been since her grandmother let her in on their little secret. She's in the process of picking up her life and starting over, searching for something that means more to her than her mundane existence. Then a fairy drips down out of her bathroom faucet and tells her the moon's gone all wonky and it's up to Cinnamon to figure things out.

Since there's nothing like a threat to the earth's very existence to kick your new life into high gear, Cinnamon heads out across the country—with a talking dog and a woman who absolutely terrifies her—to figure out a mystery she doesn't have a clue about.

The Full Moon's Slumber is full of paranormal mysteries and witchy mayhem.

 

Once Upon a Murderous Retreat - Book #3 of the Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series

Cinnamon has just settled into the Aire Mansion when she opens up her doors for a writer's retreat. With her best friend Ginger, the Christmas elf turned talking chihuahua; Mei, the giant Hawaiian consumer; a houseful of eccentric guests; an ominous storm covering the island; and a murderer on the loose; what possibly could go wrong?

 

 

Return to the North Pole - Book #4 in the Cinnamon Mercy Claus Series

She has returned. To the North Pole.

Time has passed and Cinnamon has done her best to deny her destiny as the next Mrs. Claus--the witch who is to run Christmas. But now she returns to the North Pole, ready to face whatever life has in store for her.

Except she's not ready in the slightest.

Between avoiding being seen by Danny, juggling her meddling parents, having the daylights scared out of her every time Ginger practices a 'quick change' from doggy form to an elf, and with another Christmas season fast approaching, Cinnamon is running out of time to figure out what it is in life that really matters.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Azure Willow Press
• Release date: Nov 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201938574

Book preview

Chapter One

IT’S THE LAST STOP. I promise.

The bus driver slammed the door shut and headed off at a speed that certainly was unsafe in these conditions. Wet snow spun from his tires and slopped down into the awaiting darkness.

I skittered to the edge of the dirt road, where snow pooled over the top of my kitten-heeled boots and melted down around my feet. Goosebumps crawled over my body, which wasn’t just from the penetrating cold. Wrapping my scarf up over my nose, I headed toward the one thing I could see, two small lights bouncing their way through the dark field.

I heaved my rolling bag out of the snow and over my shoulder, hoping that somehow, I’d make it to anywhere before I froze to death out here alone in a snowbank. I could imagine the sight my body would be come spring. Did they have spring around here? I didn’t know. The cops would all stand around, tsk-tsking under their breath at the silly girl in her high-heeled dress shoes and simple pea coat, out here in Middle-of-Friggin’-Nowhere, Alaska.

Actually, I didn’t quite know where I ended up.

All I knew, that instead of sitting in my parents’ home for the Christmas holiday, I’d left sunny California to travel eighteen hours on planes and buses, and now stood in the middle of nowhere, looking for a relative I hadn’t even known existed until this morning—or yesterday morning. I no longer knew what day it was.

The bright flash of headlights bounced off the snow and blinded me. I stood in place, hoping the car would slow down and stop weaving back and forth before it reached me. I splayed my fingers across my face as the car came to rest two feet from my knees, and a big gust of snow billowed up around me. As I wiped the snow from my face and willed my bodily functions to remain intact, the car door opened.

Cinnamon Mercy Claus, I presume? said a feminine, clipped voice.

I sidestepped the front bumper of the car, trying to move out of the path of imminent death and to relieve the lights from my vision. Only a handful of people on earth knew my full given name: my parents—who were off enjoying a tropical holiday instead of seeing their daughter; my childhood best friend; and the woman who stood in front of me now, the woman I presumed to be my father’s mother.

Shrouded in a black wool coat, I could barely make out her eyes as her fur-lined hood dipped almost to her nose. Her lips were painted in a dark, cherry red and her cheekbones defined to perfection—most definitely not what I’d imagined a grandmother to look like.

An icy gust of wind whipped a mass of red curls around in a manic tornado, and although I assumed my own hair ran amuck, I looked on in amusement as my nana flailed her arms around, trying to tame her fiery mop of hair. She pulled her hood back over her head and jammed her hair inside.

Get in the car before I freeze my gumdrops off, she commanded.

My brows wrinkled. Certainly, I hadn’t heard her correctly. I started to crawl into the passenger seat, but she was behind the wheel and had thrown the car in reverse before I even had both legs inside. The tires spun as she plowed through the deep snow and onto a dirt path. I fought for the door, and my dignity, as I tried to get all my body parts into the front seat. The wheels finally found purchase upon the soft ground and we lurched forward as I slammed the door shut.

The warmth of the car heated my insides, and as I stole a glance at the angry woman beside me, my chest heated further. We bounced along the road for an indeterminate amount of time, my suitcase slowly covering me in a cold, wet sludge as it sat pressed into my thighs.

The car finally slowed, and although we were only surrounded by darkness, I assumed we’d entered a long driveway. After a few minutes, my grandmother slammed her foot on the brakes. I lurched forward as the car came to a sliding stop. My grandmother all but jumped from the car, as if in a race her life depended on. She left me alone to squeeze my smashed frame out of the seat.

I’m too old for this, I grumbled to myself. Sure, I’d stood six-feet tall since I was fifteen, but my almost thirty-year-old joints didn’t appreciate being jammed into the front of a car with a wet suitcase in my lap.

I stood next the car, trying valiantly to keep my suitcase from becoming even more soaked in the wet snow. We had parked at what looked like a modest two-story brick home. I couldn’t see much more than its outline. With just a few scattered porch lights, the outside barely shone in the darkness. One thing I could see was that the roof had a double slope dotted with numerous windows. It reminded me of a fancy gingerbread house.

A heat spread through my chest, then wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The glow from the windows beckoned to me. I suddenly wanted to rush inside this mysterious building.  

I unwrapped the scarf from my face, realizing the wind didn’t blow as harshly here. The soft lights didn’t allow me a view into the distance, but the sounds of the night reached my ears. A soft braying echoed in the distance. I stood silent a moment, listening to the mournful sound.

Realizing my grandmother was already gone, I hurried to the front door, swinging it open as my suitcase tried to jostle from my hands. Stepping across the threshold, an all-penetrating warmth seeped down upon me, and the smell of pines and spices wrapped themselves around my senses.

In contrast to the otherwise peaceful space, the harsh tapping of heels sounded on the hard floor. It was my grandmother heading off down the hallway, and I ran to catch up with her. After a lot of hollering on my part, and generally making an impressive scene, my grandmother finally stopped and waited for me.

The house doesn’t look this big from the outside, I said through panted breaths.

My grandmother gave off a harrumph. She stopped suddenly, assessing me now that we stood inside in the lights. You look a mess, she stated.

I looked down at myself. Snow clung from the bottom of my coat, and my suitcase dripped muddy water onto the floor. I wanted to open my mouth, tell her it was her fault I looked this way, and what did she expect after dragging me here to this middle-of-nowhere town? Where are we? I asked instead.

She eyed me in disbelief like I’d just asked her what my own name was.

Then she tipped her nose at me and said, The North Pole.

Chapter Two

THE MASSIVE MAN EMBRACED me, squeezing me until I squealed. He set me back on my feet and I tottered to the side. I stood before my grandfather—a man I’d never met. When I finally got a good look at him, I realized he looked suspiciously like...

I didn’t get to finish my thought, for my grandmother pushed past us, grabbing me by my wrist and pulling me after her. I tried to get a good look at the man over my shoulder, but she was a lot stronger than I’d imagined she’d be.

He’s... I tried again.

Yes! my grandmother said, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation. He’s Santa Claus. Whoopty-snickerdoodle-do.

I gave off a little snort of laughter, but my grandmother’s steely gaze had me stone-faced before I could even fully comprehend what she’d just said. I turned away from her, trying to clear my thoughts. I had a quiet holiday at my parents’ house planned. And today had been nothing but a big ball of weird. I’d shown up at my parents’ house, doors locked, with a note that said they’d gone on a tropical holiday—no sorry, no we’ll miss you—and a plane ticket which led me here, to the North Pole. This had to be a joke, a prank. Maybe my parents suddenly gained a sense of humor?

I spun around, almost smacking into my grandmother, who had her hands on her hips, waiting for me to work through my revelation.

He’s not— I started.

I hurried after her as she once again took off down the hall with no concern whether I kept up with her. I stayed silent as we trudged through length after length of long, white hallways. Although it seemed like a regular home from the outside, it now seemed like we’d entered the endless length of a massive airport terminal. I kept waiting for her to suddenly push me out one of the doorways and into a waiting plane; the joke would be over, and I would head back to the world of the normal.

A loud banging and the hurried voices of children started up behind one of the closed doors. The door burst open, and I jumped back, trying to avoid the barrage of little feet that scurried from the room. The children dressed most peculiarly, with varying prints of red and green stockings, and a mishmash of colored smocks.

As I continued to stare back at them, one small boy turned around, and catching my eye, he winked at me. I caught a burst of paint sprayed across his face and shirt, and then what appeared to be a beard. Nana waved her hand at him and he lurched forward, hurrying on his way.

I turned a questioning gaze to my grandmother. She shook her head, her hands on her hips. I’ve told them time and time again, those decorating bombs will never work, but they insist!

Decorating bombs? I questioned. Then, Who were they?

Crazy decorating elves, my grandmother muttered as she turned and proceeded down the hallway.

I followed obligingly behind her, but turned my head back once again, my eyes following the little footprints of paint along the floor.

My grandmother suddenly stopped short and my high heels skidded on the slick floor as I tried to stop before plowing into her back.

Those shoes will prove useless around here, she said. She thumped her fist against the door, and it swung back on its hinges. When she didn’t make a move to enter, I peeked inside and then moved into the room. I dropped my wet bag to the floor and peeled my dirty boots from my feet.

I stared in awe. The entire room looked like I’d hopped onto the Ghost of Christmas Past’s crazy train and had suddenly been propelled back into a Christmas of long ago. The room looked just like my childhood room. And someone decorated it exactly as I would decorate it every year, right down to the nativity scene along the window seat, the quilt adorning my bed, and the meticulously cut snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.

My chest heated. Those memories seeped into me as I moved forward. The thick white rug warmed my frozen toes. I turned around toward my grandmother, my mouth agape in wonder.

The door slammed shut, and she was gone.  

I shook my head. I’d yet to determine if that woman should be considered quirky, or rude.

I moved about the room, trailing my fingers across the stuffed reindeer and the elaborate nativity scene. The memories of this seemed ages ago, yet seeing it in front of me—an exact replica of my past—put me right back in time. Our lives were so happy then. Our quaint house had been just the perfect size for us. Our family had been so close, we never minded the cramped quarters. Mom and Dad always made me feel like I was the princess of their universe.

We’d taken weeks to decorate our house for Christmas; we always started as soon as we took the Halloween decorations down, beginning on my bedroom first. Mom said we did this so the neighbors didn’t think we obsessed over Christmas, which we did. We need to seem normal, she said. At the time, I didn’t know what she meant.

I spun around the room, the room in Santa’s house. I could see now what my mother meant by normal. She knew.

My grandfather was Santa Claus!

I tried it out loud. Grandpa Santa. No, weird. Papa Claus? Urgghh, no. What the heck do you call Santa?

"How about Santa?" a man’s voice said.

I spun around to face the door. Had my boots still been on my feet, I would have jumped clean out of them. For a man of his... ummm... girth, he certainly moved stealthily.

It’s a gift, my dear, he said of his silent entrance. How do you suppose I get in and out of all those houses every year without being spotted?

Umm, yeah, is all I managed to say as I willed my heart rate to return to normal.

Do you like it, Cinnamon? he asked. My memory is not what it used to be, but I think we got pretty close.

"I just go by Mercy. And the room is exactly the same, I said in awe. But when did you find out I was coming here? I didn’t even know until I showed up at my parents’ new house and found a plane ticket."

I called the airport this afternoon to confirm you were on your flight.

This afternoon? I echoed. You did all this in a few hours?

Oh, no. He waved his hand. The elves took a break from their decorator bombs after you arrived here.

But I just saw them in the hallway... headed in the opposite direction.

I can guarantee they entered the decorator’s closet, then headed here. When my face remained full of confusion, Santa replied, They’re quick, I assure you.

Yeah, I said. I spun around, taking another look at the room. Why am I here, Gran—Pop—Santa?

Grandpop Santa heaved a sigh saved for a weary soul. He plopped down onto the bed and the Rudolf-adorned quilt. A quick puff of silver dust floated up around him, then settled back onto his clothes. Your grandmother says she’s leaving me.

What? I exclaimed.

She says she’s done with me. Done with Christmas. She wants a divorce.

How can anyone divorce Santa? Is that even allowed?

Santa shrugged. Your grandmother can do a lot of things that others cannot.

But what about Christmas? I automatically thought to myself.

I stumbled back to the windowsill, allowing it to hold my exhausted body upright. Was I accepting that this man was Santa? I stared at his back. I could feel it. I could feel it inside of me as if it was a truth I’d always known. The man before me was the Santa Claus. I cleared my throat, my words coming out choked. What about Christmas? Won’t Christmas suffer without a Mrs. Claus?

Santa’s shoulders slumped even further. He hung his head in silence for a moment before he spoke. Without your grandmother, Christmas will not merely suffer; Christmas will cease to exist.

Chapter Three

THE SEARCH FOR MY GRANDMOTHER seemed interminable. The halls appeared endless, every row of doors looking the same as the last. If I searched in endless circles, I wouldn’t have been the wiser.

I currently stood outside the door to some sort of kitchen. I’d be lying if I said my nose hadn’t led me here. I tipped my nose to the air, inhaling the intoxicating scents of cinnamon and sugar.

I pushed tentatively through the swinging door. No one at first noticed me. The room held rows upon rows of countertops, all covering dozens of ovens. It looked like a cooking competition on TV, except everything was miniaturized, and everybody was an elf.

And everyone currently baked cookies.

I moved forward into the room. With all the appliances way below my line of sight, I ineffectively missed the corner of one countertop, and my knee took a hard knock.

Ouch! I squealed. All movement stopped, and all eyes glued to me.

A giant beast among men, I towered above everyone—and everything— in the room. I thought my six-foot frame had been awkward in the real world. This, though, was... laughable.

I... umm, hi, I said.

Most elves returned to their work, but a few continued to watch me in amusement. I took a tentative step forward, my feet sloshing audibly in the wet, muddy boots I’d jammed back onto my feet. To say I wished I’d bothered to find another pair of shoes was a massive understatement.

I leaned down slowly, babying my now-pounding knee. I tried whispering to the closest elf, yet my voice reverberated off the walls of the vast space. Do you know where I can find Mrs... Nana... I mean, my grandmother?

Oh, for Christmas’ sake. I’m over here, my grandmother’s voice called out above the quiet.

I faced the continued embarrassment of my intrusion as my heels went click click click and my feet sounded with squish squish squawwwsh as I walked across the white polished floor. My grandmother slit her eyes at me as I finally reached her. She waved her hand above her head. And as if appendages of her own body, the elves all began working again.

Those shoes are ridiculous, she reminded me, again. She turned on her heels and headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway. I followed dutifully behind.

I remained silent as we walked through the halls. My feet were tired and wet, yet I knew if I didn’t follow my grandmother, I’d never find my way back to my room—or anywhere else — ever again. I couldn’t tell if there were a million halls that looked the same or just one hall which meandered endlessly. I just knew I’d remain lost in here forever if I didn’t keep the angry redhead before me in my sights.

I slowed for just a moment as a soft rendition of Jingle Bells reached my ears. I peeked through the window of the door. An entire orchestra of elves played upon a massive stage. I stood back from the door, looking up and down the hall, my mind unable to grasp the concept of how an entire music hall hid behind this door. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture the layout in my head. It wasn’t possible.

I turned, rushing down the hall as my grandmother began to round the corner.

How is any of this possible? I called out to her back.

She shrugged nonchalantly and entered a room.  

I chased her through the door, unwilling to let her out of my sight. I stopped dead in my tracks. The vision of every Christmas movie I’d ever watched played out before me.

Long workbenches ran the length of the massive room. Elves sat jammed together, one after the next, all expertly working on building toys. An elf with a clipboard moved through the room, monitoring the progress. A few elves glanced up at us, but all quickly got back to their work.

I followed behind my grandmother, suddenly feeling like I saw secrets I shouldn’t be privy to. These were elves, making toys for Santa to deliver to all the children of the world. My chest pounded. At this point, I felt like I’d sooner welcome a mental breakdown than have the true workings of Christmas be a reality. I squeezed my eyes shut. Opened one eye, then the other.

I pinched myself. Ouch, I grumbled when the pain was real.

I hurried over to my grandmother, who stood before a computer on the wall. She tapped a few keys before nodding her head in approval.

I stood so close to her I could smell the scent of her shampoo.

She turned to me with a heavy sigh. I suppose you want something from me?

How is any of this possible? I questioned in a harsh whisper, which edged on hysterical.

She shrugged. Again.

Frustration rose like a hot flame in my cheeks. I took a deep breath.

Okay, I said. Don’t tell me. Again, I could feel the truth inside of me—the truth of this place, the truth of Santa — but my mind fought against it, willing me to argue against this insane concept. I blew out a heavy breath, then addressed my grandmother. "Why are you here? I mean, here, checking on the toy making progress. I thought you weren’t going to help Grandpop Santa... ummm Santa, with Christmas anymore?"

I’m not, she said. She slapped the computer shut for emphasis and stormed out of the room.

I chased after her, yelling down the hall. How can you not help with Christmas, though? It’s Christmas for goodness’ sake!

Cinnamon Mercy, you keep your voice down, she growled at me. This business is between me and your grandfather. We are not to worry the others.

"Mercy, I corrected her. But how can they not worry?" I asked, my voice rising again of its own accord.

My grandmother stopped, turning to me. "Because now, you are here, Cinnamon."

I glared at her for a minute. She was using my given name just to irritate me. I hadn’t allowed anyone to call me Cinnamon since I was about five years old and started getting teased for my name. I’d fight that battle later, though. "Me? What does me being here have to do with anything?"

It’s why I coerced your parents into sending you here.

Coerced? I paused, trying to grasp what she told me. Wait, what are you saying?

Nana took what looked like an oversized Blackberry phone out of her pocket and handed it to me. Then she headed off, back down the hallway.

Wait! What? I called after her as the phone chirped in my hands.

You’d better answer that, she said without turning around.

Two arguing faces popped onto the screen, pushing and shoving as they vied for camera space. I looked down at them, then back to my grandmother, who was almost out of sight.

What is happening? I yelled after her, startling the two elves on-screen into momentary silence.

Haven’t you heard? one of them said. Now you’re in charge of Christmas.

Chapter Four

I TOOK OVER AN HOUR, wandering through the halls, before finally finding my grandmother’s office. I had my speech all planned. Santa loves you. The elves can’t plan Christmas without you. I cannot, will not, no way, no how, will I be in charge of Christmas!

I hoped she was just upset. Maybe they had a fight, and she wanted to teach him a lesson. But fighting with Santa? Didn’t that automatically put you on the Naughty List? Was there really a Naughty List? I shook my head free of the chaos. Now I was arguing with myself about the workings of Santa and his workshop.

Santa Claus is real, I said to myself. I looked around, expecting at any moment a camera crew would jump out from behind a pack of cheery elves and tell me they had me on a hidden camera show.

I took a deep breath and pushed my way through the door. I will not be in charge of Christmas! It is not my job, I said to my grandmother. I slammed the elf video-chat phone down on the desk for emphasis.

Be careful with that, she scolded me. You’ll have Christmas ruined before you’ve even started.

"I will not run Christmas. This is absurd. I thought I was going to a quiet—albeit boring—holiday at my parents’ house, and now I’m to run Christmas?"

Nana did nothing but offer me a little shrug, which only fueled my anger.

My parents set you up to this, didn’t they? If they couldn’t get me to run their event-planning business, they figured they could get me to run the North Pole? I have told them time and time again that I will not run a decorating business. I would not run theirs and I will not run yours!

My grandmother snorted at me and rummaged through her desk. Decorating? Ha, she said as she laughed to herself.

What? I asked her, defiantly. I’ve seen the elves. They do the decorating. They bake the cookies. They make the toys. What’s left to do? Plan Santa’s sleigh route? Make sure he doesn’t hit any inclement weather?

My grandmother moved to her feet. She spread her palms across the desk. She leaned forward and glared at me. Her voice was low, growling. If you think I spend 364 days a year planning a sleigh route, then you have another thing coming to you, missy. I do everything. Everything! she shouted. Christmas would be nothing without me.

Then let me talk to him, I said, trying to soothe her fiery attitude. What happened? Did you fight?

A fight? A fight! What world do you live in? Grownups do not divorce because they’ve had a fight. I am leaving that pompous buffoon because he has forgotten about me.

I shook my head, ready to argue that this upset Santa too, when she interrupted my thought.

"Do not let his little speech about saving Christmas fool you. It has nothing to do with me. He only cares that I run Christmas for him. He does not care about me for me, she said, her voice now sad. Two hundred years I’ve given that man. Now I have to think about myself."

A heavy ball of fear settled into my throat. At every turn, my grandmother spoke of things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Two hundred years...

She apparently found what she’d been looking for in her desk, for she carried a key over to one of the many filing cabinets. After unlocking it, she reached her arms inside, her body lowering more and more within the cabinet as if it was bottomless and she reached down into unknown depths. After a few grunts and groans, she heaved herself back out of the cabinet, bringing with her a heavy skein of paper. It towered from her fingertips to a good three feet above her head.

I reached my hands out just in time, and she dropped the mound of papers into my arms.

This is the Naughty List, she said.

So, there is a Naughty List! I laughed, but the serious look on her face had me clamping my mouth shut.

"Santa does not allow us to give up on the naughties. He thinks there is still time to turn them around. She cleared her throat and spoke under her breath, And he’s mostly right."

I gave off an aww and pulled the tower of papers closer to me. He doesn’t give up on them? That’s so sweet.

My grandmother waved off my sentiment and continued talking. He will not sway me. I am only giving this list to you because I don’t want to see Christmas completely ruined. But this is a delicate procedure. The magic of Christmas—reuniting families, giving children hope—is often the last chance we get. It’s the simplest of acts that can affect the rest of their lives. 

Oh. I just stared at my grandmother for a moment. She wanted me to hold the fate of these children’s lives in my hands. I opened my mouth to speak when she suddenly spun me around and pushed me toward the door.

But I don’t even know what to do, I called back over my shoulder.

You’ll figure it out, she said as she continued to push me out the door.

Well, I’m still not running Christmas! I hollered as the door slammed at my back.

Chapter Five

I SKITTERED AWKWARDLY around a corner, barely avoiding a group of elves. I couldn’t see a thing with the pile of papers in my arms, and the clicking of my shoes annoyed even me now. For all the noise I made, I might as well have been riding down the hallway on a horse—or a reindeer, as it may.

Teetering on one foot, I attempted to pull off my boots. I jumped in place on one foot, trying valiantly to remove my last boot. As I tipped to the side, a group of elves swarmed around me. Some hands pushed me back upright while others grabbed the papers from my arms. And then someone jammed something warm and fuzzy onto my feet.

I looked down, giving off a heavy sigh as I caught sight of what now adorned my feet. It had to be Christmas slippers? I asked.

I looked up to catch one of the elves inspecting my boots. He gave off a snort of derision and handed them on to the elf next to him. She deposited them into a slot in the wall before I could even open my mouth to stop her. Wait! I yelled anyway.

Too late, she said. That was the garbage chute.

But it must go somewhere. I jammed my head into the chute, expecting to see the bottom.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you, one of the male elves said. That goes straight into the incinerator.

"Argghh, those were $200 boots!"

We’ll make you a new pair. Something more practical for the North Pole, one elf said.

I’m not staying here. I’m just going to help my grand... Santa sort through this Naughty List and then I’ll be on my way.

Ok, he said, shrugging.

The elves who carried the stacks of papers started walking down the hall—in the opposite direction I had been heading. I supposed they knew where my room was when I most certainly did not. I turned and followed dutifully behind. 

They banged through the door to my room and deposited the stacks of papers on the floor surrounding the bed. I stood in the open doorway looking up and down the hall, trying to determine a way I could remember this as my room. The doors all looked the same, so white and sterile for what they contained.

The elves pushed past me, heading back to their duties. Wait, I called out. They all stopped and stared at me a moment, but when they then all turned and continued down the hall, a pretty girl with auburn hair stayed behind. The name Ginger was written in perfect cursive upon her name badge.

We must hurry, she said. With only 214 hours until Christmas Eve, we’re on a tight schedule.

Do you ever stop working? I asked her. What time is it, anyway? My cell phone got wet and has been all out of whack since I got here, and fifteen hours of flying, plus bus rides, has me all confused.

She looked up, scrutinizing me. We rest when there is time to rest, which isn’t now. But just so you know, Santa is a very fair boss. We receive sick days and vacation time, just like anywhere else. And, there’s a clock right there on your wall.

As I turned and realized there was a clock on my wall, she moved to leave. I called her back.

What do I do? I asked, gesturing to the stacks and stacks of papers now filling my room.

My room. It only looked like my room, I chastised myself. I won’t be here long.

That’s the Naughty List? Ginger questioned.

I nodded.

That’s Mrs. Claus’s job.

Well, it’s my job now, I groaned.

There’s nothing to worry about. She’s just angry at Santa. This will all blow over soon.

I looked at all the papers, at what I realized would soon be a mound of chaos strewn throughout my perfectly decorated room. I’m not so sure.

Chapter Six

I STARED AT THE PAPERS so long my eyes burned. My hands tangled within my bun as I reflexively ran them through my hair. I pulled at the elastic, allowing my hair to escape from its confines. My red hair twisted down my back, falling out into one large corkscrew.

I stood and paced about the room, awaiting some sort of magical ah-ha moment to hit me. I’d been reading the papers for hours yet had no idea—not one little smidge of an idea — how I needed to determine what gifts these naughty kids should receive to give them a chance to turn their lives around.

I stopped pacing when I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. Although pulled free from the bun, my hair still lay tight against the sides of my head. Add in the bright lights of the room and the flashing lights in the window, and I just looked severe. My light teal business suit just, well, clashed with my garish Christmas slippers.

I blew out a puff of air. I needed a hot shower. And a nice cup of coffee. Maybe then my mind would clear, and I could figure this out.

Chapter Seven

EXITING THE SHOWER wrapped in a towel, I headed for my suitcase. As I opened it, a loud pop sounded, and a burst of glitter shot out. I let out a squaaawwhh when I squealed in fright as the glitter rained down around me. I clutched my chest, hoping my heart would return to its normal beat. I tentatively stepped forward into the fallen glitter. I slowly peered into my open case. Save for some expelled glitter, it was empty.

I spun around. My clothes! I panicked. Where are my clothes?

My heart sunk when I saw what they had piled on the bed. I didn’t want to, but I moved closer. I shook my head in disgust. Not only were my regular clothes gone, but they had replaced them.

Christmas clothes, I groaned as I held a pair of red and green stockings in front of me.

A heavy knock on my door once again had me squealing in fright. Composing myself, I asked, Who is it? as I scrambled into some clothes.

It’s Ginger, a muffled voice came from behind the door. From earlier.

I opened the door to the pretty elf with auburn hair. If my choice in clothing seemed odd to her, she certainly didn’t act like it.

Your hair is so pretty, she said.

My hands flew to my head, realizing I hadn’t wrapped up my hair after my shower. Of course, now it was also donned in glitter. I quickly swooped my hair up into a bun, tucking the end in tightly. If allowed to dry on its own, my hair would turn into a mass of unruly curls. And when you had my height and insane red hair, no one took you seriously. I sighed aloud, and Ginger tipped her head at me in question. I supposed I looked no different than anyone else here, but for me—the normal me in the normal world—I must look insane. Although I was only a mid-level accountant, I’d still sat second chair for some very wealthy and influential clients. And if my clients could see me now, I would never get a job again.

I looked down at Ginger, who still had her little head cocked in confusion. Who switched my clothes? I asked.

She examined my outfit, seeming to just now realize I wore red and green stockings and a long gold tunic. That would be the prankster elves.

Prankster elves? How many elves like to pull pranks around here? I leaned out the doorway, eyeing the hallway suspiciously.

"Oh, it’s not that they just like pulling pranks; it’s their occupation."

"Occupation? There are elves around here whose job title is prankster?’"

Yes. Two hundred and four, to be exact.

I groaned. Not only was I stuck in the North Pole, miles and miles away from any normal set of civilization, but they also tasked me with running Christmas, while 204 pranking elves ran amok.

It helps with the levity around here, Ginger continued. It can be extremely stressful this close to Christmas time.

Maybe Mrs. Claus needs a good pranking, I joked to her.

Ginger’s eyes grew round, and she stared at me like I’d said the most horrid thing. "Mrs. Claus does not like to be pranked. That is not only unwise but unsafe."

Unsafe? I echoed her. Although my grandmother seemed a bit rough around the edges, I couldn’t imagine her physically hurting anyone, especially an elf.

Ginger’s eyes were still wide with fear. Oh, yes, she said, the first—and only—elf that pranked Mrs. Claus is still sneezing glitter.

My brow wrinkled, unsure what my grandmother could have done to someone to cause them to sneeze glitter. How many days ago did this happen? I asked her.

Not days. That happened back in the dark winter of 1901.

The year 1901? I gasped. Ok, my grandmother hadn’t exaggerated when she said she’d been putting up with my grandfather for 200 years. An overwhelming chill wrapped around my body. I rubbed my arms, and the tunic I wore sparkled radiantly. I sparkled radiantly.

This was all too much.

Wait! I suddenly exclaimed. There’s an elf who’s been sneezing glitter for over 100 years?

Yeah, she said. "I would not recommend going against Mrs. Claus."

What about Santa?

Ginger heaved a heavy sigh, then whispered, If I were Santa, I would make up with Mrs. Claus. Fast.

Chapter Eight

GINGER LED ME DOWN to another kitchen, this one brimming with hot pastries and hot drinks.

No cookies in here? I asked.

Oh no, she said. Cookies are a specialty. The cookie elves train for twenty-two years before they’re allowed to bake for Santa.

They... What? Never mind, I said. I scooped a pastry onto a plate and filled a mug with coffee that tasted suspiciously like gingerbread cookies.

Ginger pointed to a full-sized chair pushed against the wall. After I grabbed it, she led me to a quiet table in the corner. This time of night, only a few elves milled around. They seemed to be off duty for the day, as a few groups gathered throughout the room, nibbling on pastries and sipping hot drinks.

When I bit into the flaky crust, cream cheese and a spiced pumpkin puree oozed out. This is heaven, I cooed.

Ginger’s lips turned up into a half-smile, but then she looked down at her hands, obviously struggling with what she’d come to see me about to begin with.

You can talk to me, I prompted her. I shoved the last bite of the pastry into my mouth and sipped my coffee.

We aren’t supposed to help you, she finally whispered.

I set down my coffee and inched myself closer to her. I tried to make myself less intimidating—not only as a stranger she may share a secret with—but as a person at least three and a half feet taller than her. Splaying out my legs, I hunched forward, a trick I’d learned in high school to not appear taller than all the other girls.

Why aren’t you supposed to help me? I asked.

"Mrs. Claus said you need to figure out