Chapter 1

1

Away in a snowbank,

No sheet for her bed,

The very drunken Dancer,

Lay down her tined head…

A hungover Dancer woke and stretched, wondered why she was chilled, only to realize she’d passed out in a snowbank. Blame the pre-pre-pre-Christmas party, which had been quite the event. Candy cane shots, gingerbread rum cake, some brandied cherries. She’d partaken of it all, even as she knew she couldn’t hold her liquor. No surprise she ended up wasted. She had a faint recollection of dancing on some tables—and throwing up on a potted poinsettia. At least she’d turned down the elf that propositioned her.

Utterly blasted, she didn’t recall shifting into her reindeer shape or exiting the village. Thankfully, nothing ate her while she was passed out. Predators roamed outside Santa’s Village, and some loved the taste of reindeer meat.

Dancer sat up and shook snow from her velvety antlers. Bad idea. Her head hurt, pounded like a child getting their first drum set under the tree. At her age, she should know better than to get sloshed, especially this close to Christmas. Santa expected all his reindeer to be in fit form, but in her defense, she’d been trying to mend her broken heart.

The bull she’d had her sights set on was engaged to another. It should be noted Rudolph never showed her the slightest interest, and yet she’d been hopeful that—as she was the only other reindeer misfit—they’d be naturally drawn to each other. Him with his glowing red nose, her with the horny nubs that didn’t disappear when she shifted. Her deformity meant she couldn’t date outside of, or even leave, the North Pole because she couldn’t be seen in public—unless she wanted to end up with her head mounted on someone’s wall or as a lab specimen dissected by curious humans.

Her inability to leave the North Pole shattered her dream of one day becoming a FUC agent and fighting crime. Some would say she should be happy she got to work for the jolliest man on Earth, but those people obviously had never worked for the big man. Santa trained them hard, had to since he wouldn’t lay off the jelly donuts. They’d had to reinforce the sled for the second time in as many years.

Thinking of her boss made her squint at the dark sky, the usual for this time of the year in the North Pole. They wouldn’t see sunlight again until March. According to the position of stars, morning fast approached, and if she didn’t get moving, she’d be late for sleigh training. Not a good idea, as it would ruin her bid to lead the team this year. Not that she stood a chance. Rudolph had the big guy wrapped around his ruby-red nose.

Dancer pushed herself up from the snow, swaying on her wobbly legs. Maybe she should send a message she couldn’t make training because she was sick. Sick with the candy cane flu.

A scream from inside the village made the nutcrackers in her head clack their jaws harder. Ow. Some people had zero consideration for the hungover.

“Run for your lives!” an elf yelled, his high-pitched voice carrying and adding to the pounding discomfort.

Probably a Yeti incursion. They liked to raid around Christmas, knowing the elves would be baking their favorite treat—fruit cake. The QUEEFS—Quick Uber Elite Elf Fighting Squad—would handle it. The combat-trained elves were the village defence against predators. Dancer had applied when her dream of being a FUC agent fell through, but not being an elf, she got rejected immediately.

Totally unfair.

Dancer took a moment to stretch her stiff limbs. At least she’d shifted before collapsing in the snowbank. Nothing worse than waking up with frostbite, especially given the remedy tasted so foul. Whoever came up with the idea of mixing cinnamon with bourbon, crème de menthe, and turkey broth should have their taste buds checked.

As she rose to her wobbly hoofs, more yelling occurred. The QUEEFS must have mustered to repel the Yeti.

As she went to totter around the mound of snow—sidestepping a pile of puke with chunks of cherries—a puffin came waddling past.

She bleated a querying note at his panic.

The puffin, known as Joe, paused, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Run!” squeaked her friend, who could speak in his bird shape.

She huffed. As if she’d flee. It was just a Yeti. The QUEEFS would toss it some fruitcakes until it stopped smashing the gingerbread houses. Not exactly the best building material, but the elves preferred it over igloos.

“It’s not a Yeti,” Joe huffed, understanding her disdain. “The village is being attacked by Krampus.”

She uttered a scoffing snort.

“I swear it’s true. Someone calling themselves Krampus has arrived with an army. Santa’s workshop is under siege.”

Her muzzle dropped open in shock.

“He’s got wolverines and walrus rounding up everyone. Flee while you can.”

Flee? No way. This was her chance to fight. Dancer suddenly had visions of grandeur. If she saved Christmas, Santa would be so thankful he’d let her lead the sleigh instead of Rudolph.

Joe scurried off as something exploded in the village and sent up a cloud of multicolored smoke. The damage to the paint factory would slow down production in the New Year. Good thing the elves had already finished this year’s batch of toys.

Despite her pounding head, she had to act, even as she didn’t know what she could do. She’d never trained to fight. Then again, perhaps Joe misunderstood the situation. Puffins weren’t known for their intelligence. A peek at the situation seemed called for.

A quick trot brought her around the snowbank and in sight of the village.

A village under attack.

Elves ran to and fro, chased by wolverines who appeared to be herding them in the direction of Gingerbread Hall. Walrus stood guard at the village entrance, kind of a misnomer since there was no wall or fence around the place.

While the place appeared overrun, the QUEEFS were trying their best to repel. Armed with candy cane shooters, hot cocoa throwers, and licorice whips, they went after the invaders. However, a forty-pound elf was no match for a ridiculously heavy walrus.

The red and white striped missiles bounced off the hide of the big male that humped its way toward the squad, which splintered and bolted in different directions.

As she watched, another explosion rocked the snow underfoot, and a river of hot taffy began rolling through the icy lanes, coating everything in its path, from elf to walrus. It proved especially painful to listen to Freezo the Snowman scream, “I’m melting.”

It occurred to Dancer that she alone would not be enough to turn the tide. Walrus outweighed her and could be nasty with those goring tusks. Wolverines loved to tear out tendons to topple the four-legged. Saving the village would require help beyond that which the QUEEFS could provide, but the nearest FUC outpost was in Greenland, which meant crossing the Arctic Sea. She could swim, but she’d freeze, drown, or get eaten before she managed to traverse the five hundred-plus miles.

It would have been an easy trip if she could fly, only she couldn’t soar without Santa’s dust, which he kept locked away in a vault along with his bible of Good and Naughty Children.

However, she knew where to find a hidden stash. Her good friend Comet had managed to filch some so she could visit her boyfriend in Alert, Nunavut.

Dancer retreated from the village and trotted to the training field where Santa had an obstacle course set up for them to run their paces. Chimneys for them to leap over. Narrow roofs that required precise landing lest the sleigh fall off. Steep sloping tile. Asphalt surface. Woven grass. Every kind of roof dotted the field, as Santa took their training seriously.

The special dust had been tucked inside a chimney, and as Dancer pulled the baggie out with her teeth, she heard a grunt. A glance behind showed a walrus humping in her direction.

Jumping hollyberries, she had to speed up. Dancer tugged at the drawstring with her teeth, loosening it enough to see there weren’t many precious sprinkles left.

A loud whistle by the walrus brought some wolverines yipping.

Time to go. She upended the bag, and dust dumped out, landing on the hard ice. Dancer bent her head and sniffed the powder, feeling it tickle as it went up her nose. She would have liked to have snorted more, but those wily polar devils were coming at her fast.

Hopefully she’d inhaled enough. She began to run, her long legs stretching, her adrenaline sluggishly waking and erasing the last remnants of her hangover.

She didn’t have a proper runway to get up to speed. However, she did have motivation, as the racing wolverines got closer, slavering with excitement.

On Dancer and Dancer and Dancer and Dancer. She encouraged herself using Santa’s chant, wondering if any of her reindeer friends survived the attack. She almost stumbled at the thought she might be the only one left.

A chimney in her way led to her making a mighty leap. For a second, she remained aloft, but the powder hadn’t fully taken effect. She needed her blood coursing, moving the dust through her body. She huffed hotly as she strained, moving her legs rapidly.

Snap. The jaws that snapped much too close to her hindquarters startled her into jumping again, her legs still pedaling. This time she didn’t sink back down. She went up.

And up.

Only as she realized she flew did she glance down to see the wolverines converging under her, muzzles upturned in anticipation.

Not today, mongrels.

Dancer ran on air, heading for the Arctic Sea, racing as fast as she could, knowing the power would run out and she needed to reach land before that happened. She used the stars to guide her route, something she’d been taught but never had to do before. It was eerie flying by herself. Usually, she only ever took the skies with the team. But if Comet could do it to get laid, then so could she!

She might have made it to Greenland had a storm not suddenly developed. Dark clouds, heavy snow, whipping winds. She fought against the buffeting tempest, disoriented, tired, but determined.

Bad weather wasn’t new. She’d flown through worse. Only, she usually had Santa and Rudolph to guide her.

When the dust began to fail, she found herself losing altitude, sinking, sinking. The only reason she didn’t panic? The dark churning sea had changed to white, meaning she’d reached solid ground. She kept descending, readying to land. The storm chose to kick up a notch, rendering visibility to nil, which was how she ended up slamming into a mountain.