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Chapter Seven

A crowd of six- and seven-year-olds—whose families were apparently using the Christmas Village for free babysitting—had been insisting on singing an ear-splittingly loud rendition of “Jingle Bells” non-stop for an hour straight.

The parents stuck in line with their own children were slowly wilting, their faces getting pinched from incoming headaches.

“I guess it could be worse,” one dad said glumly, scooping his daughter off Wade’s knee after she had recited her lengthy Christmas list of DIY crafting sets. “It could be ‘The Little Drummer Boy.’”

Wade sort of liked “The Little Drummer Boy,” but then, an hour ago, he had liked “Jingle Bells,” too. No Christmas song could stand up to an hour of this.

“Or ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’” the next mom in line added as she brought her son up.

Everyone in earshot shuddered.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” the dad said, with a distinctly haunted look in his eyes.

“Can I do carol-oke after this, Mommy?” the little boy asked as he got a fistful of Wade’s beard.

Wade resigned himself to the upcoming yank, and—yep. There it was.

He was glad the glue was strong enough to hold no matter how much the kids pulled at it, but that was a double-edged sword. It meant they really were tugging at his face, almost like they would have been with a real beard, and it hurt .

“Santa will bring you two more presents this year if we leave right after this and go home and take a nice, long, quiet nap,” the mother said.

“I will,” Wade promised.

The boy looked skeptical, but he agreed and started in on his own list, which involved more reptiles than Wade would have imagined.

He eyed the line. It wasn’t too bad right now, since a fair number of kids had insisted on trying out the carol-oke before their meet-and-greet with Santa. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a good time to take one of his breaks—not his hour-long lunch, since it was only ten in the morning, but one of his two fifteen-minute periods of much-needed peace and quiet. It would give him just enough time to get some aspirin from the Outpost. The parents weren’t the only ones with a headache.

But there was no way anyone’s head was throbbing more than Mira’s. Wade had guessed that all-day carol-oke would be rough, especially with the machine on the fritz and the microphone always squawking. And like Petey had said, the machine didn’t have a lot of songs loaded in, which meant this wasn’t even the first “Jingle Bells” marathon they’d been stuck with today. Mira was dealing with a lot.

That was the whole reason he’d prodded Marsh into ordering him to take over the station for a while; he had wanted to give Mira a little relief. Still, his imagination hadn’t come up with anything as exhausting as the last hour.

He might want a break, but Mira needed one.

He finished promising little Sammy a whole terrarium’s worth of Christmas presents—Sammy’s mother seemed willing to agree to any number of pet lizards if that would get them out of there before the next round of “Jingle Bells”—and dutifully posed for the picture. Then he stood up.

That was the cue for one of his more traditionally garbed elves to swoop in. This one was a freckle-faced college student named Milo, who was studying Comparative Literature and liked to stand behind Santa’s chair so he could surreptitiously do some of his reading without anyone noticing. Wade was happy to play along, especially since Milo, distracted or not, was quick to notice when they changed gears.

“Santa will be back in just a few minutes, everyone!” Milo said, hiding some French novel behind his back. “In the meantime, feel free to have some presents wrapped or drop by the refreshments stand for some holiday treats.”

It was a pretty good deal, honestly. A lot of life involved standing in line, and it would be better if someone always offered you gingerbread or hot chocolate as compensation.

This was where everyone expected Wade to head into the sheltered back areas of Santa’s Village, where you could easily take a shortcut to the Outpost. At the very least, it was a quick way to duck out of sight and chill for a minute or two.

Instead, Wade made a beeline for carol-oke.

Up close, it was easy to see that Mira was at the end of her rope. Her cheery elf smile was in place, but she was seconds away from being a Galadriel who really would take the One Ring and transform herself into an all-powerful dark queen ... if only it would stop this endless caterwauled performance of “Jingle Bells” in its tracks.

Wade gently touched her shoulder, and she practically folded into him, her face cracking open into obvious distress. Since the kids had just started another round of the song and would keep themselves going for a while, he didn’t hesitate to pull her to the side.

“I’m sorry,” Mira said, dabbing a few tears of frustration away from her eyes. “I’m good with them normally, I promise. It’s just so loud , and the same song, over and over—I tried to get them to switch it up, but they don’t want to do anything else—”

He wished he could wrap his arms around her, but that would just draw attention to her, and he could tell she wouldn’t want that. She didn’t even want to cry in front of him.

“I have to get through this,” she said, raising her chin. “I need the bonus you get for making it through the whole holiday season. Marsh knows it, though, and that’s the problem. And he doesn’t like me.”

She didn’t mention that one of the reasons Marsh had turned on her lately had to be because she’d stood up for Wade’s validity as a last-minute replacement Santa, but Wade knew it was true.

We have caused problems for our mate , his bear said, its head sagging down. We didn’t mean to. Let’s eat Marsh.

Tempting, but I think we can manage something a little more efficient and a little less, you know, illegal and terrifying.

But less effective , his polar bear said.

That was technically true, so he didn’t bother denying it. Besides, he wanted to focus on Mira, not his own vengeful subconscious.

“You’ll get through it,” Wade said. He would make sure of it, no matter what bullshit Marsh tried to pull. Treating her like this was ridiculously horrible and unfair. “Slip into the back for a minute, or go get yourself some hot chocolate, or whatever you think will help. Definitely take some aspirin. I’ll cover for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Mira wiped at her eyes again and gave him a shaky smile. “Okay. You’re my hero, you know.”

We’re her hero! his polar bear enthused. We should eat—

Don’t say the kids , Wade thought quickly.

I wasn’t going to say that, it said, sounding injured. They’re just cubs. I was going to say we should eat the noisy machine.

Huh. Destroying the carol-oke machine? That wasn’t a half-bad idea, and everyone here would thank him for it.

But Marsh had put Mira in charge here. He would have to allow Wade to take over for short intervals like this one, since he was the one who’d told him to do it, but Wade had the not-so-funny feeling that if anything went wrong, Marsh would make Mira pay the price. Marsh’s Christmas Village wasn’t the awe-inspiring success he had dreamed up in his head, and he’d already decided to take his frustrations out on the one person who would put up with them.

If she needed the bonus, then Wade needed to make sure she got it. Even if it meant biting his tongue to keep from antagonizing Mash any further.

Even if it meant letting the carol-oke machine live.

As the children wound down their latest performance of “Jingle Bells,” Wade cleared his throat and stepped in.

“Santa!”

“I don’t think any of you have been up to see me yet,” Wade said. He wished he could have managed a boisterous ho-ho-ho, but he didn’t think he could pull it off. He tried for a twinkle in his eyes, instead. “Is carol-oke more important than making sure I know what to bring you for Christmas?”

“It’s not!” one mom called, her voice edging into frantic territory. “It’s really not. So not.”

“Carol-oke should be on the naughty list,” a dad added, not quite under his breath.

The “Jingle Bells” choir at least agreed with the mom: carol-oke was not as important as Christmas presents.

“But now we have to get all the way at the end of the line,” one of them said, kicking a tuft of artificial snow. “Maybe we should just sing until the line’s gone.”

She reached for the machine to restart “Jingle Bells.”

Wade eased in front of it just in time, blocking her with a wall of red velvety suit.

“The line only looks long from here,” he said. “It’ll go by so fast. But if you stay out of it, more people will just keep coming and coming, and it’ll never get any shorter.”

The kids traded looks. “I don’t know,” their elected representative said, drawing the words out.

Wade almost settled for the pyrrhic victory of telling them that they could keep singing if they just switched the songs up a little more often, but then he had a better idea.

“As an early Christmas present, let me see what I can do about the line,” he said. “And don’t start the carol-oke up again yet—it interferes with Santa’s magic.”

That was an angle he’d certainly never tried before. The choir looked a little suspicious about it, but no one immediately grabbed at the carol-oke machine the second he stepped away, so he’d take it.

He hurried over to the line.

“One of our elves would love to treat everyone in line to free cookies and hot chocolate over at the snack stand,” he said. “All you have to do is step out of line for a minute or two and go have a delicious treat.”

“God, yes,” the “carol-oke should be on the naughty list” dad said. “Isn’t that great, honey?” he added to his daughter, in a perkier voice. “Free cookies!”

“But I want to meet Santa!”

“You will,” Wade promised. “I just thought you looked a little hungry.”

The girl considered this. “I am a little hungry.”

“Everyone good with free cookies and hot chocolate?”

The parents all nodded so adamantly that Wade was worried they’d give themselves whiplash. The children, who were seemingly impervious to the racket their peers were making, needed a moment to mull the offer over, but in another couple seconds, they started peppering him with questions about sprinkles and whether or not it was cruel to eat gingerbread men feet-first. He would let them sort that out.

He ushered them out of line and waved Milo over.

“We can’t give away free stuff, can we?” Wade asked, already resigned to his fate.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Okay. Tell the bakery stall to just keep track of what we’re handing out, and I’ll pay for everything when I clock out.”

Milo nodded and started to walk off, but Wade had to ask him something first.

“How do you read French existentialist literature with all that going on?”

Milo grinned and tilted his head, letting Wade see the neon yellow ear plugs he was wearing. “My cousin gets them from the gun range.”

Okay, Milo was a genius even beyond being able to read literature in multiple languages. “Do you have a spare pair? Fresh ones?”

“Sure, but they’ll make it hard for you to hear the kids.”

“Not for me, for Mira.”

Milo snapped his fingers. “Right, makes sense. I’ll get them for her after I tell the bakery stall to take your life’s savings.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Back to the “Jingle Bells” kids, who were looking at him with wide, awestruck eyes. Their parents—or the harrowed, helpless-looking people he assumed were their parents—had about the same expression.

“Did you do that with Christmas magic?” one of the boys said.

“A pinch of Christmas magic and a dash of holiday spirit.” It sounded better than saying, No, I did it with bribery.

“So we can tell you our Christmas lists now?”

Wade hesitated. He’d boxed himself into a corner here. He would have to take them up to Santa’s chair for that part, but that would mean leaving carol-oke unattended. If Marsh popped in while the station was unmanned ....

There was a shimmer of white and silver as Mira reappeared, saving him. “Yes, go tell Santa your Christmas lists.” She grazed her hand over his arm, and the thick red velvet seemed to melt away to nothing. It was like he could feel her touch on his bare skin, sending shock waves all through him. It blew him away to the point where he almost didn’t hear her say, “Thank you,” in a low voice.

“Milo’s going to bring you some ear plugs,” he said before he let the kids sweep him away. “Or you can spill some hot chocolate in the carol-oke machine and tell Marsh the kids did it, if you want, and everyone here will back you up.”

She really had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It lifted up higher on the right than the left, and the crookedness made it even better.

“Oh, no, I’m not giving in that easily. I can wait out today. Enough parents will complain that he’ll have to stop the all-day version, and I want him to admit he’s wrong.” Her smile turned rueful. “Or at least decide the world’s not ready for his brilliant idea. But in the meantime, thanks for saving me.”

Tell her , his polar bear growled. Tell her the two of you are true mates!

We’re in public, in the middle of a workday. Kids are waiting!

It let out an agonized snort of frustration. Wade couldn’t second it out loud, but he hoped his polar bear felt just how much they were on the same wavelength about this.

“Anytime,” he managed to say before he headed back to Santa’s chair.

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