Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

E leanor Emberstone beamed at her granddaughter over her sparkling winged spectacles. “Guess what, darling? We’ve decided you will be our elf in the Christmas show this year.”

Harper huffed a sigh as she placed the plate of Christmas cake on the counter. “Gran, I really don’t think…”

“Fiddle-dee-dee.” Eleanor fixed her piercing blue gaze on Harper. “We need to put a twinkle in the eyes of our male residents. Their minds are willing, but sadly their bodies are not, poor old buggers. But at least they can enjoy the view.”

“Gran!”

“What? Oh don’t be such a prude, darling. Wait until you reach our age, you’ll still want a healthy dose of?—”

“La-la-la, too much information Gran.”

“Or at least want to fantasize about it.” Eleanor smirked.

Harper thinned her lips. She was done with fantasies, and she wasn’t yet thirty.

“Really Gran, truly, I’m happier baking Christmas cake and mince pies. Which is what you employed me to do, remember?”

“You were unanimously voted into the part of elf by our committee. Which means it’s now part of your job description, my dear.” Her gran had that set to her mouth that brooked no argument. “We have three Santas auditioning, and I want you to come and give your opinion in the meeting room, right away.”

“I can’t close the café,” Harper protested.

“Biff will hold the fort, won’t you dear.” Gran said as Biff, a goblin who preferred to wash dishes than serve folk, appeared wiping their large hands on their apron.

“Do what?”

“You’ll serve customers, while I borrow Harper.”

Biff gave a grunt, which Harper guessed was a yes. Biff was not the most biddable of folks, but no one argued with Gran. Unofficially, Eleanor ran the Monsters of Mercy retirement village, everyone knew that.

“Okay, but you’ll have to make up your minds quickly, I can’t be gone long,” Harper said.

Her grandmother beamed. “Between us we’ll choose the perfect Santa in no time. The auditions start in fifteen minutes, don’t be late.” And with that, Eleanor departed, barely leaning on her stick, even at the grand age of eighty-eight.

“Sorry.” Harper grimaced at Biff. “You know what she’s like once she’s set her mind on something.

“Dog with a bloody bone.” Biff sniffed and disappeared into the kitchen.

Harper glanced around the little café. It looked lovely with the decorations she’d put up. The tree in the corner of the room was strung with tinsel and baubles and candy canes. But Harper couldn’t feel even vaguely festive. Her heart was like a ball of lead in her chest. Had been for weeks, to be honest.

“Do you want the Yule Log cut up?” Biff called out.

“Oh, yes.” Harper smiled with false brightness. “Of course, we’re only two weeks away from Christmas. Let’s get it out there, eh?”

As she arranged the Yule Log next to the Christmas cake on the counter, she tried not to dwell on the Noah thing. Maybe if she hadn’t bumped into Dina again a month after Noah left, she wouldn’t be quite so upset.

Dina had been coming out of a doctor’s office.

Not just any doctor either; it had been an obstetrician’s suite in old Motham.

It just so happened Harper had gone to see Waldo, the mage, to get something herbal to help her sleep.

Seeing Dina, her whole body jolted.

And this time, Dina saw her too.

“Oh.” Her gorgeous green eyes widened. “Hi, Harper.”

Dina was wearing leggings and a tight tee and there was a bump—a perfect round little baby bump instead of her once-flat stomach.

“H-hi.” Harper’s mouth must have dropped open because Dina smirked and touched her belly. “It’s still a secret.”

If Harper hadn’t been in so much shock, she might have pointed out that it was hardly a secret—Dina was parading her preggers belly for all to see. But all she could muster was a weak, “Right. H—how far along?”

“Four and a half months. But he’s going to be a big boy.” She was stroking her stomach now in that smug way some pregnant women had, as if they were the only person to ever give birth. “We’re keeping it under wraps until his daddy gets home, so, er, keep it quiet, won’t you?”

Harper gritted her teeth and swallowed the nausea rising up her throat. The same nausea she’d felt when she’d seen Dina on Noah’s boat.

Only worse.

That was it, wasn’t it? Conclusive evidence. And so much worse than she’d even imagined.

How could he? How could Noah have done this to her? Why hadn’t he told her he was seeing Dina again—and worse, that she was pregnant. She found herself replaying in her head all the times he’d been out to sea—or so she’d thought; when really, he’d been visiting Dina. She’d barely been able to contain her tears, wandering across Motham in a daze. Back at work, she’d spilled chowder as she ladled it into bowls during the lunch time rush, unable to even raise a smile for her regulars.

So when Gran rang the same day to ask if she could come and work at the Monsters of Mercy over Christmas because their cook had resigned in a huff, it seemed like a godsend. She needed to get away from here, if only for a break.

Mal understood.

“Won’t be easy getting staff, and we’ll miss you, Princess,” he’d said. “But I reckon you need time out from here. Come back when you’re ready.”

“I promise I’ll only be gone over Christmas.”

But as she packed her bags and took one last look across the quay to where Noah’s boat sat empty, Harper wondered if she would ever be able to return.

To see Dina and Noah pushing their baby along the quay…

And so here she was, at the Monsters of Mercy. And she did enjoy working here. She had her own little cottage on the edge of the complex, with a bedroom, a bathroom and a combined kitchen and living area. After surviving in one room above Sweet Clams and using their kitchen for years, this was sheer luxury. The Monsters of Mercy village sat in a leafy street, on the edge of Motham Hill, with glimpses of the sea across the manicured gardens. The waters of Motham Bay were more obvious now that the leaves had fallen, but it was far enough away that she couldn’t possibly spot Noah’s empty fishing boat among the masts. She liked walking through the crazy paving pathways, covered in frost in the morning, seeing monsters on their way to tai chi and yoga, decked out in brightly colored headbands and leggings.

Afterward, they all came to the café for coffee and cake.

And of course, Eleanor had made sure that everyone knew she was her granddaughter.

Harper was soon quite a celebrity in her own right.

Old griffins and minotaurs with wrinkled faces and twisted horns would salute her. A grumpy gargoyle who’d sat outside the café on the railings for a year and never smiled, actually gave her a lip quirk as she took him one of her mince pies.

So maybe Gran was right. Maybe she did brighten the residents’ days a little.

And that lifted her spirits too.

Harper frowned as she arranged the slices of cake.

Except now, Gran was taking things too far.

She did not want to play an elf in the finale of the Christmas show.

“I should say no,” she told Biff.

Biff didn’t answer, which Harper was beginning to realize was Biff’s operational style. Monosyllables if you were lucky, otherwise grunts or just plain silence. Biff had been the one monster Harper had not managed to raise a smile from since she’d arrived here.

Yep. Her one failure.

Harper sighed and looked at her watch. “Better go and help them choose a Santa, I guess.”

Biff grunted.

When Harper arrived at the meeting room in the main building, Eleanor was sitting at the center of a long table at the back of the room, looking for all the world like royalty. She’d certainly dressed up for the occasion, decked out in a shimmering golden bolero jacket, a matching pill box hat perched jauntily on her silver hair. Next to her sat a row of monsters of different species. Harper recognized them from Eleanor’s Bridge afternoons and soirees. Toby, an elegant, ramrod straight vampire sat directly to her left. Maeve, a bird shifter of some sort, small and sparrow-like with missing feathers, sat to Gran’s right. Next to her was an aging orc called Harold, big green hands crossed over his ample belly, and on the other side of Maeve, a centaur called Horatio with a long, morose face, sat bent over in his chair.

Harper had got to calling them Gran’s Minions.

“Just in time my dear,” Eleanor said briskly. “Grab a chair and sit…. No, no, not with us, sit over there in the center of the room. I’m going to make our would-be Santas rehearse a few lines with you. We want to see the chemistry. There’s a copy of your lines on your chair.”

Harper’s heart sank. This was going to be gods damn awful.

But there was no point arguing. The Christmas show was the main event of the year. A time when all the residents got together and invited family members along. It was Gran’s piece-de-resistance.

So she dutifully did as she was told and waited for the first Santa to arrive.

Meanwhile, Gran and the committee shuffled papers and made notes as if they were about to score an Olympic performance.

A moment later there was a knock at the door and the first Santa entered. A Krampus, with a loud braying laugh. Harper saw Gran wince as he introduced himself as Malcolm, then proceeded to shake hands with everyone rather too heartily. Poor Maeve went a bit pinched in the face as she took back her claw and shook it to restore feeling. He clearly didn’t get that these old folks were frail.

Gran gave him his instructions in a clipped voice and handed him his lines.

Malcolm turned to Harper with another grating laugh, pink lips peeling away from his large yellow teeth, and galloped toward her with an outstretched hand. She managed to avoid the handshake by waving her piece of paper at him instead.

Malcolm proceeded to clomp around on his clumsy hooves as he read his lines under his breath.

“Okay, ready!” He guffawed. “Ho, ho, ho, little elf, we will need to get these presents moving faster.”

“I’m doing the best I can. But our Gift Gizmo machine seems to have broken,” Harper read off the sheet.

“Add some fairy dust.”

“I tried that, but it just floats away.”

“Then use the dragon flames in this canister, that should get things moving.”

“Oh no, we don’t want the Christmas presents going up in flames, Santa…”

Harper wondered who wrote this shit. It wasn’t even funny.

“Well, you’re the chief elf around here,” Malcolm boomed. “Come up with something, or all the little children will have no gifts this year. And what do you say to that everyone?” The goat bellowed out the line with a comical look of rage, then did a strange little dance on his hooves and somehow tripped over his tail. The next moment, he was careening toward the committee table.

Gran looked horrified; the rest of the committee shrank back in their seats.

Malcolm righted himself just in time. “Sorry, damn thing’s always tripping me up. Should tie a knot in it, eh?”

“That will do. Thank you very much for coming,” Gran said through tight lips.

As Malcolm left, she popped her eyes at Harper and mouthed a big “NO”.

Harper stifled a giggle.

But at least she was finding something funny. For the first time in a long while. She guessed you had to be grateful for even the smallest glimmers of joy.

The next would-be Santa was a minotaur who’d already put some glitter in the fur around his jaw, and tinsel around his horns. He mumbled the lines in a monotone. Full marks for trying, Harper guessed.

The final Santa was a mothman. He recited his lines with precision, but frankly, he was just too rangy and narrow-shouldered to ever make it as a Santa. Plus, he frowned the whole time.

“We might get you to play a reindeer,” Gran placated when he’d finished.

“What would I do with my wings?” he asked, looking even more worried than when he arrived. “I can’t have them tied up or anything, I get claustrophobic.”

“We could cast you as a unicorn reindeer,” Gran mused. “Make a feature of your wings. We’ll have a think. We’ve got your number, Fletcher. Thank you.”

After he’d gone, the heads all came together. Whisperings took place. Harper sat on her chair and tapped her knees impatiently.

Gran collated the score sheets. “Not exactly high in talent.” She sighed, looking over at Harper. “What do you think, darling. Could you work with any of them?”

Before Harper could answer there was a knock at the door.

Gran turned to Maeve. “Did we have a fourth candidate?”

Maeve shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Harper sighed. Another twenty minutes was about to be wasted.

“Come in,” Gran called out.

The door opened.

And in walked Noah.