by Ellen Mint
“Just don’t let him do anything stupid,” she prayed to both the Christ child and anyone else who’d be willing to intercede while yanking open the door.
Their last tangle with the law flooded back. The Myra family had been perched in the last bench in the back of the room, her father trapped beside a random lawyer, and stacks upon stacks of mail forming mountains around the judge. There was no miracle this time, no showboating for certain. Her father stood without his glimmer, the same skinny, brown-skinned man with peppery hair she saw at the breakfast table. Beside him was Mr. Weir and that other one, Trevor, both looking about ready to rip some throats out themselves.
And on the other side of the aisle was…
“Your honor,” Emeric’s voice rose to reach every corner of the empty room, driving open the lock Nadire thought she had on those memories. He slid a stapled sheet under the judge’s fingers while saying, “As you can see, we gave them ample time with numerous extensions when asked for, but they have yet to produce what we require.”
He had his reading glasses back on, or perhaps he didn’t need them at all and they were just to make him look extra lawyery. It seemed to be working as the judge nodded in approval at the highly attractive man in a suit cut perfect for his form. Her father looked like a man caught with a DUI that the lawyers dropped into an off-the-rack suit to clean him up for his court appearance.
This wasn’t going well.
Mirek sat on the prosecutor’s side, his hands splayed over the desk as if he was ordered to keep them there. Even still, Emeric kept glancing back while the judge read through whatever he handed her.
“Mr. Myra,” the judge began, “do you understand what has been asked of you?”
“Yes, your honor.” The surprisingly humbled Father Christmas rose to his feet, his eyes failing to meet her gaze as if he was one of billions of average people on the planet.
“And do you have these ancient parchments on your person to deliver to Mr. Hellswarth or the court itself?” Her voice was stern and unassailable while staring down Santa Claus.
Nicholas looked about to speak when the judge’s eyes swiveled to spot Nadire standing at the back. “This is to be a closed meeting,” she thundered as if there should have been armed guards keeping Nadire out.
While she caught her father’s weary face turning to her, no doubt apologies that amounted to nothing on his lips, Nadire couldn’t escape Emeric’s flush of surprise. Summoning decades of leadership, Nadire strode forward. “I am on Mr. Myra’s legal team.”
“Is that so?” The judge turned to Weir, who nodded. “Mr. Hellswarth?”
So it was up to him to let her stay. No doubt he knew she was the only one who could keep her father in check, and an out of control Nicholas might play into his hands. Whatever happened, whatever he did, it seemed the court favored the Krampus over Saint Nick. Not about to go down without a fight, Nadire met his icy eyes and watched them melt.
“She may remain, your honor.”
Nadire’s lips parted, mouthing a thank you, but Emeric missed it. He was too busy stomping to his father as if he didn’t know her. Shaking off the foolish pain of being slighted, Nadire slid in beside her father as Emeric began another spiel. “We can only view these decisions on the part of the defendant as guilt and an attempt to obstruct justice.”
The judge snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I am growing tired of your excuses Mr. Myra. Surely, your lawyers would have informed you of the penalty should you maintain your stubbornness.”
Oh God, they were trying to make her father do something. No wonder he dug his heels in.
“This is all a joke, and you know it Mirek.” Nicholas jabbed a finger at the other elder gentlemen who appeared as innocent as an angel. The only thing missing was the halo, but it probably wouldn’t have fit over his horns.
“Just give it to us, Nick. Stop throwing your weight around as if you can control everything. You’re not god.”
“And you’re not either,” her father bit back, causing both of their children to groan.
The smacking of a gavel broke apart the returning bickering. After giving another two whacks, the judge pronounced, “Enough! The state has given you more than enough leverage, Mr. Myra. And after the ingratitude you’ve shown, I am afraid I shall have to find you in contempt.”
“What?!” Nadire launched to her feet, but Trevor grabbed her arm and held her in place. The judge’s cruel eyes swung to her, pinning Nadire in place while she sentenced her father.
“You will remain in jail until Mr. Hellswarth has had every requested document delivered to him. And, if any of your law team continue to interfere, they shall join you. Bailiff?”
Nadire swallowed hard, her head whipping over as her father rose from his chair. A cursed man in a tan uniform approached the father of Christmas, a holy man of God, and strapped a pair of handcuffs to his thin wrists. “Dad. Dad, what did you do?”
“It’s all right, Naddie. Don’t fret.”
“Fret? Fret! You’re being arrested. Do you not understand that? You’re being thrown in jail, again!” She wanted to pull her hair out, or his. Anything to get him to see sense. But the bumbling fool was wan and weary, only a slow shrug of his poorly suited shoulder rising.
Turning to the judge, Nadire walked forward. “How do I stop this? How can I…how can I keep my father from prison?”
“At the moment it is only county, but if he maintains his stance of defying the law…” The judge glared at her father who wasn’t fighting anyone anymore. What happened? The last time she was involved, her father had cursed a blue storm at the idea of giving in to the Krampus, the lawsuit, or the justice system in general. They weren’t exactly citizens of anywhere that existed.
This was all their fault. Because they had to dig up this idiotic lawsuit, Santa Claus was going to jail. “Dad,” Nadire grabbed onto his shoulder, earning her an order to back off from the officer. She released him, her heart throbbing when the man reached for the weapon at his hip. To her surprise, she felt Emeric slip closer as if he’d try to protect her. Or perhaps shove her forward so she’d be perforated with bullets.
“Dad, where is it? Where are these papers?” she shouted, sucking back the tears.
“It’s being handled,” her foolish father said even as he was shoved towards the door, his millennia-old wrists locked behind him.
“Father! So help me…”
Before he was yanked away, her father said, “It’s not your burden, Naddie. And whatever you do, don’t go near my desk!” With that he was gone, at the mercy of the law to a country created a thousand years after his birth. It was like entrusting a toddler to babysit the Dead Sea scrolls.
“That went about as well as I feared,” Mirek mused, rising from his seat to stretch. “Old codger never could admit when he was wrong.”
Nadire banged her fist into her palm trying to think. Steadying her breath, she turned to the judge rising from her pulpit above them all. “What if I get them? Will you let him go if I deliver these papers myself?”
“Yes,” the judge said, “as already stipulated. Though, they are in another language and will require verifying. That will take a few days…”
“I will accompany her,” Emeric strode forward, his chin thrust out. “I can translate any of the old Germanic they would be written in and verify them myself.”
The judge, who couldn’t know the full magnitude of what she was overseeing, waved a hand through the air. “Very well, if you are fine with that arrangement. When Mr. Hellswarth delivers the documents to my chambers, then I will release your father from custody. Until then, he remains in contempt.” She didn’t bother to bang her gavel, simply strode out of the door that Nadire’s father was dragged through a moment before.
Her father was in jail.
It was early September and Santa Claus was in jail.
And the only way she could get him out was to find papers only he knew of.
The loud clasp of metal bars knock
ing together caused Nadire to glare over at the cause of her problems. Emeric finished hiding away the last of his macabre papers to string up her father. She glanced to Mr. Weir, who was no help whatsoever. After this mess, Nadire was vehemently suggesting they look elsewhere for their American law issues. Why couldn’t they have started this in Chile? Their lawyer there was excellent and wouldn’t have let her father be put in prison.
“Well,” Emeric spoke, the bag hanging off his shoulders. “Do you have any recollection where these missing letters might be?”
Nadire sighed, clawing at her head. She could call up Tin, but the elf claimed to have found them months back. Anyone else in the office was too busy, what with Christmas and the feast about to land upon their heads. “I suspect it’s at our home base,” she admitted to him, breath washing through her parted lips.
Three months and little had changed. Even as she tried to forget him, Nadire found the smallest details, a crinkle in his lips, a light mole on his cheek, even the scent of dark forests and amber remained true in her memory.
“Then, we shall have to book a flight as soon as possible,” Emeric said.
It was his father who broke out into laughter, his fingers twirling a set of toothpicks as if he was trying to knot them up. “Try again, son. Right, child of Nicholas?” He burned his eyes into her, searching for something. Oh God, did he know that she’d already pulled his son through the winds? Nadire nodded dumbly to answer his question, and Mirek smirked at Emeric. “You’re in for a treat.”
“How so…?” Emeric asked.
Enveloping her hand around his, or trying to at least, Nadire stared up into his eyes. They widened at how she touched him, the same sparks that failed to dim in three months cascading from their handhold. “What are you…?” was as far as Emeric got before Nadire took a step forward and pulled him into the wind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HOLY MOTHER!
Emeric sucked in a breath, at least he thought he did. He wasn’t certain if he had the lungs to hold it or the lips to pull oxygen inside. Stars sparkled against what had been a flat, opaque surface beyond his vision. Reaching, he began to rub vigorously at the stars only to rear back at the fact he still had hands.
The white shine faded, colors returning, then shadows as he blinked to gaze upon the impossible.
“Is this…?” he gulped, his eyes widening as he stared around a log-walled room with stained glass windows and a massive stuffed polar bear looming beside him.
Nadire strode ahead, her heels clipping against the polished cherry wood. At the center of a crimson rug, she wafted her hands out wide and said, “Welcome to the North Pole. I assume it’s your first visit.”
“The…this is the, the North Pole?” Damn it, he was the son of the Krampus. He shouldn’t be yawping like a yokel brought into the city out of the bedraggled forest. But, as he gazed past furniture misplaced from time itself he spotted nothing but unending snow outside the domelike windows.
“It’s not that cold,” Emeric remarked, shaking away the last touches of a magical chill that enveloped his soul.
Nadire gestured to a fireplace in the corner, though as the flames danced against a log they shifted to a strange green. “We never were fans of the cold, but we…make due. All part of what’s expected, I suppose.”
“How…?” His lips pursed, Emeric taking in Santa Claus’ office. There was no coat rack holding the requisite red and white suit, but the walls were lined with byzantine art broken up by plaques and racks supporting ancient wood-working tools. Some of them he recognized, as his father kept the same from an era before machining.
“How are we here? In the North Pole? Already?”
Her light steps paused beside a bookshelf. She peered at him from whatever she was looking for. “Windstriding. Can you not…?”
Emeric shook his head slowly, his jaw wedged open as he bathed in the fact he was now at the top of the world.
“It’s…it’s how my father crisscrosses the globe. Before the sleigh or the reindeer, we can stride along the winds.”
“At the speed of light?”
Nadire tipped her head, “Close enough but not quite. My mother theorized that reaching the speed of light could cause the atmosphere to combust. Regardless, it is quick enough for our needs. Judging by that look, your father can’t.”
“No.” Emeric tried to shake away the awesome power afforded to the family of Saint Nicholas. To think of all the customs lines he could skip. He’d lost a good quarter of his unnatural life waiting on tarmacs alone. “I suppose that is why he requires joining with your father once more.”
The smile from his awe snapped away at the reminder of why she was here. Because Nicholas, fool that he was, got himself put behind bars. Judging by the look in her eye, she blamed Emeric for it instead.
With a grit in her shoulders, Nadire focused on digging through the bookshelves, leaving Emeric alone to pace about her father’s study. Beside the polar bear, he found a small table holding a golden basin. It reminded him of the baptismal fonts one would find in smaller churches in the eastern countries.
There was little red save a few touches here and there. Though gold and silver won out in decor, every other color hung through the place from greens, to blues, to yellows. Santa’s enclave was a rainbow. Wooden archways hovered above the beams low and intersecting like a Hobbit hole. Designs were carved into them of varying birds and greenery encircling the support structure. A touch of Christmas came through. But on his desk, instead of the milk and cookies on a plate of Santa’s head was a phone charger and one of those old calculators that needed rolls of paper.
“This isn’t what I expected.”
“Oh?” Nadire asked. Bent halfway over to inspect a shelf at waist height, her black hair draped down her body as she eyed him up. The familiar thrill coursed through him, inviting him to drink in the sight of her bent at the waist with her bum nearly in the air. But Emeric tapped it down, well aware that those thoughts would only harm him.
“It’s so rustic, but then there’s all this gold leaf and… Dear lord, is that you?” He pointed to a portrait of a young woman dressed in a renaissance gown, a ruff cinched around her neck, and a small weasel in her lap. She looked pensive in the painting, her deep brown eyes staring into the horizon with a million thoughts.
“That’s my mother,” Nadire said with a quick look. “The only portrait of me is from…never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Well.” Emeric tried to breeze past the awkward situation of him asking an immortal lady her age. “I can see from where you were gifted your beauty.”
“That, uh.” Nadire gulped, her cheeks lighting up as red as he’d expected the room to be. “My father, he…you said the room was wrong.”
“Yes, much less tinsel, and ho-hos, and jingle bells. More antlers, and furs, and workhorse antiques. Rustic. Reminds me of my father’s home.” It struck him so suddenly, Emeric’s tongue voiced the traitorous thought before he could process it. But yes, there were signs. A very similar bar was hidden in the corner for starters. The place smelled comforting too. He never could get used to the scent of light bulbs and freon. Here felt the years of a man that’d watched humanity crawl across the globe.
Nadire paused in her hunt of the first bookcase to walk closer to him. “He wasn’t always Santa Claus you know,” she said as if she wanted to trumpet that fact.
Turning from her, Emeric stared at the windows. It would be impossible to age them, the designs altering and overlapping. Some would belong in a byzantine church in the fifth-century, others in Notre Dame, some still a recent design going off the penguins in sweaters motif. It was a hodgepodge of a man’s eccentricities laid out in glass.
And below the confounding but beautiful image was a small altar. Two antler racks dipped in gold sat at opposite ends hoisting up a long walking stick. A clear bauble sat at the top of the wood so clean it could have fallen off the tree yesterday.
“What is that?” he asked, poi
nting to the curiosity as if he expected a tour from her.
To his surprise, instead of ordering him to shut up or get out, Nadire dashed up the steps. She seemed to bow a moment to the stick, then gently raised it in her hands. “This,” her voice took on an aura of awe as if she walked into a church in the middle of services, “is Saint Nicholas’ staff.”
“I don’t remember seeing that in any ads for rapping Christmas tacos.”
For that her eyes narrowed, Emeric biting his tongue at how quickly he bandied his father’s thoughts around. “When he was younger, my father suffered a fall. Or a disease. He can’t really remember. It left him with a limp in his right knee, so the great bishop always carried a staff with him.”
She knocked the end into the floor, barely a touch, and all the room’s lights glowed brighter. “This was what for centuries people assumed held my father’s power. To see Nicholas’ staff was to be visited by Father Christmas. There’d be sprigs of holly, birds perched upon it, bows and berries.” Nadire gave another tap, Emeric swearing the floor shifted under him.
She raised the staff high and plunged it to the ground. The world vanished in an explosion of golden glitter. Emeric’s vision struggled to focus from the ethereal and a warmth overtook his body. Not just his toes and fingers, but his heart. He felt lighter, a giddy smile twisting up his lips as he ached to wad his hands around a snowball. To hurl it at the neighbor boys who’d always find their way to his father’s cottage this time of year.
His father’s knee bouncing the giggling boy around as he whispered about all the goodies that’d be inside his shoes come Christmas morn. A warm hand cupped his cheek, tiny Emeric staring up into the never cold, but always striking blue eyes of his mother. She was smiling, laughing at his first attempt to whittle her a spoon. It nearly snapped at the head, but she adored it.