The Naughty List

by L. A. Kelley

  “No flying reindeer?” jumped in Rosalie. David shook his head. She offered up a weak smile. “I’m a little disappointed.”

  He grinned back. “Don’t be. You ever get up close to one? Reindeer are dumber than a sack of three-day old garbage and smell about the same.”

  “So, the story is—”

  “—a story, but The Book is real. Each person who’s alive—who’s ever lived is in there, assigned to one list or the other.” The intensity in his green eyes burned with an inner flame. “Understand, Rosalie, The Book is never wrong. It sees right into your soul and knows not only which list you should be on, but also why. You can’t hide from The Book. You can’t lie to The Book. It always knows the truth and judges accordingly.”

  Shaken by the depth of his feeling, Rosalie dared a question. “What happens if you’ Kens acre assigned to the Naughty List?”

  “You mean moral consequences? There are none. The Book lists the sins. Penalties are either human or Integral decisions.”

  Rosalie shook her head in confusion. This dream made less and less sense. “Then what’s the point?”

  “The Book has a karmic aspect. People on the Nice List, attract more nice people and vice versa. Ever do something wrong and get a bad feeling?”

  “Like a guilty conscience?”

  “The Book sent a warning you’d slipped onto the wrong list. Being placed in one category or another not only affects you, but people around you. Did your mother ever say to choose friends wisely?” Rosalie nodded. “She was right. Hang around people on the Naughty List long enough and good fortune heads south.” Abruptly, he leaned forward. “Think about the nicest person you know.”

  A picture popped into Rosalie’s head. “My friend, Marissa Garrett.”

  “I’m willing to bet she’s on the Nice List, attracting more nice people to her. Good things happen when nice people stick together.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rosalie protested. “Her son is sick. She has money troubles. How is that nice?”

  “It isn’t,” David agreed, “but that’s not how the List works. The Book doesn’t prevent bad things from happening, but bad times don’t stick to people on the Nice List. Once The Book is back under lock and key,” he stated with confidence, “your friend’s life will take a turn for the better.”

  Elves, Naughty and Nice Lists, Santa Claus…excuse me, the Santa Brian Kloss, Mrs. Grace, and their bundle of joy, David. Rosalie’s head spun.

  David’s voice filled with sympathy. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We usually don’t dump so much on an individual at a time. Corporate has a twelve step program for breaking the news to humans gently.”

  Rosalie looked the E.L.F. square in the eye. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down. Damn, I think I believe him. “Say all this is true—what happened to The Book?”

  The E.L.F. scowled. “It was stolen. I have to get it back. The Book acts as the world’s conscience, sending subliminal warnings to those who stray to the naughty side. Outside the confines of our family’s possession, The Book is vulnerable to malevolent influences. Its ability to make unbiased, objective judgments is compromised. Naughty becomes the norm. More and more people fall off the Nice List. The Book can’t warn them to get the hell back before it’s too late. The Naughty List grows longer, the Nice List ever shorter, and the world tumbles into chaos.” His face twisted in anguish. “Please, help me, Rosalie. I’m certain The Book is in Penrose’s. I need someone who knows all the hiding places and would notice if merchandise was altered or moved.”

  “What does this thing look like?”

  David pantomimed a volume roughly eighteen inches wide by two feet high. “Leather bound, inscribed with runes, locked with a solid gold clasp.”

  She wrinkled her brow in thought. “I haven’t seen it, but several storage areas in Central Receiving aren’t used often. Maybe—”

  David’s face lit up. “You’ll help me?”

  Rosalie was taken aback. This is crazy, her brain insisted. You can’t possibly go along with him. A normal girl would be spritzing pepper spray around like air freshener and chase his hiney right out the door. Simply because he’s exhausted and kind and liked your smile is no reason to— S Ko&#ounhut up brain. Logic went out the window several hours ago. “I guess, I will.”

  “Thank you, Rosalie, thank you, thank you!” David jumped up and kissed her with exuberance. He immediately pulled back and blurted out, “Sorry, sorry, not a stalker. I swear.”

  “S’okay,” she mumbled, flustered. “The store won’t be empty for another couple of hours, but I don’t have a key.”

  “No problem. I can dash-away to any place either in my line of sight or I’ve been to before.”

  She started. “Dash-away? Are you serious?”

  “What can I say? Ever since an ancestor of mine read that dumb-ass poem the word stuck.” David stifled a yawn.

  It was hard not to note the fatigue shadowing his expression. Rosalie motioned him to the couch. “Why don’t you put your feet up? I’ll make coffee.”

  David slunk wearily toward the sofa, but paused first to plug in the Christmas lights. “Nice,” he noted with approval. “Makes even the elf hat tolerable.” She shot him a doubtful look. “Seriously,” he insisted. “You should see our tree. We only put up handmade ornaments. The Kloss’s are huge fans of macaroni art and glitter.” David sunk into the cushions and rubbed his eyes. “You’re a good person, Rosalie. Your name is definitely on the Nice List.”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured lightly, measuring the grinds into the coffee maker. “I have mighty naughty thoughts about Stephanie. You’d be surprised how planning various forms of execution brightens your whole day. What would The Book say about that? Do naughty thoughts count or what?” He didn’t answer. “David?” She turned around. He was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep.

  Rosalie picked an old comforter off the back of a chair to spread over him. It’s been a while since a guy slept at my place, she thought wryly. Having an E.L.F. collapse on the couch was certainly new.

  She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, wondering how many days he had searched Penrose’s. As David fell deeper into sleep, the lines of exhaustion eased on his face. He had a nice face, she decided. Not classically handsome like Anthony, but… She turned away with regret. He was Santa’s kid and probably had wood nymphs lined up around the block. He’ll leave as soon as The Book is found. You’ll never see him again. Help him out and send him packing.

  At ten o’clock, she gently shook David awake. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He glanced down at the comforter on top of him. His expression softened. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She motioned out the window. “It’s late. Everyone has left Penrose’s by now.”

  David hopped up, stretched, and then held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Tentatively, Rosalie placed her fingers on top of his. With a sharp tug he pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. Before she protested, the world went black. She experienced a dizzying sensation of falling before they landed behind the customer service counter with a thump. David released her hand, but kept one arm protectively around her. “Are you okay? Travel by dash-away is a bit unsettling.”

  “I’m fine.” Neither one made an immediate move to break free. After a few awkward seconds, Rosalie backed up. “Where do we begin?”

  “You tell me. Where would be the best place to hide a mystical object?”

  “Central Receiving,” she replied without hesitation. As they headed toward the r K toas Santaear of the store, she asked, “How long have you searched Penrose’s?”

  “About a week, but…” Worry clouded his face. “The longer The Book is out of my hands, the weaker the link grows. The connection is barely more than a thread now. Once broken, The Book will be lost to me forever.”

  “How did it end up here? Who stole it?”

  David st
iffened. “I don’t see how the information is relevant. I only want it back.”

  Rosalie gave him the eye. “What do you mean, the information isn’t relevant? If you know the thief, you’re one step closer to finding The Book.” David ignored her. “I said…” She planted her feet in front of him. “Do you know who stole it?”

  “Not exactly,” he admitted, obviously uncomfortable. “I only know when.”

  Rosalie crossed her arms and glared. “Spill it or I won’t go anywhere.”

  David shuffled awkwardly. “I was at a big party at headquarters—the Odin’s birthday. And there were these girls. They wanted to see it.”

  Rosalie gaped at him. “You tried to impress a couple of girls?”

  “They were dryads,” he appealed to her, weakly. “And hot and I only took The Book out for a second. They wanted to see if their names were…you know.”

  She snorted in disgust. “On the Naughty List.”

  David reddened. “I know, I know. What I did was beyond pathetic, but,” he asserted, “I swear, I didn’t let the dryads touch anything. I didn’t even bring them into the repository. I only opened the vault long enough to look up their names. By the time I returned the dryads had already hooked up with someone else and left. Lots of demons were at the party. I realized how stupid I acted and went home. I didn’t talk to them, again.”

  He eyed her with a sick look on his face. “I woke up in the middle of the night and knew The Book was gone. The vault was open. I must not have locked the door correctly. I immediately followed the trail, but the connection started to fade.”

  Rosalie glowered. “What is it with men? A push-up bra and a pair of stilettos and the next thing you know they open vaults and are too busy for a cup of coffee with a co-worker.”

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out though his face gave away his bewilderment. “I confess I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

  “Human or Integral,” Rosalie huffed, “men are all the same. A little attention from a bimbo in a pencil skirt, and you all turn to pudding.”

  Bewilderment instantly changed to sympathy. “Who’s the guy?”

  Rosalie stared at the floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. Who is he?”

  Rosalie shuffled her feet. The past was painful to bring up, but David’s attitude was so compassionate. Without thinking, she spilled out, “Not he—they. My last boyfriend dumped me for a girl with a low IQ, but a big bra size, and then we had a new hire at the store. He seemed nice. I-I thought maybe if things clicked I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.” Her voice hardened. “Not that I had a chance to find out. As soon as Stephanie shook her business in his face, he lost interest in anyone else.”

  “Those guys were both jerks. I’ve only known you a short time, but if neither one could see right off you were worth fighting for, then they’re dickweeds who aren’t worth a second thought.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Thank you.” She hazarded a questio Kdedre dickwen. “May I ask why—”

  “—did I do it? Why did I open the vault to impress a couple of girls?” He gazed off in the distance. “I asked myself the same question. I guess I was tired of no one noticing me. My family is keeper of The Book, but other clans are flashier. That night the dryads had a few to drink and we had some laughs and I was flattered by the attention. Stupid, huh?”

  Rosalie considered his words for an instant before blurting out. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  David was visibly startled by her response. “You’re still willing to help?”

  As she strode off toward Central Receiving, Rosalie called over her shoulder. “If I had a dollar for every time I did something stupid to impress a guy, I wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of the night with an E.L.F.”

  David’s lips twitched in a smile. “You’re one in a million, Rosalie Thatcher,” he murmured to himself.

  The shelves in Central Receiving were piled high. They scampered over pallets and pulled opened boxes. Rosalie led him into a secondary storage unit David missed in earlier searches. The room was locked until recently when the overflow of holiday merchandise became too much for the main distribution area. They poked through a dozen cartons.

  “Find anything?” she asked.

  Wearily, David shook his head in frustration. “No, but I get a vibe The Book was through here.”

  Rosalie checked an inventory printout. “We had a big sale on luggage. Several cartons with suitcases moved upstairs late last evening for the staff to restock in the morning. Both Children’s and Accessories also received new merchandise. Maybe The Book is in one of those departments. We’ll start with Luggage on the fourth floor and work our way down.”

  She turned to leave, but David’s grateful voice drew her back. “I can’t thank you enough. I promise I’ll make up for all the trouble.”

  “You already did,” Rosalie admitted without thinking. “The notes…the candy…I didn’t have much holiday spirit until they showed up—and then I tried to pepper spray you.” She forced a grin. “I don’t suppose The Book approves.”

  “You thought I was a stalker. The Book admires gumption. So do I.”

  The silence drew to awkward lengths. An unspoken moment passed between them. The sudden unexpected warmth flustered her. “We should go.”

  Rosalie began the search with high hopes. Any employee who opened a carton would be puzzled to find The Book inside with no UPC code or shipping invoice. The first thought would be the merchandise was delivered in error. The employee would stash The Book and later notify an assistant manager. During the busiest time of the year, the report could easily slip someone’s mind. Since her first day at Penrose’s, Rosalie had worked in every department before heading up Customer Service. She knew every quirky little hiding place David could have missed.

  The Luggage Department drew a blank along with the rest of the areas on the fourth floor. The Children’s Department had the same result. Rosalie’s optimism faded along with her energy, while the frustration mounted. Why couldn’t she help him? David said nothing, but his shoulders sagged with each disappointment. Despite the earlier nap, Rosalie saw his exhaustion.

  By the time they arrived in Accessories on the main floor, David’s weariness resembled defeat. He stared blankly into the last open carton, containing nothing but purses. “I’m sorry. I dragged you over here in the middle of the night for nothing.”

  “It’s okay,” she protested fiercely, sharing the ache of his despair. “I don’t mind. We skipped something.” Impulsively, she slipped her arm into his. “We’ll look again.”

  “It’s too late.”

  “I’m not tired—”

  For an instant, the fatigue left his face. “Let’s take a break. I’m in the mood for a chocolate bar.”

  He pulled her close. The room dissolved around them and Stephanie’s office appeared. David opened the desk drawer and pulled out a fancy box. He removed two gold-wrapped bars. “The very last ones. What say we eat them?” He winked. “The disappearance will drive her crazy.”

  Rosalie’s face split into a wide grin. “Toss it over.” She ripped open the wrapper and bit down. Her eyes closed in delight. “Mmm…caramel filled. This chocolate is really good. Too good for Stephanie.”

  “Yeah. She paid over sixty bucks for them plus shipping.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh. I recognize the label of a gourmet food shop in Chelsea Market in New York.” David’s voice dropped. “Reminds me of home.”

  His whole posture portrayed a sense of loss. David had sole responsibility for the safety of an irreplaceable artifact that disappeared, something that had been in his family for generations. An anxious knot formed in Rosalie’s stomach. What would happen to him if he returned empty-handed? She never bothered to ask. “David, about The Book—”

  He forced a smile. “Not your problem.”

  “But—”

  The E.L.F. plunked down in Stephanie’s chair and started up her
computer. “While we’re here, let’s check her email. Come on,” he wheedled, “you know you want to.”

  Rosalie gaped over his shoulder. “Did you really find her password? I thought you were kidding.”

  Without a word he lifted the blotter. Written underneath was a long list of letters and numbers paired to accounts. In case there was any doubt, the title My Passwords was scrawled over the top.

  Rosalie shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  As David opened Stephanie’s email, Rosalie experienced a fleeting sense of guilt. Chocolate bars were one thing, but reading private messages was another. She was about to tell David to log off when the heading Employee Reductions in Force caught her eye. A sick feeling enveloped her. She pointed to the screen. “Pull that up.”

  The email came from corporate headquarters’ Human Resources Department. “As per our phone conversation yesterday,” she read, “the employee you wish to terminate in the next round of cutbacks is Marissa Garrett. The notice will be sent in January. Please reply with a confirmation.”

  “Oh, damn.” Rosalie’s voice grew tight. “Not Marissa.” She snatched the keyboard from David and typed. I’ve reconsidered my decision. The employee termination notice will go to Rosalie Thatcher.

  David grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Alex is sick. Money is tight. They’ll lose everything.” Without a second thought she clicked Send.

  “Rosalie—”

  She straightened up. “I’ll be all right. I’ll find another job. I’m very flexible.”

  David shut down the computer. He rose and gently took her hand. “Stephanie will eventually figure out they terminated the wrong person. At most, you bought your friend a littl Krieid e time.”

  “Maybe the holiday numbers will be so good, corporate will decide more lay-offs aren’t necessary. Besides, Penrose’s is no fun anymore for me. Our new store manager saw to that.”

  He brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “You’re something else.”

  Her cheeks flamed bright red. “So are you. Despite your own problem, you cared enough to bring a little Christmas spirit to a total stranger. You’re a good person, David.”