I just know I have to get to her.
Ginger468 says she isn’t feeling well, and that’s all the more reason I have to leave the North Pole.
Removing the wish vial from the sporran at my waist, I see that it’s all the way filled with magic. My wishes and hers are more than enough to get me there.
I just have to commit grand larceny to get to Upstate New York.
It is the middle of the night, and all my fellow orcs and elves are dead asleep, passed out from too much rum and spiced beer. Good for them.
I will miss the beer, but I’m sure I can brew some of my own when I get to where I’m going.
The barn where they keep the older, outdated sleighs is empty and rarely visited, which I use to my advantage.
If you ever find yourself stuck at the North Pole and if you’ve already availed yourself of the wish vial safe and created enoughwish magic to fill it, here’s how you access a magic sleigh to get yourself home: you open the door, go in, and take your pick.
I shouldn’t tell you this, but once a human has breached the outer perimeter of North Pole Village, we’re all rather trusting and naive about how we store our valuables inside the village.
The magic in the vial is half gone when I reach her.
At the end of a winding highway through the forested hills, the sleigh crashes into a pretty wooden plank sign. I really should have used Rudolph for navigation, but I can’t risk Santa finding out what I’ve done. Better if I just disappear.
Just before crashing into the sign, I read the words, Allman Family Christmas Tree Farm. Free hot cocoa — homemade wreaths — trail rides.
If magic had not crash landed me here, this is exactly the kind of place I would want to visit first. What could be better than being surrounded by Christmas trees?
I pick up the broken signage and load the planks into the sleigh, which sustained minimal damage in the crash. I follow the lane that leads from the highway, taking it deeper into the woods. The lane is picture-perfect, with snow on the wreath-decorated fences and ornate iron street lamps that make the snow sparkle. If I lived here, I’d never miss the quaint village at the North Pole.
This is home…if she’ll have me. I’d better take good care of the remains of this wish vial just in case she rejects me in the end.
Behind the fence, like soldiers in rows, stand tall pines, deep blueish-green spruces, and stately firs. Soon, I come up to a collection of small white wooden buildings, all festoonedwith green garlands and pretty white Christmas lights. There’s a picturesque wishing well in the middle, and next to it is a handmade directional sign. Reserved trees are behind me. First-come, first-served cut trees that way. Live trees in the field behind the barn. There’s also an office, a wreath-making station with free hot cocoa, a horse stable, a wood shop, and more. As I look around, I decide the wood shop is the place to go first, as desperate as I am to see Ginger468.
Once I have the sleigh squared away and the sign fixed and replaced, I follow the chimney smoke to the house.
As I stand there looking at the wide porch of the white farmhouse, decorated with bright colored lights, shiny red bells, and sweeping Christmas garland, I remind myself who I am. I’m an orc, and I can’t just go knocking on the front door. I don’t want to scare anyone, especially not Ginger468’s sick mother.
As I recall, she mentioned living in a basement. I trudge around the property until I see it—there is a set of ice-covered concrete stairs going down at the back of the house. This must be the place.
I carefully take the stairs, melting the ice with a drop of magic as I go. Must keep Ginger safe. Clearly, she needs me, as no one is taking good care of her here.
This is it. This is where she lives. On the door is a small handprinted wooden sign that says “Merry Christmas,” and it makes me smile.
I knock on the door.
And I wait.
This is taking longer than expected, and I realize that I don’t know what time it is here. She may be asleep.
I knock louder and shout, “Ginger468! I’m here! Are you okay?”
Chapter Seven
Ginger
Is my head pounding from dehydration due to crying myself to sleep, or is someone pounding at the door?
I wake with a start, grabbing onto the armrests of my gaming chair.
The pounding continues. “What the fuck?”
