The twins exchanged glances, nodding slowly as if they were happy Santa was cooperating now.
“Fine. That answer is…acceptable. For now,” Adelyn said.
“So now, if that’s all—” Santa started.
“That’s not all.” Arabella said, cutting him off. She narrowed her eyes and pulled something else from her pocket, opening it. Lucas couldn’t see what it was but Santa’s eyes went wide. “This is a picture of Santa at the South Park mall. That’s not you. That means there are two of you. Unless you’ve cloned yourself, which we doubt. So who are you really? Are you subcontracting? Are the other Santas trained? Do you provide benefits? Health insurance? A living wage?”
The elf from earlier tried to intervene, but Arabella held up her hand. “We weren’t talking to you. Besides, if you’re part of a labor force, this involves you. Do the elves have a union, or are they exploited laborers?”
“Are you being paid in cookies?” Adelyn asked pointedly. “Because that’s illegal in most places.”
Adelyn glowered at him. “Speaking of cookies…You expect us to believe you eat cookies at every house? You’d be in a coma before finishing one neighborhood. And about your sleigh. How are you carrying millions of pounds of presents? It violates the laws of physics. And reindeer? They’re not aerodynamic. Never mind that they’d explode at the speed you’d have to fly, even with wormholes.”
Arabella nodded. “Rudolph might be aerodynamic. But the others? Dead weight.”
Adelyn tilted her head, glowering at the old man. “Also, let's talk about this naughty and nice list. How do you define ‘naughty’? If I share dessert with my sister, but shove her off the swing, does that cancel out? What’s your recon process? Who sets the rules? Because if it’s you, that’s a conflict of interest.”
“And how do you protect your data?” Adelyn presses. “Is it encrypted? Because that seems like an invasion of privacy.”
“So, either you don’t exist and this whole thing is a scam to get kids to behave, or you do exist, and you’re violating labor laws, the laws of physics, and possibly some international treaties. Care to explain?”
Santa blinked, glancing at them for help.
Lucas winced. “They’re very… passionate about justice.”
By the time the photo was taken, Santa looked ready to hand in his resignation. “Girls, that’s enough. It's your brother’s turn.”
Santa turned his wary gaze to Alastair, who still clung to Lucas’s leg.
“I promise he is not the interrogating type,” he said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Santa’s shoulders seemed to fall and he nodded. Alastair was hesitant at first, but Lucas said, “Shields up, baby. It’llbe okay.”
He nodded then clambered up into Santa’s lap.
“What’s your name?” Santa asked.
“Alastair.”
“What a nice name. How old are you, Alastair?”
“Almost four.”
Santa chuckled. “Oh, a big boy.”
Alastair nodded, but then glanced over and up at the empty space beside Santa. Goosebumps erupted over Lucas’s skin as Alastair's eyes grew unfocused. Was he seeing a vision? Shielding was so new to him. He was only a baby.
Finally, he seemed to snap out of it, turning his solemn gaze to the old man. “Santa?”
Santa tilted his head. “Yes, little one?”
Something about his son’s serious gaze put Lucas on red alert. He nudged August who was trying to lecture the girls on their tactics.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he warned, standing to give Lucas a curious look. He nodded towards their son.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your mommy’s really pretty.”
Santa barked out a surprised laugh. “What? Do you mean my wife? Mrs. Claus? Cause you’re right, she’s really pretty.”
