CHAPTER1
Merry Mistletoe stood in front of her ornate gilded mirror and fastened the last of her earrings in the curve of her pointed ears. It was breaking the rules but she didn’t care a wit. Each elf was allowed to wear one pair of earrings to work. Today Merry had three in each small ear, a pair of pretty little red and white striped candy canes, bright silver snowflakes and tiny red bulbs dangling from her lobes. If the powers that be didn’t like it, they could kiss her heart shaped butt.
Smoothing her red stockings and short red skirt appliqued with snowflakes into place she slipped her feet into a pair of heeled black pumps, something else that was frowned upon. It didn’t do to pick up too many fashion traits from the humans, but at this point it was not a major concern. Merry was not opposed to adding a few inches to her diminutive stature.
Picking up a powder puff, she dusted her tight black shirt with a touch of glitter before brushing her long silvery hair. Her make-up was perfect. She’d spent the last hundred years painting faces on dolls; it was expected of her. Violet eyes stared back at her as she studied her reflection. Not bad, considering she was nearly two hundred years old she decided. A spritz of Sugar Cookie perfume finished off her routine. Then she breezed out of her suite ready to do battle and headed for her appointment with the new supervisor.
So far the reviews were mixed on Mr. Bright. He was relatively normal sized for a human, standing about 5’10”, which was a plus. Elves tended to resent those incredibly tall mortals who towered over them. Also, Mr. Bright was a fairly cool name. She’d reserve judgement until she met him.
Merry knew what he wanted to talk to her about; well actually there were probably several things, one being the sad-faced dolls she’d been producing over the last few weeks. Another topic that was sure to come up was her age. She wasn’t old for an elf, barely mid-thirties in human years, but she was eligible to retire. It was her option to leave the North Pole and spend her days on a tropical island or apply for a promotion, which would mean she was committed to working for The Clauses’ another hundred years.
While Merry had never seriously considered retiring, the last few months had shaken her resolve. A divorced elf was a rare breed; the subject of speculation and gossip for decades to come. Merry wasn’t sure she could handle that without having a complete melt-down. The North Pole was supposed to be a place of joy, peace, and plenty of holiday spirit. She was unsure how much longer she could pull off the image of a happy little elf full of fun and mischief.
Knocking on the door to Mr. Bright’s office she waited, inspecting her nails.
Bartlett Bright glancedup at the security camera and sighed. He’d been watching this elf closely for weeks and he couldn’t say he was impressed. Mrs. Mistletoe was short with the other employees, both elves and humans. Her work of late, while beyond reproach as far as her skills, did not meet the standards specified by his boss. A lovely doll face was one thing, a doll with tear-filled eyes was not exactly the kind of present Santa wanted to deliver to a little girl.
Bartlett also noticed Mrs. Mistletoe did not join in any of the typical seasonal festivities. As the holiday approached most elves gathered their Christmas spirit and became more animated, productive, and joyful. Not Mrs. Mistletoe. The beautiful little female withdrew deeper into her sorrows and according to the rampant gossip it was understandable, but not acceptable. He would have to do something about her attitude.
Rising from his desk he strode across the room and opened the door.
“Mrs. Mistletoe, I’m glad you could make the time to meet with me.”
“It was hardly a request,” she replied as she sailed past him into the office.
“True.”
“And please don’t call me Mrs., it’s Ms. Mistletoe,” she said a bit sharply as she spun to face him when he closed the door.
“I’m sorry. I was given to understand you’d been married.”
“I was. At one time I was known as Mrs. Breadhouse, but I’ve returned to my maiden name after Bernard, my slug of a husband, left me for Ginger,” she said with a slightly bitter laugh followed by a snort. “Word is they have a bun in the oven, or perhaps I should say a cookie, but you might have missed some of that drama. Still, when he marries her she’ll be Mrs. Breadhouse, or Ginger Breadhouse to be specific. If that isn’t ridiculously trite, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m not one to listen to whispered innuendos,” he stated firmly, “and you shouldn’t either.”
“Pardon me, but it’s hard to ignore.”
“I’m sure it is, nevertheless, that’s not what I called you here to talk about today. Please have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk that had two steps in front of it.
Carefully Merry climbed the stairs and sat, crossing her legs, her foot popping up and down in obvious agitation.
“Please go on, Mr. Bright,” she suggested briskly. “I do have work to do.”
“That’s precisely why I asked you to come in. I’m wondering, actually everyone is wondering, why your dolls are painted so unhappily this year. I’ve looked at your earlier work and they are quite lovely. You’re a skilled artist, Ms. Mistletoe.”
“Thank you.”
“So what’s going on? You have to realize we can’t use those sad faced dolls.”
“Why not?”
“I think that should be obvious. Christmas is a happy time of year for children. I doubt your work this year will inspire anything but sadness.”
“Why shouldn’t children know that life is not all hearts and flowers? Why can’t little girls be shown that tears and sadness are all part of growing up?” she demanded.
“I’m sure most of them know that, Ms. Mistletoe. Children don’t live in a bubble,” he pointed out calmly. “Our job, your job, is to give them some joy. Some children are already well aware of the harsh realities of life. Let’s not make it worse.”
“I understand your point, but I don’t agree,” she stated firmly, narrowing her eyes.
