Curtain Call (20 page)

A hush falls over the workshop as I enter and walk through toward Dad's office. My skin crawls as hundreds of eyes follow my progress. Will I ever get used to feeling like a sideshow freak among the people here?

“Just give her five minutes.”

I don't even need to press my ear to the door to hear Mom's pleas. My heart sinks into my stomach. What kid wants to have their mom plead with their dad to give them attention? Doesn't make for a great parent-child relationship, if you know what I mean.

Dad's secretary, a diminutive little woman with a swath of silver hair pulled into a bun similar to Mom's, smiles at me kindly over the rim of her bifocal glasses. “Your father will be ready for you momentarily,” she says.

I nod without really responding directly to her. Instead, I fix my eyes on the pictures on the office wall of Dad with various celebrities. He is undoubtedly more famous than all of them, and his star will never really wane, and yet…so few people really believe that he exists. Myth and legend are funny like that.

Finally the heavy oak door swings open and Mom sweeps out in a rustle of long skirts. She nods to me in what I suppose she thinks is an encouraging fashion. I take a deep breath, swallow hard, and square my shoulders as I walk into Dad's office.

Before the door has even closed behind me, I say, “The decree is archaic and I refuse to participate in it.”

Dad studies me silently for what feels like an eternity. Finally he takes off his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose, and sighs. He stands and walks slowly over to gaze out his window at the thickly falling snow.

“Virginia.” He sighs again.

“Father,” I mimic.

He turns sharply and fixes me in his intense blue stare. Most people meet his eyes and find only jolliness there, but I find frostiness laced with something I can never identify. My knees shake like they always do when I come face to face with my father, but I clench my teeth together and stand up a little straighter.

Then suddenly Dad's shoulders slump. He drops my gaze and sinks back into his desk chair. He looks old and…defeated. Pulling at the short, white beard on his chin, he returns his gaze to me, but thoughtfully this time.

“Sit,” he commands. I sit, not so much because I want to but because Dad still rules his domain. We sit in silence for what seems like forever, simply regarding one another warily. Finally he says, “You know the story of how your great-great-grandfather became the first true Santa Claus.”

I nod, waiting. He continues, “So, you realize the significance of your mother and I having eight daughters and no sons.”

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “That little fact of life certainly isn't my fault. I didn't ask to be your first born daughter.”

The frown on my father's face deepens. “This issue is non-negotiable,” he says. “At the first new moon, Elwyn will escort you to the mortal world and settle you in while you wait to meet your betrothed.”

My jaw drops in utter shock of the lack of discussion. At the same time my mind whirrs with dozens of snide comebacks. Not that any of them will help my case, but still, I can't help but snap, “What am I a werewolf now? Why do I need to wait for the new moon? And in case you haven't noticed, I am a mortal. “

Dad smiles condescendingly. “You have much to learn before we let you go out among the regular mortals of the world. That is why they have recommended that we wait until the new moon to send you.”

“And who are they exactly?” I ask, frustrated and confused.

Another indulgent, condescending smile. “The elf elders, of course,” Dad replies.

My head is beginning to hurt from all of the random information being bandied about. Elf elders? And why did they get to decide my future?

“I want to talk to them,” I demand with as much imperiousness as I can muster.

Dad laughs. He actually laughs at me! “That's quite impossible, little Virginia. We are ruled by their directives, but we do not even deign to imagine that they would grant us an audience.”

“Huh?” Yep, that's it. That's all I manage to get out. I sound like a ridiculous child instead of a young woman poised to make her own way in the world. And why had he called me by my pet name? Only people I really love can get away with that. My hands ball into fists.

“You'll begin your lessons tomorrow,” Dad says, the hard edge in his voice leaving no room for discussion. He puts his glasses on, turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

I know I'm dismissed, and I leave quickly so he won't see the tears in my eyes. The eyes of the elves follow me as I hurry through the workshop. When I get into the empty hallway, I sink down against the wall and let the tears fall.

“It won't be that bad.”

I gasp in surprise at the high-pitched voice suddenly by my side. A small elf is standing beside me, hopping from foot to foot, her green velvet skirt jingling as she dances. She pushes a soft handkerchief into my hand, which I accept reluctantly.

“It won't be that bad,” she repeats, peering at me with what seemed to be genuine concern.

To stall for time, I wipe my eyes. All my life, my entire eighteen years, I have carefully avoided contact with the elves. Not an easy task when you live with hundreds of them running around, but somehow I've managed it. And now an elf girl is drying my tears.

“What would you know about it?” I ask, hardening my voice. Her face falls instantly, and I immediately regret my harsh tone. I sigh. “I'm sorry. I guess…I guess I'm just sort of stressed. No one seems to understand what this is like, you know, getting told I have to go convince some guy he has to marry me.”

She laughs a tinny, sparkly, musical little laugh. “You won't have to do as much as you think you will.”

I sniffle and peer at her cautiously. “What do you know about this?”

“Plenty. Your betrothed is quite a handsome young man, too. You'll be quite pleased when you meet him.”

“But how do you know that?”

She glances up and down the deserted hallway nervously. “I shouldn't have come.” She twists the hem of her shirt in her hands as her eyes dart around. ”This isn't a good place to talk. I could get into a massive amount of trouble.”

Doing something I never in all my eighteen years imagined doing, I grab her hand and whisk her down the hall to my bedroom, where I shut and lock the door. Scooping her up, I unceremoniously plop her on the bed.

“You know about my life, and I need to know what you know. Now, what's your name?” I sit down at my desk several feet away from her. Even if I'm suddenly going to get chummy with an elf, I know better than to get to close.

“Ebrillwen,” she says with a tiny smile. “I want to help you, but if your father finds out I'm here…” She trails off with a tremor in her voice.

My father. “I understand,” I assure her. “No one will find out you're helping me. I promise.”

Ebrillwen tucks a strand of silvery hair behind her ear.

"The young man to whom you are betrothed is quite handsome," she says again. When I roll my eyes in frustration, her tiny features get cross. Quickly I rearrange my face to what I hope is an open and interested look. Finally she continues, "His parents placed him with human fosters when he was an infant."

"Wait, is he immortal too?" I interrupt her. The thought is intriguing.

Ebrillwen frowns. "You aren't immortal."

Another eye roll follows, which of course means I have to think of some way to deflect my obvious rudeness. To distract the small elf I pick up my snow globe, the one that can track my father's progress around the world, and shake it. The tiny flakes of snow swirl around, revealing my father still sitting at his desk. Ebrillwen is indeed distracted.

"I know I'm not immortal like you are," I say, hoping a flattering tone will continue to distract her enough so she won't get mad and leave. One never knows what an elf will do. "But I'll live plenty long. Now what can you tell me about his parents?"

Ebrillwen shakes herself out of the snow globe's magical trance and looks at me thoughtfully. She smoothes tiny hands over her velvet skirt and picks at imaginary lint. Elves are nothing if not immaculately groomed.

"All I really know about them is from when you were just a baby," she says. "They came here for the betrothal ceremony, sans son, of course."

Irritation gnaws at my stomach. When is she going to get around to telling me what she knows?

"So…who are they?" I ask through clenched teeth. I momentarily let my guard down and scoot my desk chair closer to her. Ebrillwen looks up at me sharply. I wince as the ice in her eyes cuts into the flesh of my arm. Paralyzed with sudden fear, I can't do anything except stare at the small raised area where blood is starting to appear.

When Ebrillwen relaxes her gaze and moves her eyes to a different part of the room, I take advantage of the moment to scramble backward to safety. When she looks at me again, I see the regret and sorrow in her eyes. Elves are quite good-natured for the most part, but all have the dangerous eyes. Get too close and the ice will get you one way or another.

I've never had that problem before. The elves have always just plain creeped me out. So I've kept my distance. Until now of course. Annoyance flairs again. I need this little elf to tell me what she knows. And now. I don't have much time to plan my next step. Everyone here is against me.

Ebrillwen sighs. She certainly does that a lot. "Are you hurt terribly?" When I shake my head, she continues, "His father is Jack Frost, better known as The King of Winter, and his mother is the Ice Queen. All of us elves were afraid when they came. We have heard such terrible stories about the things The King of Winter has done to elves who have gotten in his way. He gave us the curse of the icy eyes, you know."

I tremble. The King and the Ice Queen terrify me too. They are more on the terrible side of myths and legends. No one in this day and age believes in them either. Science has ruled them nearly obsolete and it angers them. Ordinary humans don't seem to realize that their winters are getting harder and crueler. Or if they do, they blame it on things like global warming. I've heard stories about The King of Winter burying huge cities in so much snow so quickly that cars get stranded on highways, their weary passengers stumbling blindly through the storm looking for refuge. Some make it. Some don't.

And I'm engaged to their son? This can't possibly be happening.

"How do you know their son is handsome?" I ask Ebrillwen, trying to shake off this feeling of unease. "Was he here with them?"

Ebrillwen laughs her Christmas bell laugh and shakes her head. "No, no, of course not. He would have only been a little tike anyway. No. I must admit that when I first heard about the decree I was overwhelmed with curiosity and snuck into your father's office."

I gasp. Breaking into my father's office takes guts. I think I might have misjudged this elf.

Ebrillwen gives me a self-satisfied smile. "I crept in late one evening after your mother had brought your father his nightly cup of hot chocolate. He was going to have a video conference with The King of Winter. The rumors had been flying rampantly ever since the elf elders dispatched their decree. I'm sure you know how rare a decree from the elf elders is." She pauses, looking at me expectantly.

Actually, I have no idea about the decrees of the elf elders or their rarity. Heck, I didn't even know the elf elders existed until just a little while ago when my father dropped that bomb on me. But the little elf is looking at me so expectantly I feel vaguely ashamed of not having the knowledge.

"Would you mind telling me a little more about the elf elders?" I ask.

Clearly this is the right thing to say because Ebrillwen actually shivers with delight. "Oh, my, where do I start?" She reaches into the pocket of the apron she's wearing and pulls out a sugar cookie. Absently she offers me a piece, which I decline. She thinks deeply about how to answer my question as she nibbles bits of the cookie. The silence stretches on so long I regret asking.

"I think," she finally says, "that the most important thing for you to know about the elf elders is that they are very old. Almost as old as the world itself. Elves can be immortal, you know. Our species just has a nasty way of getting killed off at rather inopportune moments. They are the select few who have been smart enough and cunning enough to survive.

"Without them guiding our species, we surely would have been extinct long ago. Things were looking dire long ago when they selected your great-great-grandfather to be the first Santa Claus. The King of Winter had declared war on several mythical species. We needed someone to combat him. Someone bigger than we were who had the ability to reach out to the mortals of the world, to create a warm spot in the dark of ice and snow unfurled by The King of Winter.

"Your great-great-grandfather defeated The King of Winter nicely. The elf elders gave him much magical power, but there were conditions. And among those conditions is the decree that should a Santa Claus only have daughters then the eldest daughter shall be betrothed to the eldest son of The King of Winter. It was part of the treaty. At the time, The King of Winter and the Ice Queen had no children."

"And now they do," I interrupt. I'm done with the elf elders. Now I know for certain that their decree has nothing to do with me as a person. I'm simply a pawn in negotiations that took place centuries before my birth.

Ebrillwen nods. "Everyone has been breathless with excitement over the decree. There hasn't been one for over a century. I just had to see the young man whose heart you will win."

I frown at her. I hate the part where I'm responsible for making some schmuck fall in love with me and then convince him we are engaged. Super fun. Still, I am curious about him, seeing as how I have no choice in the matter.

"And…"

"Oh, he was marvelous." Ebrillwen sighs so heavily she sends a spray of sugar cookie crumbs across my carpet. "The Ice Queen has this globe, much like you have, that allows her to watch her son's progress in the human world. She let your father watch the young man for quite some time. He seemed to be doing some sort of farm work. There was a large tractor."