Rebel Without a Claus

by Keira Candace Clementine

  ‘Clara James is Mistletoe’s Christmas consigliere,’ Holly said, just as Clara emerged from her room. She stood at the top of the staircase, Santa hat placed squarely on her head, and surveyed the decorations with narrowed eyes.

  ‘She wakes every morning at four a.m,’ Holly continued. ‘She has an apartment but also a room here at Milleridge. She goes to the stables, where she checks on the horses and the sleighs. Remembers the name of every elf on the way. Not bad for a girl who deals with hundreds of people a day. Her office is upstairs, in the attic room not taken by the Relic. She works hard, hits the sitting room at six on the nose, just in time for the breakfast rush. She spends thirty minutes on the floor talking with her guests.’

  ‘What do they talk about?’

  ‘Grandchildren, vacations. Jobs. All business. Clara likes to know what’s going on with her guests. There is not a child trauma or an alcoholic aunt that Clara doesn’t hear about personally.’

  Christian and Holly watched as Clara descended the grand staircase and wove through the guests, shaking hands and handing out candy canes.

  ‘After this she’ll go to the private dining room, where she’ll glad-hand the Relic and the VIP guests. She’s fluent in Mandarin, Italian, and French, and she’s taking Bulgarian.’

  ‘Bulgarian?’

  Holly nodded. ‘Their Prime Minister is a frequent guest.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘She’s out by seven-thirty, when an elf takes over her manager duties. Her next order of business: anything the town needs. She takes care of family disputes, sleigh malfunctions, escaped horses. Clara James is a machine.’

  ‘What would you say is her biggest duty at Mistletoe’s Christmas consigliere?’

  ‘Scoring a Top Sixty Santa for the Christmas Eve poetry recital. The town is abuzz this year. She’s nabbed us a Top Sixty Santa.’

  Christian nodded thoughtfully. ‘And it’s still Merry Living Magazine that determines the Top One Hundred Santas?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Merry Living Magazine, which was the world authority on merry living, published its annual list of Top One Hundred Santas the way Forbes published its list of 30 Under 30. But while Forbes concerned itself with cataloging people across twenty different industries, Merry Living Magazine concerned itself with one industry. The industry of joy.

  Now their list had a following, a fan base, a Twitter parody account.

  Even Christian read the list every year. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew his hard won indifference to Christmas would crumble at the first sight of a Merry Living Magazine. He couldn’t help but subscribe was the thing. The list greeted him every July with the subtitle: It’s here! Merry Living Magazine’s Annual Santa Encyclopedia! This year’s top Santa was Nikolai Nilsson, a cobbler from Denmark.

  ‘All right. Thank you, Holly.’

  ‘Sure. Just remember, brother—no telling anyone about sandwiches.’

  ‘You got it.’

  After Clara’s rejection, Christian wanted to become someone who hated Christmas, and so he had, snorting at carollers and scoffing at pumpkin pie and absolutely refusing to put up anything even resembling a pine tree, thank you very much. He felt that once he hated Christmas, he'd finally be able to relax, even in the months leading up to Christmas. Even on Christmas Day itself.

  Women saw he was someone who hated Christmas, like the Grinch but handsome and not voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch, and believed this meant he needed saving. Who didn't like Christmas? Christian was wounded, they decided, perhaps from a childhood trauma, and wounds need healing, and healing called for a type of understanding that only they could provide.

  Christian tried to assure them that he didn’t need healing. But the people who love Christmas often become Christmas itself. They begin to smell of gingerbread, from their lattes, or mint, from their candy canes. They switch out their pine nuts, a very respectable type of nut, high in beneficial monounsaturated fats, magnesium, and vitamin E, for hazelnuts, which were festive and delicious but nowhere near as grown up. Children eat hazelnuts. After all, Nutella is a hazelnut based spread. Children do not eat pine nuts.

  One day, Christian arrived home early because he’d forgotten an important document, and he noticed that his girlfriend at the time, Rachel, had used her spare key to put up a Christmas tree, though she’d promised to use the key only in the case of an emergency. He told her that they had different definitions of an emergency, and would she please return both the tree and his key? She promised to return the tree, if the tree seller took returns, and if she could keep the key. That was fine, Christian assured her. Then he changed his lock and his phone number and had his maid sweep up the scattered pine needles.

  But then, Christian sometimes found himself wondering if things would be different if he were different—if loving Christmas might open him up to loving life. He dared to think about candy canes and all things mint that were not toothpaste. He thought, Christmas! But nothing worked. Christian needed to content himself with a world where the thing everyone liked was the thing he very much disliked.

  The campaign his former girlfriends waged to make Christian surrender to the festive season left him utterly disdainful of Christmas, and in that disdain he found a happiness that had nothing to do with happiness. He listened to carols and thought nothing but oh, their voices are a little pitchy. He sucked on a candy cane and thought nothing but yes, this does taste a little too much like toothpaste. Now he sat in his room at the inn, fresh off his morning coffee and sandwich with Holly, trying to ignore the pine trimming on the windowsill while trying to ignore all thoughts of Clara. But then, a brisk knock echoed through the room.

  Christian stood and opened the door. ‘Clara?’

  ‘Morning, Thornton.’ She put an extra bit of bounce into her greeting, which meant she wanted something. Christian didn’t know whether to feel delighted or used. Sure, Clara, reject a man and then come knocking on his door fifteen years later asking for a favor. No big deal.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Fine, fine.’ Clara waved a hand.

  Christian clenched his jaw but then tried to relax. ‘You don’t seem fine, James.’

  ‘Why not?’ Her airy tone made Christian clench his jaw again.

  ‘Um—you’re knocking on my door?’

  Clara swirled her index finger over the doorframe, staring up at Christian through her long, blonde lashes. ‘We’re old friends. Old friends knock on each other’s doors.’

  ‘We haven’t spoken to each other in fifteen years.’

  ‘We spoke to each other yesterday?’

  ‘We haven’t spoken to each other in fifteen years, apart from when we spoke to each other yesterday.’

  Clara let out a lungful of air. ‘They stole my Top Sixty Santa,’ she cried.

  ‘Who stole your Top Sixty Santa?’

  ‘Yuletide!’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘You didn’t want a Top Sixty Santa.’ Christian started to mock yawn behind his hand. ‘And I’m busy, so-’

  ‘Of course I didn’t want a Top Sixty Santa,’ Clara snapped. She looked at Christian as if he were a complete and utter idiot, which made his eye twitch. Why was she bothering him? What did he care about Mistletoe’s Santa?

  ‘So why are you knocking on my door?’ he growled.

  ‘We’re old friends. Old friends knock on each other’s door.’

  But Christian knew exactly what Clara wanted. ‘I’m not going to Yuletide, James. Forget about it.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to go to Yuletide, Thornton. But do you know what would be great?’

  ‘If I went to Yuletide?’

  ‘If you went to Yuletide!’ Clara cried. ‘You don’t have to go alone! I’m going too!’

  The expression on Christian’s face was both annoyed and charmed. ‘Well, that’s comforting. Yuletide is infamous for its carnivorous elves. I couldn’t fight off those pointy-eared losers alone.’

 
Clara placed a hand lightly on his chest and whispered, ‘Oh, I’m sure you could, Mr. Thornton.’

  ‘Don’t flatter me.’ He stepped back. He didn’t mean to step back, but he didn’t want Clara to see him swallow when she touched him. He didn’t want her to know she still had him.

  ‘My Top Sixty Santa would not abandon Mistletoe for Yuletide,’ Clara said conspiratorially. She didn’t seem to notice Christian’s anxiety. ‘Something nefarious is going down, and no one from that ridiculous town is returning my calls. Which makes sense seeing as last year I did accidentally set fire to several of their Christmas panoramas, but still.’

  ‘Do we have to take a sleigh?’

  ‘Of course, we have to take a sleigh. It’s December in Mistletoe. But don’t worry. I know some cool horses. They’ll be down for a little holiday mischief.’

  Christian sighed and finally agreed, but only because not agreeing seemed like more of an effort. He shrugged on his coat and a scarf and followed Clara to the inn’s stables.

  Clara had her own sleigh and a pair of horses, and soon she stood trembling with excitement next to Christian as she introduced him to Buckingham Palace and Mr. Nibbles. She liked for her boys, as she called them, to know the people riding in their sleigh.

  ‘Aren’t you excited?’ she asked Christian as she fed Buckingham a carrot.

  ‘Sure, because I’ve been dying to go on a covert mission to Yuletide my whole life.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic in front of Buckingham. I want the other horses to like him, and that means he can’t pick up any bad habits from you.’ Clara poked him in the chest.

  ‘Sarcasm isn’t a bad habit. It’s endearing.’

  ‘If it’s so endearing then why do you not have any friends?’ Clara raised an eyebrow.

  ‘How do you know I don’t have any friends? Wait, did Holly tell you? I’m going to absolutely kill her.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Clara said smoothly, ‘but now I do.’

  ‘Charming,’ Christian muttered. ‘Did you ever stop to consider that maybe your Top Sixty Santa ditched you of his own volition?’

  ‘You can be as snarky to me as you like, Thornton, but leave my Top Sixty Santa out of this. Take this.’ She handed him a small pill.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A cyanide capsule.’

  ‘A cyanide capsule?’

  Clara nodded. ‘If Yuletide’s elves capture us then the cyanide capsule can be used to ensure that we cannot be interrogated and forced to disclose secret information about Mistletoe’s Christmas celebrations.’

  ‘You cannot be serious,’ Christian replied. But then, she did look serious. He pocketed the pill and decided not to think any more about it.

  When they arrived on the border of Mistletoe and Yuletide, which was marked with a wooden sign, Clara and Christian slipped out of the sleigh and crept through the snow toward the twinkling lights of their neighboring town.

  ‘I have intel that they’ll be holding my Santa in the gingerbread house,’ Clara whispered as they hid behind a tree.

  ‘Excellent,’ Christian replied. ‘All we have to do to free him is eat through the walls.’

  ‘The gingerbread house isn’t actually made from gingerbread, Thornton.’

  ‘Then what’s with the name, James?’

  ‘Stop being annoying for like two seconds.’

  ‘You know, if I had the money I’d make a giant gingerbread house, but it would be made from actual gingerbread. Oh wait, I do have the money, but I’m not deranged, hence the lack of ridiculous architecture in my retail portfolio.’

  ‘Is this your way of casually dropping into the conversation that you’re an architect?’

  ‘Yes,’ Christian replied. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘That’s not a job people have in real life, you know that, right?’

  Christian didn’t get the chance to retort. His mouth twitched as Clara snatched his hand and dragged him toward a gingerbread house, which lay on the outskirts of town. Yuletide apparently had no clue that two spies from Mistletoe would soon be in their midst, because security was lax and they were able to find their Santa quickly and without interruption.

  ‘Henri?’ Clara said.

  Henri was tied with tinsel to an office chair in the basement of the gingerbread house. ‘I knew you’d find me,’ Henri replied to Clara as she began to untie him.

  ‘Be real with me, Santa,’ Christian said as he helped. ‘Am I on the naughty list this year?

  Henri took a scroll out of his robe. ‘Name?’

  ‘Christian Thornton III.’

  ‘Let me see here.’ Henri read the list, checking it twice. ‘Yep. Your name is right here. No presents for you, I’m afraid. But perhaps there has been a mistake.’

  ‘Nope,’ Christian replied. He was thinking of his luxury hotel. ‘That’s fair.’

  ‘Enough,’ Clara said. First, she opened the door and surveyed the area. Then she returned and said, ‘It’s clear. Come on, Henri. Let’s get you out of here.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Henri replied. ‘I can’t go with you. They’ve got my family. Clara, they’ve got my family!’

  ‘Where?’ Clara asked.

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t know what Yuletide’s elves will do if I don’t partake in their Christmas celebrations. Clara, I never meant to let you down. I never meant to hurt you or the people of Mistletoe.’

  ‘I know, Henri. I understand. But we have to get you out of here.’

  ‘I can’t go anywhere.’

  ‘We can find your family. We can move them to safety.’

  ‘It’s no use, Clara. I have to stay here, in Yuletide. I have to partake in their Christmas celebrations. It’s the only way I can get my family back.’

  ‘I can help you,’ Clara insisted.

  ‘You’ll only make things worse, Clara. You know what Yuletide’s elves are like. They’re not real elves, obviously. They’re these giant men dressed as elves. I’m fairly certain half of them are on steroids.’

  ‘Clara,’ Christian hissed. ‘We have to go.’

  Clara kissed Santa’s hand. ‘I promise I’ll never forget you, Henri.’

  ‘Save yourselves,’ Henri cried. ‘Save yourselves!’

  Christian and Clara scrambled out of the gingerbread house and ran back to their sleigh, where they found a Yuletide elf. They pretended not to notice the giant novelty candy cane in his hands. Surely, he wasn’t going to use that as a weapon, Christian thought. But he stepped in front of Clara just in case.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ Christian said brightly.

  ‘Someone tripped the gingerbread house’s alarm,’ the elf replied. His name was Pudding. Christian read the nametag attached to Pudding’s velvet shirt. Pudding sounded like a man in his forties. One of his plastic elf ears was missing.

  ‘What the elf are you looking at?’ Christian said. ‘Don’t make me do something we will both regret.’

  But Christian didn’t have to do a thing. Clara snatched the candy cane away from Pudding and hit him on the head. It was amazing, how far Clara could knock a full grown man—how much damage she could do with a single giant novelty candy cane.

  ‘Get in,’ she ordered. She dropped the candy cane and hauled herself into the sleigh.

  Christian didn’t need telling twice. He climbed into the sleigh and held on tight as Buckingham Palace and Mr. Nibbles jingled them all the way from Yuletide to safety in Mistletoe.

  Christian really couldn’t understand what Clara liked about sleighs. As soon as they arrived in Mistletoe, he threw himself onto the snowy ground and almost cried. He only got up again when Buckingham started to chew on his coat, which, Christian conceded, did look an awful lot like straw thanks to the color.

  ‘They’ll write stories about what we did today,’ Clara said, as she helped Christian to his feet and dusted the snow off his coat.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Christian replied as he rubbed his frozen hands. ‘The classic tale of girl-meets-elf, girl-knocks-elf-unconscious-w
ith-giant-novelty-candy-cane.’

  But Clara had other things on her mind. ‘We’ve got a big problem here, Thornton.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Mistletoe,’ Clara replied, ‘no longer has a Santa Claus.’

  Four

  From the outside, Milleridge looked like a scene in a snow globe—white blanketed the inn, pine trimmed the gutters, and Douglas fir wreathes hung on the front door and in all of the windows.

  Compared to the crisp exterior, the interior was warm, dark, and rustic: Chesterfield sofas, tartan throws, carpets layered upon carpets. There was a Christmas tree in every room, and gingerbread men fresh from the oven on every table, and garlands of juniper above every crackling fireplace.

  No furniture in Milleridge came from Sweden, unlike all of the furniture in Christian’s apartment, which he’d paid someone to put together because that whole point of having money was paying someone to put Swedish furniture together for you.

  Magdalena hated flat pack furniture, but both she and Christian refused to shop together for something better. Furniture shopping was something couples did, and while Christian and Magdalena were a couple, they felt more like business associates who sometimes kissed in front of single people to make them feel bad about being single than lovers.

  Christian wished he were single. His bosses did not wish he were single. Which led to the marriage proposal. Anyway, Beyoncé had told him if he liked it, then he should put a ring on it, and he did like Magdalena, and who was he to argue with Beyoncé?

  Christian stepped out of his room and ran straight into Clara.

  ‘Morning, Thornton,’ she said. ‘Are we having fun being back in the old hometown?’

  Christian scoffed. He wished he wasn’t in Mistletoe. ‘I could be lying on a carpet made from vintage bandannas beneath an elk horn chandelier in one of Taylor Swift’s hand-painted buffalo silk teepees at her secret ranch in Colorado.’

  ‘How come I didn’t know Taylor Swift had a secret ranch?’

  ‘Because it’s a secret.’

  Clara rolled her eyes. ‘At least try to be festive,’ she said.