Ian muttered something about preservatives and high fructose corn syrup.
The classroom was pleasant, organized chaos. Other parents and family friends were there to help with the party, distributing food and running games. The twins ran up to the three of us with quick, fierce hugs before scurrying off to play with their friends. I didn’t see Morgan and McKenna outside of the family very often, so it was neat to watch them so active and outgoing with their peers. They charmed their friends as much as they charmed me, and it was clear the two girls were leaders of sorts. Tiny, adorable blond leaders. The knot I’d carried inside me since getting the HR memo began to soften as I allowed myself the small joy of observing them.
Seth slipped an arm around me, following my gaze as we maintained our post near the food table. He nodded toward where Ian was trying to pitch his own cupcakes—organic, vegan, gluten-free creations from a local bakery —to some of the twins’ classmates. To be fair, the cupcakes were beautiful. They were vanilla, topped with elaborately swirled chocolate icing that was in turn adorned with perfect white frosting flowers. They made Seth’s cupcakes look like something the girls might have made, but I knew better than to be fooled. When you made cupcakes without most of the ingredients found in traditional baked goods, the truth came out in the taste. Pretty or not, Ian wasn’t doing so good a job moving them.
“These are so much better for you than all this other junk food,” Ian was telling a wide-eyed boy named Kayden. Despite the fact we’d been inside the warm classroom for almost an hour, Ian was still completely clad in his scarf and wool coat ensemble. “They’re made with brown rice flour and garbanzo bean flour and sweetened with maple syrup—none of that processed white sugar crap.”
Kayden’s eyes grew impossibly bigger. “Those have beans and rice in them?”
Ian faltered. “Well, yes . . . but, no, I mean. It’s flour derived from those ingredients in a way that’s totally fair trade and nutritious. Plus, I picked a brown and white color scheme, not only to save you from artificial dyes but also to show respect for all holidays and tradition, rather than giving into the mainstream domination of the Judeo- Christian machine.”
Without another word, Kayden grabbed a red-frosted snowman cookie from the snack table and wandered off.
Ian gave us a long-suffering look. “I fear for today’s youth. At least we can take the leftovers back to Terry’s.”
“We’d better,” said Seth. “Those cost me a small fortune.”
“You mean they cost
“I paid for them!”
“It was just a loan,” said Ian imperiously. “I’ll pay you back.”
The party didn’t last too much longer—seven-year-olds didn’t need to slam drinks for hours like my friends did—but I still kept checking my phone whenever Seth wasn’t watching. I had it set to vibrate in my pocket but was afraid I would miss Jerome’s call. But no matter how many times I looked, the phone’s display remained the same. No incoming calls or texts.
With things winding down, McKenna made her way back to me and wrapped herself around my leg. “Georgina, are you going to come to our house tonight? Grammy’s cooking. We’re going to have lasagna.”
“And cupcakes,” piped in Ian, carefully packing up his goods. By my estimation, he’d given away exactly one cupcake, and that was to a boy who’d taken it on a dare from his friends.
I lifted McKenna up, surprised at how big she was getting. The years didn’t alter my immortal friends or me, but mortals changed by leaps and bounds in such short time periods. She wrapped her arms around me, and I pressed a kiss into her blond curls.
“I wish I could, baby. But I have to work tonight.”
“Are you still helping Santa?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said solemnly. “And it’s very important work. I can’t miss it.” Without me, there was no telling how sober Santa would stay.
McKenna sighed and leaned her head against my shoulder. “Maybe you’ll come over when you’re done.”
“You’ll be in bed,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do for tomorrow.”
This earned me a tighter hug, and I felt my heart ache. The girls always had this effect on me, triggering a mix of emotion that was both love for them and regret for the children I myself would never have.
Children had been something I’d wanted as a mortal, something denied to me even then. The pain of that reality had been driven home last year when Nyx, a primordial chaos entity, had visited me in my sleep and used tantalizing dreams to distract me while she stole my energy. The one that had recurred the most had shown me with a little girl—my own daughter—stepping outside into a snowy night to greet her father. He’d been shadowy at first, later revealed as Seth. Nyx, in a desperate bid for help later, had sworn the dream was true, a prophecy of things to come. It had been a lie, however. An impossibility that could never be mine.
“Maybe you’ll come by my house after you’re done with work,” Seth said to me in a low voice, once she’d wriggled away.
“That depends,” I said. “Who’s going to be in your bed?”
“We had a talk. He knows to stay out of my room.”
I smiled and caught hold of Seth’s hand. “I would, but I’ve got some things to do tonight. I’ve got to hunt down Jerome about . . . business.”
“You’re sure that’s it?” he asked. “You’re sure my family’s not scaring you off?”
I’ll admit, I didn’t relish the thought of seeing Margaret Mortensen’s disapproving gaze, but I also couldn’t imagine I’d be very good company for Seth if I still didn’t know what was going on with my transfer by tonight. The transfer. Looking into his kind, warm eyes, I felt a pit open in my stomach. Maybe I should be jumping at every chance I could get to be with him. Who knew how many more we had?
“Your family has nothing to do with it,” I assured Seth. “Besides, now that you have extra help, you can use your free time to get some work done.”
He rolled his eyes. “I thought self-employment meant not having a boss.”
I grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll come by tomorrow night.”
Kayden, passing by for one last cookie, caught sight of my kiss and scowled disapprovingly. “Ew.”
I parted ways with the Mortensens and headed off to the mall. It was often a surprise to mortals to learn immortals like me purposely chose to take day jobs, so to speak. If you were around for a few centuries and semiwise with your money, it wasn’t that hard to eventually build up enough to comfortably live off of, making human employment unnecessary. Yet, most immortals I knew still worked. Correction—most lesser immortals I knew did. Greater ones, like Jerome and Carter, rarely did, but maybe they already had too concrete of a job with their employers. Or, maybe, lesser immortals just carried over the urge from when we were human.
Regardless, days like today were clear reminders of why I chose gainful employment. If I’d had nothing but free time on my hands, I would’ve spent the rest of the day ruminating about my fate and the potential transfer. Assisting Walter-as-Santa—as absurd as it was—at least gave me a distraction while I waited to hear from Jerome. Vocation gave purpose too, which I’d found was necessary to mark the long days of immortality. I’d met lesser immortals who had gone insane, and most of them had done nothing but drift aimlessly throughout their long lives.
A new elf—one whom Walter had christened Happy—had joined our ranks today, one who was certainly helping pass the time if only because of how much she was grating on my nerves.
“I don’t think he should be drinking
Prancer, a veteran elf, exchanged glances with me. “None of us is saying it’s right,” he told Happy. “We’re just saying it’s reality. He’s going to get a hold of liquor one way or another. If we deny him, he’ll sneak it in the bathroom. He’s done it before.”
“If we’re the ones giving it to him,” I continued, “then we control the access and amount he gets. This?” I gestured to the schedule we’d drawn up. “This isn’t much. Especially for a guy his size. It’s not even enough to get buzzed.”
“But they’re children!” Happy cried. Her eyes drifted off toward the long line of families trailing through the mall. “Sweet, innocent, joyful children.”
Another silent message passed between Prancer and me. “Tell you what,” I finally said. “Why don’t you make
