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She can tell by the tone of Zayne’s voice that he’s got something on his mind that he doesn’t think merits worrying her.
It’s a very distinct affected lightness. He’s way too jolly, and it’s not the upcoming holiday.
“Zayne, what’s on your mind? You seem troubled.”
“No I don’t.”
“Well…yes you do? Is there something going on?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s a very minor problem. The Santa that was supposed to come this evening to the pediatric ward has the flu, and anyone who could be of help finding a replacement also seems to have the flu. We’re running things with a skeleton crew.”
“That’s not a minor problem for the babies who are expecting a Santa party,” she says. “They’re going to be so disappointed!”
“Yes, I know. Yvonne is calling people, but she can’t continue, and I head into surgery in ten minutes—it’s just very short notice.”
“…what if I did it? I could be Santa!!”
“Hmm. While I think you’d make a very cute old man, I haven’t ever heard you play the saxophone? I suppose it would be better than nothing but they might still suffer some disappointment.”
“Thanks. Way to make a person feel special.”
“You’re very special and kind hearted to even offer.”
She scowls, not comforted much by Zayne’s praise. Though she frankly doesn’t remember much about being a child, there are feelings that have stuck with her, unattached to explicit memories, and those feelings are largely negative. Most prominently, she recalls fear. Second most prominently, disappointment and loss.
“…I don’t want them to miss out, Zayne. They’re already missing out being stuck in a hospital.”
“…I know, my love,” says Zayne softly. “Perhaps we can make it up to them at another time.”
She knows it’s not the end of the world, she knows these kids are probably as used to disappointment as any adult. But she can’t turn off her need to protect them from just this one disappointment.
A thought suddenly occurs to her.
“Zayne…would you be willing to put this in my hands if I said I could pull it off? It might not be ideal, but I think I can fill the time in a way that will make the kids feel excited. Will you let me?”
“Your confidence is laudable. Of course. I will let Yvonne know. If nothing else the children will meet a very cute little old man tonight”
“Don’t underestimate me, Zayne.”
“I would not dare.”
After she hangs up with Zayne, she calls Sylus.
“Hey, you ever think about the damaging ripple effect of your criminal activities and how you may have indirectly hurt a lot of innocent people? Does that ever keep you up at night?”
“Hello, sweetie.”
“Do you ever think you’d like to atone for some of your sins?”
Sylus doesn’t even question why he’s being dragged over the coals without a proper hello. “I have a feeling *you’d* like me to. But there’s no need to be coy about it. What do you need?”
“Presents. For kids at Akso. Tonight. And I’ll let you know the details, but I mean *nice* things. Like whole play kitchens and PS5’s and stacks of cash…”
“Seems easy enough. But I’m not doing it to atone for any sins, kitten. I consider my record clean. So what will you offer me in return?”
“I’ll join Onychinus. I’ll be your lackey.”
“Oh really? This is that important?”
“Yes.”
“I like your conviction, kitten,” he says, and she can hear the earnestness beneath his mockery. “I can’t pass up that deal. Consider it done. Just send me the details.”
“…thank you, Sylus.”
“Of course. You’ve offered me your loyalty and saved me the trouble of finding a Christmas charity. No need to thank me at all,” he says.
They hang up, and she texts Yvonne. She hates to admit it but Sylus is clutch. She knows that whatever she can put together from here she has a solid foundation: expensive presents.
She peruses her other contacts. She’s willing to be Santa, but Zayne’s right, she’s not an ideal choice. She’s meeting Caleb for lunch shortly…he can’t play saxophone either, but unlike Sylus, who’d much rather watch her struggle through the role, Caleb might be convinced.
“Where on earth are we gettin’ a Santa costume?” he asks, one brow up, seated with her in the cafe and blowing on a steamy bowl of noodle soup.
“Good point.”
“Listen, I’ll do aaaaanything you need, but I’m afraid I can’t help with the logistics on this. Plus, I’m purely a percussion guy, so unless you want a Santa that plays drums…”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it, you’re not cut out for this…”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t be any help at all. I’m pret-ty crafty,” he says with a self-satisfied lilt. “I have Legos and easy model kits. I could run a little table.”
She smiles. Caleb’s stuff is objectively cool, and honestly so is Caleb.
“Yeah…yeah let’s do that! They’ll love it.”
“Of course,” he says. “Anything for my precious sister.”
“Speaking of sisters…Santa needs his sisters in attendance. I bet Tara and Xavier will do it…”
Caleb chuckles. “Oh? You don’t think Xavier will mind?”
“Well…he might mind, but he’ll do it. He was a drop-dead gorgeous Elsa at the Association’s early literacy fundraiser…actually that wig is perfect for this…”
“You had him dressed as Elsa for a work function?”
“It was for kids too. All the little girls were so enchanted and he was so sweet to them, even if he was a little frown-y.”
“You know I would also dress like a princess for you, just so you know.”
“I know, Caleb, you’re the prettiest and grumpiest there is. Top tier. No reason to be jealous because Xavier has a slutty waist…”
“I didn’t even say anything about—“
“Okay, okay, I still have a lot of ground to cover, but if you’re sure, be at the hospital lobby at seven,” she says, packing up the majority of her own soup for later.
“I’ll be there with bells on, Colonel.”
***
“No thanks,” says Xavier.
“What do you mean ‘no thanks’? What kind of a monster refuses to—“
Xavier shakes his head and procures the Elsa wig he wore during his last adventure in drag, and it’s a tangled mess smeared in pink lip gloss.
“Damn Xavier. Did you wear this to the club or like-“
“I let one of our young neighbors play with it. I didn’t imagine I’d be using it again.”
“Ugh. Okay. Hold on.”
She calls Tara and first asks if she would willingly play the part of Santa’s sister. When she agrees gleefully, she explains their predicament and asks Tara if she has a wig he could borrow.
“Actually I’m afraid I don’t. But Xavier doesn’t need long hair to be pretty! We’ll dress him up festively!”
Xavier shrugs, hearing Tara’s boisterous end of the conversation very clearly. “I guess if my hair doesn’t matter, I can play the part.”
“Perfect! I’ll be over in ten minutes. Tell him to sit tight!” she says.
When the conversation ends, Xavier says. “I’m assuming this leaves you in the role of Santa. But you know, I could be Santa, and you could be Santa’s sister. Just a thought.”
She’s definitely thought about it, but she’s rolling the dice to see if she can pull off a perfect crime.
“You’re right. But before I commit to either of us being Santa, I wanna check something.”
Just then, she gets the text she’s been waiting for.
“Knock knock, Miss Bodyguard”
“Let’s go, Rafayel is upstairs!” she says.
“Rafa…yel? Oh…”
She pulls Xavier out the door toward her apartment, where Rafayel stands adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.
“Hello. You said you needed my expertise?”
“Yes ummm…I know you’re connected with some local theaters and I wondered…do you think I could borrow a Santa costume? Just a few hours?”
Rafayel raises an eyebrow. “That’s the kind of expertise you mean? You want me to call a theater’s costume department for you? I would command armies in your name and you’re treating me like an errand boy?”
“I wasn’t finished yet, that’s just the first part,” she says.
“Oh. Well, go on. You wanna do the army thing, orrrrr??”
“No, I wanna know if you can play the saxophone.”
“Puh-lease. Of course. All wind instruments hate to see me coming…” he says, brushing his knuckles against the lapels of his coat like a cartoon character. “Wait…what is this for again?”
“The Santa scheduled for the kids event at Akso has the flu,” says Xavier, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Rafayel grimaces as it dawns on him what role he’s unwittingly stepped into. She looks at him with the most admiring, pleading expression she can muster.
“Rafayel…do you think you could?”
Rafayel tenses, his grimace hardening “Oh, you want…me to…?”
Xavier’s smile broadens.
“Pleeeeease?” she says.
Rafayel averts his eyes.
“I’m actually not that good at saxophone…” he says.
“It doesn’t have to be that good, just simple little jingle bells stuff! Please Rafayel? The babies.”
“The babies…” Rafayel repeats helplessly, his face softening.
“The babies, Rafayel.”
Rafayel sighs in defeat. “Okay. Let me call the theater and you can start stuffing me. For the babies.”
***
It’s Caleb who arrives first, whistling in the pediatric common area while he sets up the Lego-model-craft table.
After that, Sylus pulls up, followed by a fleet of shiny black cars. He and his entourage stick out like a sore thumb in the hospital lobby, and even Yvonne, who lost the ability to be shocked aeons ago, does a double take at the sight of his tall, broad figure.
“Miss, can you direct me to the pediatric ward?”
Yvonne narrows her eyes at him. The men behind him all carry repurposed cardboard boxes that say “Lil S Fruits” and are brimming with gifts.
“Ah. You’re Miss Hunter’s friend,” she says. “Check in at guest services then head through those doors,” she says. “I wish I had time to walk you back—thank you for coming, Mr.—?”
“Sylus,” he says, shaking her hand warmly.
“Oh…hi…”
***
Meanwhile, she and Tara and Xavier are dressed like a trio of garish Christmas-addled Aunties, Tara even strung with a set of battery powered Christmas lights. “This is so good…” she keeps squealing. “They will lose it! Xavier let me fix your hat…”
She gets the text from Yvonne, “There’s a man the size of a Douglas fir coming atcha.”
“Thank you, love,”she responds.
The presents are set out next to Caleb’s table.
And then come the children.
The youngest is about two, the oldest about sixteen. The little ones run immediately to the gifts, but Xavier intercepts them with candy. The little girls are mesmerized by him even without his wig and poke at the fluffy red balls that sprout from the headband on his head.
The older ones stand awkwardly until Caleb beckons them over.
The atmosphere is lively but far too quiet for a real Christmas party. They hear Rafayel before they see him, gleeful notes blown on a saxophone. Some of the smaller children cover their ears, not used to the sound, but as Rafayel enters the room, their eyes widen and their hands pull away from their ears slowly.
Rafayel is the most fresh-faced Santa in history, his borrowed suit stuffed with coats and pillows but still far too baggy around the arms and legs. But he smiles as he plays, in full performance mode, and the littlest of them surround him to dance and attach themselves to the white fur on the hem of his coat.
When he finishes performing, she and Xavier and Tara help him distribute the presents.
Sylus looks on, smirking with his arms crossed. He’s dismissed his entourage. The party continues on, Caleb coaxing some laughter out of the teenagers, Rafayel gets on the ground and reads a story in the bassiest Santa voice he can manage while the children ask two questions per page and pull at his beard. Xavier and Tara are on the ground too, spearheading a friendship-bracelet-making project.
She passes out cookies and cocoa, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Zayne has emerged from surgery finally. He brings Sylus a small styrofoam cup of coffee and a candy cane. Sylus smiles at the gesture.
Though she knows he is absolutely not drinking that coffee.
“Thank you for your generosity,” she hears Zayne say. “We’re really in your debt.”
“No, not at all. She already promised to join my criminal organization as recompense,” says Sylus.
“Oh…” says Zayne after a moment. “That sounds…problematic.”
Sylus laughs. “Don’t worry, Doctor, she’s lying. It’s a fun thing we have.”
“I see. Well. In that case. Let me know if you ever need any foreign objects discreetly removed from your body,” says Zayne.
Sylus searches him for signs he’s joking but Zayne just sips his coffee.
As she stifles a giggle, Yvonne joins them as well, going to her side and taking her by the arm.
“Very nice job, Miss Hunter. You have done a lovely thing today,” she says.
She tilts her head and rests it on Yvonne’s.
“Well. I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed….”
“Today, they were not,” she smiles.
“I’m glad.”
“You’re a very kind person,” says Yvonne.
She shrugs. “It’s easy to be a kind person when you have a lot of kind friends,” she says.
Outside, the snow starts, fat flakes that fall slow. The world becomes hushed for a while, even in the bustling city of Linkon. The darkness is deeper and richer than normal. From the street the lights of the hospital seem different, not harsh or sterile white as usual, but glowing, soft, yellow like candlelight.