Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1 - Dollhouses and Songs

Mitzen stared at the mid-month production report of the Dollhouse line. It had been two weeks since Christmas production began—just after the Halloween guys finished whatever it was they did on Halloween—and they were already behind on their quota.

“Frost it.”

She needed to find a way to get them back on track. Mitzen never missed her quotas. 

Mitzen reached for the candy phone on her desk. “Saffrine, can you please jingle Juniper for me. Tell her to come to my office.”

She brushed a strand of her bright red hair off her face, tucked it behind her pointed ear, and stood up to watch the production line from the frosted windows of her office with her hands clasped behind her back. Dozens of Santa’s elves worked the Dollhouse line, singing Jingle Bell Rock and smiling like they had something to be proud of. Bells chimed across the workshop floor while yetis pushed carts filled with toys toward packaging. 

Her door chimed and Juniper entered her office; a taller elf with thick glasses and a green, pointed, bell-tipped hat on top of her long dark hair. Her pointed ears jutted out of her hat. 

“You were looking for me, Mitzen?”

Mitzen turned to her. “We’re behind four crates in the Dollhouse line.”

“Is that bad?”

“What do you think?”

Juniper counted slowly on her fingers. “I can still count them on my—”

“It’s bad, Juniper.”

“Oh.”

Mitzen walked past her. “Walk with me.”

They left her office, walking slowly across the gingerbread walkway above the Dollhouse line.

“We need to increase our output. Four crates means four hundred little girls won’t get their Christmas presents.” Mitzen turned to Juniper. “Do you want to explain to Santa why his cargo is lighter this year?”

Juniper gulped and shook her head.

Mitzen sighed and looked at the line below them, her brows knitting immediately.

“Juniper, where are the elves of the roofing line?”

The entire roofing line was empty.

“Oh, right!” Juniper scratched her head. “They’re rehearsing for the Christmas Sing-Off. They actually invited me. I’m a soprano.” She beamed. “We think we have a good chance of beating the Teddy Bear line this year.”

Mitzen pinched the bridge of her nose. The peppermint scent of the air barely helped to curb her irritation. “They’re rehearsing. For the Christmas Sing-Off?”

“Uh-huh.”

Great. So the elves were off literally singing while an entire line just sat there waiting.

“Call them back,” Mitzen said.

“But—”

“All Christmas Sing-Off rehearsals are cancelled. I want everyone working overtime until we get back on track.”

“Mitzen, you can’t just—”

“I just did. Call everyone back. And can someone please have the windows line find another song.”

#

A week soon passed. After adding double shifts, reducing candy cane breaks, cancelling leaves, and threatening to cut out Christmas basket packages, Mitzen had managed to get the Dollhouse line back on track. She sipped from her cup of hot cocoa, letting the sweet and bitter drink warm her chest. Another productive week in the North Pole. 

Someone knocked on her door before opening it, the bell chiming like the reindeer’s sleigh bells.

Saffrine stepped inside, her pink hair twisted into an elaborate braid threaded with tiny silver bells shone brightly against Mitzen’s dark brown, gingerbread office.

“What is it?” Mitzen asked. 

“Santa wants you in his office. Said to get you immediately.”

Mitzen set her cup down on the wafer desk and stood up. Maybe the big man had some new designs for dollhouses. 

Santa’s office was on the top floor of the workshop, just above the reindeer shed and the off-ramp where he launched for Christmas Eve. 

Mitzen held her hand up to knock, but the door opened on its own.

Santa Claus sat behind a large maple desk, wearing a big red coat lined with white fur. His white beard covered half his face, but Mitzen could see the warm smile in his eyes. 

“Santa,” Mitzen said. 

“Mitzen.” He stood up and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit, sit.”

Mitzen sat down, her eyes glancing around the office. Hundreds of toys were stacked along the shelves that lined the walls. Sleigh bells chimed while a dozen different Christmas carols played faintly in the background, never sounding like they were competing for attention. Mitzen could focus on one and the others would drown out until she decided to focus on a different song. 

“How have you been, Mitzen? Do you want some hot cocoa?”

“Already had mine, sir. Thank you.”

“Good, good. I heard the Dollhouse line is doing well.”

“Yes sir. We hit a few snags, but I’ve managed to whip everything back into shape.”

Santa nodded slowly. “That’s actually why I called you here.”

“Is there a problem? If we need to increase the output, I can—”

Santa held a hand up. “No. Production is going well. Almost too well, actually.”

“That’s a problem?”

Santa opened his drawer and pulled out a candy cane. He held it beneath his nose and breathed in the peppermint. “Want a stick?”

“No, sir.”

He bit at the end and sat down, putting on spectacles and unrolling a scroll over his desk. “Mitzen, I’ve received several complaints about you from the elves working in the Dollhouse line.” Santa held the candy cane between his teeth and leaned forward, his hands clasped above his desk. “Some of them are calling you the Grinch. Some called you Scrooge. And a few others have been calling you, Krampus.”

“I’m honored to be included with such prestigious company, sir. But we were behind on the Dollhouse line, and that is unacceptable.”

Santa chuckled. “Mitzen, what is it that you think we are doing here?”

“Making toys for children on Christmas?”

“For Christmas, yes. Do you think toys made by overworked elves are going to make any child happy? Every single one of the toys we make is supposed to carry the spirit of Christmas. If the elves making them don’t have that spirit, then what would the gifts carry?”

“I’m pretty sure the child would be more unhappy if they didn’t get said toy, sir.”

“Be that as it may, you cancelled Christmas Sing-Off rehearsals.”

“It’s just until we are back on schedule. Besides, they can practice outside of workshop hours.”

Santa snapped the candy cane in his mouth, crunching it between his teeth. He wrapped the rest with a green gift wrap, and put it back inside his drawer.

“Mitzen, I get that we’re all trying to make Christmas the best thing every year. And that includes an enormous amount of pressure on everyone. But Christmas is more than toys and gifts.”

“I understand that, sir. But we can’t just sing and dance and somehow hope to meet our quotas.”

Santa nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Very well then. You leave me no choice.”

“No choice for what?”

“I am putting you on administrative leave, effective immediately. Juniper will be taking over the Dollhouse line.”

“What? No! I just got us back on track.” Mitzen pointed at the door. “All due respect, sir, but Juniper doesn’t know the difference between a quarterly report and a gift wrap.”

“My decision is final, Mitzen. Take the time off. Remind yourself what Christmas is all about.”

“I know what Christmas is about. I live in the North Pole! I work in your workshop.”

“Like I said, there is more to Christmas than toys and gifts. Until you discover that for yourself, you are on leave.”

Mitzen pressed her lips together. “Very well, sir.”

Santa smiled. “Don’t think of this as punishment. See it as a learning moment. This will be good for you.”

“I highly doubt it, sir. But I guess I have no choice.” Mitzen stood up. “Permission to take my leave, sir?”

Santa closed his eyes and sighed. “You may go.”

Mitzen stepped out of Santa’s office and pulled the door shut behind her.

Saffrine was leaning against the wall beside it, arms folded over her chest.

“Well?”

Mitzen kept walking.

“I’m on leave.”

Saffrine pushed herself away from the wall and fell into step beside her. “Leave?”

“Administrative leave. Effective immediately.”

“During production season?”

“Yes, Saffrine.”

Their boots clicked against the polished peppermint-tile floor as they made their way toward the stairs. Through the tall windows beside them, snow drifted over the reindeer sheds below, dusting the red roofs and candy-striped chimneys in white.

Saffrine glanced at her. “Who’s taking over Dollhouses?”

“Juniper.”

Saffrine stopped walking. Mitzen made it another three steps before noticing.

“Juniper?” Saffrine asked.

“I know.”

“Juniper eats plain snow cones! Plain! That’s just snow!”

“I know, Saffrine.”

Saffrine hurried after her. “Does Santa know?”

“Santa is the one who put her in charge.”

“Oh.” Saffrine thought about that for a moment. “Well, that seems personal.”

Mitzen gave her a look.

They descended into the main workshop, where the noise of production rose around them again. Bells rang from Packing, hammers tapped steadily in Toy Assembly, and below them, a group of elves had already started singing Jingle Bell Rock again.

“So what are you going to do?” Saffrine asked.

“About what?”

“Your sudden abundance of free time.”

Mitzen’s mouth tightened. “Santa thinks I don’t understand what Christmas is about.”

“You did cancel Christmas Sing-Off rehearsals.”

Mitzen threw her hands up. “For Christmas!”

“Clearly, Santa doesn’t see it that way.”

Mitzen stopped at the bottom of the stairs. A pair of yetis lumbered past them with a cart stacked high with wooden trains, forcing her to wait until they cleared the walkway.

“I’m going to prove that I do.”

Saffrine raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Mitzen looked across the workshop. Beyond the production floors, past Wrapping and International Sleigh Logistics, a narrow corridor disappeared beneath a green sign marked Analytics Wing.

Mitzen smiled.

“I have an idea.”

#

Mitzen crossed the workshop carrying a small red tin box beneath one arm.

She passed beneath strings of golden bells, through the peppermint-scented steam drifting from the cocoa room, and into the analytics wing at the far end of the building. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of green doors beneath polished brass letters:

NAUGHTY OR NICE ANALYTICS DEPARTMENT

Mitzen adjusted the tin box beneath her arm and reached for the handle.

Inside the room was a massive holographic globe floating above a circular row of computers lined with a dozen or so elves acting as operators. These elves monitored every single human being on Earth, balancing out good and bad deeds and placing them on the Naughty or Nice list.

Mitzen approached her friend. Grettel sat in front of a screen, typing on a runic keyboard, her orange bob peeking out from underneath her pointed hat. 

“Grettel.”

She looked up with a blank expression. “Mitzen. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a line to run?”

“I’ve got some free time.” Mitzen opened the tin box she was carrying. “What would you say to an Aurora Reserve candy cane, double mint, triple-striped, and built like a jawbreaker?”

Grettel narrowed her eyes. “I would say you are trying to bribe me for something, but you’ve piqued my interest. Where’d you get that?”

“Mrs. Claus gifted it to me when I received Elf of the Season last year. Santa keeps it in the naughty stash. Never been opened.”

Grettel kept her eyes on the candy cane before looking up at Mitzen. “Alright then, what do you want?”

Mitzen closed the tin box. “I need access to the list.”

Grettel sighed and turned back to her screen. “What are you looking for?”

“Non-believers.”

“That’s specific.”

Mitzen scrunched her nose. “Humor me.”

Grettel pulled up the list on her screen. Millions of names appeared, humans from all over the world for whom Christmas had never quite taken hold.

Mitzen leaned over her shoulder while Grettel scrolled.

Names flickered past alongside little scraps of information gathered by the North Pole over the years. A baker in Dublin who had stopped celebrating after deciding Christmas was too much work. A university student in Seoul who preferred New Year. A retired schoolteacher in Vermont who celebrated every year by putting up Halloween decorations and scaring away carolers.

“Too old,” Mitzen said.

Grettel continued scrolling.

“Too young.”

Another name went past.

“Has children. Complicates things.”

“This would go much faster if you’d actually tell me what you were looking for.”

“I’ll know when I see it.”

Grettel gave her a flat look but kept scrolling.

The names rolled steadily down the screen until Mitzen reached over and tapped one at random.

“Stop.”

Grettel stopped. A small profile opened beside the name.

ALYSSA QUINN

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Age: 29

Occupation: Hotel Operations Administrator

Household: One

Christmas Status: Non-Believer

Last Recorded Celebration: Age Four

Mitzen frowned. “Four?”

“That’s what it says.”

Grettel tapped the entry, and a little snowflake appeared beside Alyssa’s address. Another symbol showed that she lived alone. Beneath it, a tiny house icon flashed with the words ROOM AVAILABLE, followed by the date the listing had been posted.

Grettel glanced at her. “She’s looking for a roommate.”

Mitzen’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, that’s convenient.”

She studied the profile again. Twenty-nine years old. Lived alone. Works at a hotel. Had apparently gone twenty-five years without bothering with Christmas. Perfect.

“She’ll do.”

Grettel turned toward her. “You want me to pull up the full file?”

“No.”

“There are twenty-nine years of records here.”

“I don’t need twenty-nine years of records.”

Grettel stared at her.

Mitzen set the red tin box in front of her and started walking away from the desk.

“Where are you going?”

“To pack.”

Grettel looked down at the unopened candy cane still sitting in the tin. “You’re not going to tell me what this is about?”

Mitzen narrowed her eyes.

Santa thought she had forgotten what Christmas meant. Apparently years of keeping his workshop running, meeting impossible production targets, and making sure every last dollhouse reached the sleigh on time did not count.

Fine.

If Santa wanted proof, she would give him proof.

She would take someone who had gone nearly her entire life without Christmas, someone who genuinely did not believe in any of it, and make her believe.

Then Santa would have to admit that Mitzen knew exactly what Christmas was about.

Mitzen glanced back at Grettel.

“I’m going to prove Santa wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

Mitzen ignored her and headed for the door, already planning which coats to bring.