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A Visitor Part 2
Corey could hear in her voice that she was no one to be trifled with--not that day anyway. He had been in similar situations before, though never with someone in their youth such as Ms. Fizzlestitch. Generally speaking, the younger the crafter, the more capable he or she was of believing in magic. This was particularly true when it came to young ladies. Nevertheless, Serendipity was beginning to challenge him, and while he was up for the challenge, he was not up for the rain; snow was one thing--rain was something else entirely. “Very well, then,” he replied. “Might I trouble you for a drink of water then?” he called, hoping that he would make more progress with her if he could meet her face to face. Then, she could look into his dazzling green eyes and fall captive to his mesmerizing gaze as so many young ladies had before her.
Serendipity was puzzled. She had not expected him to give up so quickly, nor had she expected him to make any requests of her
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Serendipity looked at his hand as if she had no idea why he had held it out in her general direction. She adjusted Pozzletot on her shoulder. “Thank you for contemplating my work, Mr.….”“Cane, Cornelius Cane. But, please, call me Corey. All of my friends do,” he smiled, his hand still waiting for hers.“Mr. Cane,” Serendipity continued, “but I assure you I am not right for your team. And while I appreciate your consideration, I have neither the desire nor the ability to join you in the North Pole. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.”“But that’s the beauty of joining us,” Corey prodded, finally withdrawing his hand, glancing at it as if he were the one with some sort of unsightly stain before resting it on his hip. “There will be hundreds of elves assigned to your shop, Ms. Fizzlestitch. You’ll be in charge of supervising each of them so every doll is crafte
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It didn’t take too long for Corey to navigate back to his home, considering he had magic traveling powers of his own, much like Santa’s though not as powerful, particularly when it came to speed and the manipulation of time. Nevertheless, he found himself pulling into what was now deemed the “airport” landing strip in no time, and the elves who oversaw the transfer of the flying teams to and from the barn quickly set to work freeing the reindeer from their harnesses, inspecting their condition, and moving them back to their stalls where they would be brushed, fed, and watered.Corey did not pause to speak to either the reindeer who had gotten him to and from his destination safely and speedily or the elves that greeted him as they went about their jobs. Instead, still keeping one hand securely in the pocket of his topcoat, he made his way swiftly back to his own lodgings, mindlessly nodding in response to a few passersby who yelled out to him in greeti
The Dollmaker's Daughter at Christmas The Bait Part 2
Before she even finished her sentence, Corey was up and making his way toward the swinging kitchen door. Once he entered the kitchen, he could see there was simply no excuse for Mr. Waddlebug not answering him when he had yelled for his servant earlier. He was sitting at the round kitchen table, one elbow supporting his rather large noggin, a well-worn book in one hand and a cup of steaming tea at the ready. When Corey entered, he didn’t even look up, as if he was mentally transported away by the story in hand. “Waddlebug!” Corey spat out in a sharp whisper. The sound of his name caught his attention, and the old elf sat up quickly, rattling the table and sending droplets of tea onto the wooden surface with a splash, his spoon clattering against the side of the china cup.“Sorry, sir,” he replied, righting his spoon and setting the book aside. “I didn’t hear you come in.”Corey had no time to argue.“Get me a j
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When Maevis stopped by later that evening, she found Serendipity fast at work as usual. She was certainly not in a talkative mood either, not that she usually was, but on this particular night, she only made the occasional grunting noise to either agree or disagree with Maevis’s questions. This was particularly true when it came to Maevis’s inquiries about whether or not there had been any follow up to the letter she had discovered earlier.She had asked almost immediately if one of St. Nicholas’s assistants had ever come to speak with her. Serendipity had made an awful noise in the back of her throat, one Maevis took as either a stern “no” or a complete refusal to discuss the matter, so she had dropped the subject, no matter how badly the urge to press further raged within her.After a few more minor attempts at starting a conversation, Maevis finally made an ethereal noise of her own, and crossing her arms sternly said, “Fine then. I
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If Maevis didn’t know Serendipity as well as she did, she might’ve allowed herself to become offended at the dismissive statement. But she knew better than to let Serendipity’s poor manners insult her. The possibility of pressing on anyway crossed her mind, and Maevis opened her mouth to ask another question, but then he closed it abruptly when she realized that Serendipity was done with the conversation before it even began. Giving up, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, picked up the basket she had brought with her off of the table, and turned to the door. As she pulled it open, she said, “You should have told me.” There was no answer.“Be careful,” she added as she stepped out, pulling the door to behind her.As she made her way down off of the rickety front steps, she noticed the same footprints in the mud outside.How had she missed them before? There were two matching sets. One that distinctly led up to t
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Serendipity sat the letter down on the table and gave Gypsim her full attention.“What is it, little friend?” she asked.Gypsim scampered over to the letter and began to point at it, as if her information had something to do with the letter. Serendipity didn’t understand. “The letter?” she asked.Gypsim’s head waggled up and down furiously. Serendipity continued. “You want me to know something about the letter?”Again, the mouse agreed.“Can you read the letter?” Serendipity asked, wondering if too many late nights had caused her to become delusional.However, Gypsim signaled that this was not the case. No, a mouse could not read human handwriting. Serendipity was puzzled again. “All right. But it does have something to do with the letter?”This was confirmed, so Serendipity made another guess. “Does it have to do with Mr. Cane?”Gypsim jumped up
The Dollmaker's Daughter at Christmas The Scene of the Crime
By the time she reached the front door, Serendipity was crying. Pozzletot was one of the few beings in the world she could count as a friend, and the thought of him all alone up in the North Pole, in hiding somewhere, afraid for his life, brought a feeling of overwhelming despair. As her feet pounded up the steps, caked in mud by now, she did not even pause to think about what she was doing, where she was going, or what had happened there; she simply needed help--help that only Maevis could provide.As she threw the heavy front door open, calling her friend’s name, rushing in as she did so, she nearly ran into Ms. Crotlybloom who had come to see what all the racket was. The older woman reached out a thin arm to steady her, but then gasped in horror at the sight. “Serendipity?” she asked, her eyes wide behind her wire spectacles. “Is that you, child?”“Oh, Ms. Crotlybloom!” Serendipity exclaimed, bending over to catch her breath
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“Well?” Mr. Waddlebug asked, impatiently tapping his foot as he stared at the mail shoot. Corey stood beside him, quill pen still in hand, his expression much more subdued. “What is taking so long? Shouldn’t we have heard back from her by now?”“She’ll respond soon enough,” Corey assured him, finally sticking the pen back in the magic ink he had used to write the correspondence to Ms. Fizzlestitch. The mailroom was really something else. This is where all of the letters to Santa--whether through regular post-dispatch or the preferred, up the chimney, method came to be read, considered, and recommended for fulfillment or denial. It is also where Corey came to write his own letters whenever he needed to communicate with a potential recruit. There was a smorgasbord of inks to choose from in every color, as well as every thickness of writing apparatus imaginable. The paper was smooth, the envelopes regal, and Corey always felt impor
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