Page 8 of Santa’s Lawyer

“Pleased to meet you, Tilly. So am I—?”

“Do you feel dead?” Tilly asked in a pleasant tone.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never been dead before,” Avery admitted. She stretched her back a little, luxuriating in the painlessness. “I feel amazing, actually.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” Tilly said. “And I’m happy to report that you are neither dreaming nor dead. This is simply the next step in the application process. Here, this is for you!” Tilly slid a small, beautifully decorated box onto the desk in front of her.

Avery took a cautious step toward the bear.

“You’re perfectly safe,” Tilly assured her.

Indeed, she felt safe, which was an unexpected feeling six feet from a talking polar bear. She smiled at Tilly apologetically, not wishing to offend. Avery took a few more steps forward and gingerly lifted the top off the gift box. Inside was a golden-orange maple leaf, outlined with a delicate, feathery pattern of ice crystals—no, real crystals. Diamonds. Sparkling, glittering hoarfrost. “Avery” was painted in golden cursive across the center of the leaf.

“My goodness, this is stunning. This is for me?”

“It’s your ID brooch,” Tilly explained.

“My ID brooch?” Avery asked, confounded. She couldn’t fathom what this must have cost.

“Nicer than a plastic badge, don’t you think? You’ll need that to access certain locations while you’re here for your interview,” Tilly advised. “Try not to lose it.”

Avery let out a nervous laugh as she pinned the brooch to her pajamas. In the process, she noticed her bare, watchless wrist. She quickly patted herself down. No phone.

“Oh gosh, what time is it?” she asked. “I have a call scheduled for this morning with one of my clients.” Avery never missed a meeting. She braced herself for the sweaty mortification of delinquency, but it never came.

“Not to worry, dear,” Tilly said. “When you sign the application, the system automatically sends an email to your employer explaining that you’re sick; nothing too serious, of course, and puts up a very respectable out of office message. It’s all in the terms of the non-disclosure agreement. I promise, no one is worried, your watch and phone are safe at home, and you won't be fired.”

“Okay...”

Avery didn’t remember reading that in the terms of the NDA, which she admittedly skimmed. But she didn’t have time to process that information as she turned around and ran into an android.

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry,” she said, jumping back, and taking in his immaculately polished, silver physique.

“So glad you chose to join us, Ms. Hoarfrost, welcome,” the metal man explained in a posh British accent.

The silvery gentleman handed her a small, wrapped gift box. Inside was a silver bracelet with a round, green gem in the middle.

“Oh, this is lovely, but, um, what is your name?”

“My name is Ander, Ms. Hoarfrost.”

“Right. Ander. I don’t know if I can accept such lavish gifts. We’ve just met, and,” Avery trailed off, distracted by the sparkles bouncing off the bracelet she found herself securing on her wrist.

“This gift serves a purpose, Ms. Hoarfrost, like your ID brooch. Your tutor will explain how it works. In any event, it is a North Pole tradition upon making a new acquaintance that there should be an exchange of gifts,” Ander explained.

“Oh,” Avery said, looking sheepishly between Ander and Tilly. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a gift for either of you.”

“Not to worry,” Ander assured her. “You’ve only just arrived. You would have no way of knowing our customs. Now, before we head to your study room, may I get you something? Hot cocoa? Snickerdoodle?”

“Oh, um, yes, actually, coffee would be wonderful if you have it,” she said. She thought that coffee might either wake her up from what she still wasn’t entirely convinced was not a dream, or allow her to come to terms with her surroundings and prepare for whatever awaited her in the study room.

“Cream and sugar?” Ander inquired, navigating his robot legs with alarmingly human-like ease over to the table with the silver carafe that matched his skin.

“I wish, but I can’t do cream,” she said, placing a protective hand over her abdomen and thinking about the massive stomachache she gave herself last time she ate dairy.

“Oh, I assure you, that won’t be a problem here, Ms. Hoarfrost,” he said, bending his shiny silver arm to pour her a cup, adding a splash of cream. One of his fingertips tilted backward to reveal a spoon, which he used to stir the coffee.

“No stomachaches at the North Pole?” Avery laughed.