The Bait
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 greeting. His hand was wrapped securely around his passenger, and as he became more anxious to get the tiny fellow back to his own place where he could better provide for his security, he began to realize his grip was steadfast and he must loosen it or else all would be lost through the destruction caused by his own hand.
Upon reaching his own doorstep, he threw the door open in haste, causing it to slam against the wall. Yet, the repercussion didn’t slow him, and he only stomped his boots momentarily on the doormat before yelling, “Mr. Waddlebug?” and taking a few quick steps toward the kitchen.
“Corey, darling, why are you in such a hurry?”
The voice he heard in reply, however, was not his servants, nor did it come from the kitchen. In fact, it was quite feminine, and Corey spun around promptly once he realized he was not alone in the room. “Mother?” he asked, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes. Though he usually welcomed a visit from his mother, now was not the time. He had important work to do, work she wouldn’t understand or approve of--and she was quite discerning.
Eustacia Cane was quite tall and slender--for an elf. She had long ago retired from her position in Santa’s Workshop where she tarried for centuries making the finest toys, dolls in fact being her specialty. She had long brown hair which she always wore in two thick braids down her shoulders. No longer required to wear the uniform of one of Santa’s elves, she now chose to wear dresses most days, and today she was dressed in a bright shade of purple. The long-sleeved velvet gown covered her completely, even trailing the floor a bit around her black, pointy shoes. She sat in Corey’s favorite chair, by the fireplace, her lythe fingers crossed in her lap. Though she was almost half a millennium old, one could not tell from her face; she didn’t look a day past forty. Such was often the case with elves who aged so differently from humans.
As her youngest son turned to face her, she smiled. It had been a few days since she had seen him, and he was her pride and joy after all. “How was your visit to England?” she asked, gesturing towards the chair across from her, hopeful that he would take it and describe his journey to her.
Corey glanced at the kitchen door over his shoulder. He knew he heard Mr. Waddlebug scurrying about, as usual, but since his servant didn’t bother to respond to his urgent cry, he knew he would have to wait to take care of his newly acquired bartering chip. Sighing quietly to himself, he plastered his charming smile back on his face and turned back to his mother, who was waiting anxiously for a response.
He sat down in the chair she offered, careful to keep his hand lightly around the small body in his pocket. There was a bit of squirming, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or curiosity. He readjusted his fingers, hoping to show that he was in charge in this situation, and focused his attention on his mother’s question. “My journey was--wet,” he admitted. She laughed, and he felt the urge to continue. “I met Ms. Fizzlestitch. She is quite an interesting character, and I hope to return to collect her in a day or two once she has had time to get her affairs in order.”
“Oh! So she has agreed to come?” Eustacia clarified, leaning forward a bit in her chair. “How wonderful! I have heard amazing stories about her work. I should love to see it for myself.”
Corey redirected his gaze away from his mother’s eyes and toward the eyes of one of the enormous reindeer that stood sentinel by the fireplace. It would be much easier to stretch the truth to this wooden animal than his own flesh and blood. “Yes, she’s quite excited about the proposition. I think she will be a major asset to our operation.”
Eustacia snickered. “Oh, Corey, must you always speak so formally? I am your mother after all. I’m so proud of you. Every time St. Nicholas sends you out to collect a new recruit, you never let us down.”
Corey ignored the first part of his mother’s statement having heard similar requests hundreds of times before. “I suppose I owe it all to grandfather’s shrewd business sense,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen, pondering how he might excuse himself, at least momentarily, to retrieve some sort of a container--with a lid.
“Well, your father certainly never had any of the famous Cane family sensibility when it comes to negotiations or propositions,” she waxed, crossing one arm and propping her elbow on top, her head resting on her fist. “But he does know how to whip up a fantastic batch of peppermint candy. Leaving it to your older brother to run the business side of things was the best decision Cristobal ever made. Cassius was always much better at those sorts of things.”
“Yes, of course he was… is,” Corey corrected, his attempt at humoring her slipping away from him a bit as his mind wandered to the squirming creature in his pocket. “Mother, would you excuse me for just a moment? I need to speak to Mr. Waddlebug.”
Her eyebrows knitting together for just a second signaled that Eustacia suspected something out of the ordinary was happening with her son, but she nodded and said, “Of course. I believe he is in the kitchen.”
Before she even finished her sentence, Corey was up and making his way towards 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 jar with a lid--but poke some holes in it or something. And be quick about it.” Still whispering, Corey pulled the creature out of his pocket, his hands cupped around it for security, and as Mr. Waddlebug jumped up to do as he was instructed, he glanced curiously at what his master was holding, but he was not able to tell.
After a few moments of hasty action, Mr. Waddlebug produced the requested jar, the tin lid stabbed through enough times to provide adequate oxygen, in his un-expert opinion. “What is it?” he asked as Corey stepped over to the kitchen counter towards the newly fashioned cage.
Without answering, Corey carefully dropped his captive into the jar, quickly securing the lid so that the little mouse could not escape. “There,” he said proudly, placing both fists on his hips. “Now, she’ll have to come to the North Pole.”
Again, Mr. Waddlebug asked his question, eyeing the mouse curiously. “What is it?”
“What do you mean what is it?” Corey asked, still whispering, but this time his voice a bit louder out of frustration. “It’s a doormouse, of course,” he replied.
“Yes, I can see that,” Mr. Waddlebug admitted. “But why are you keeping it in a jar?”
Corey sighed again, rubbing his brow, suddenly aware that he felt a headache coming on. “Because I want to keep it safe. Once Serendipity realizes it has gone missing, she’ll come up here to retrieve it, and then we will have her.”
Mr. Waddlebug took the information in, chewed on it a moment, and then asked the one question he knew could potentially make his master quite angry. Nevertheless, he needed some clarification. “So, the doll maker refused to come on her own then?”
Corey’s lips pursed for a moment in anger, and he took a deep breath to keep from yelling. At last he replied, “No, she didn’t refuse. Not exactly. She just needs some more persuasion, that’s all. And once she is here and sees all that we have to offer, she’ll stay. I’m sure of it. In the meantime, this little fellow needs to be kept safe and sound. And that is up to you. Do you understand?’
“Yes, of course, sir,” Mr. Waddlebug replied, looking at the little mouse curiously as it tried to claw it’s way up the sides of the small glass jar.
“And make sure my mother doesn’t find out about this. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“I will,” Mr. Waddlebug assured him.
“Very good,” Corey replied, nodding as he began to step back towards the swinging kitchen door.
“Sir?” Mr. Waddlebug cried after him.
One hand on the door, Corey stopped and turned his head. “What is it?” he asked sharply.
“What is his name?” Mr. Waddlbug asked, smiling at the little mouse in a friendly manner so as to reassure him.
“What difference does it make? He’s nothing more than a bargaining chip,” Corey explained, pushing open the door, and reapplying the confident smile to his handsome face, hoping to hide his frustration, exhaustion, and cynicism.
He might of been able to fool anyone else, but not his mother. “Corey, what’s the matter?” she asked as he returned to the chair he had most recently vacated.
Corey sat down heavily, crossing one leg so that his shiny black boot rested on the opposite knee. “Nothing, Mother. I’m just a little tired,” he assured her, taking away his fake smile and replacing it with a less assertive one, one meant to comfort her.
Eustacia studied her son closely for a moment, attempting to decide whether or not he was being disingenuous with her. “Corey, have you ever thought, perhaps, it’s time to slow down a bit? Start a family?”
“Mother…”
“I’m only saying, when your brother met Pyoria and started working less and concentrating more on his home life, he became much happier--and much easier to live with.”
Corey raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Mother? That I’m difficult to live with?”
“No, of course not, dear--not you. It’s only, I think you would be much happier if you had some balance in your life. You work yourself to death. And being half elf, I would think you would have at least another couple of hundred years before you should even begin to think about full retirement. Why not slow down a bit? You have plenty of time to accomplish all of your professional goals,” Eustacia explained in her gentle, nurturing voice.
As much as Corey wanted to dismiss her words, he knew she spoke the truth. He did work too hard. He had completely ignored any symbolance of a private life for decades, if not longer. However, he wasn’t about to agree with her outright, not this moment anyway when he had such an important task at hand. “Mother, please don’t worry about me. When the right woman--or elf, fairy, what have you--comes along, I’ll know it. And I’ll slow down then.”
As much as Corey wanted to dismiss her words, he knew she spoke the truth. He did work too hard. He had completely ignored any symbolance of a private life for decades, if not longer. However, he wasn’t about to agree with her outright, not this moment anyway when he had such an important task at hand. “Mother, please don’t worry about me. When the right woman--or elf, fairy, what have you--comes along, I’ll know it. And I’ll slow down then.”
“But Corey, you’ll never meet her if all you do is work. Unless she’s one of your projects,” Eustacia added, an idea popping into her head. “Corey--what does this Serendipity look like? Is she… pretty?”
The expression on Corey’s face would have answered her if the resounding, “No!” did not, as he reeled in horror. Visions of the crazy-haired woman with alabaster skin so pale she could be mistaken for an albino, her hands covered with paint, her eyes nearly transparent, filled his head, bringing along memories of the stench that seemed to hang around her like a cloud, and he felt his stomach begin to churn again. “No, mother, I assure you, Serendipity Fizzlestitch is anything but pretty.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Eustacia muttered.
“Don’t worry about me, Mother,” Corey assured her, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m still in my prime. I’m not even two hundred years old yet. There’s plenty of time for me to meet someone. Now, you should be getting home. I’m certain Father will be wondering what’s happened to you.”
“I’m sure you’re correct,” she replied, standing. “Just take care of yourself, Corey.”
Corey stood and wrapped his arms around his mother, stooping to do so. “I will. Never mind me. Now, shall I walk you home?”
“Heavens, no,” she insisted, patting him on the cheek and smiling at her handsome boy. “I can manage. I love you, Son,” she reminded him.
“I love you, too, Mother,” he said, kissing her rosy cheek.
“My sweet, sweet boy. I got so lucky with you, darling. Such a good boy!” She continued to mutter words of affirmation as she took her hooded cloak off of the peg near the door, slipped it on, and let herself out.
Once she left, Corey let out the breath he had been holding. She wouldn’t think he was such a sweet boy if she had any idea that he had just kidnapped a little mouse and now intended to hold it hostage until its rightful owner agreed to come to the North Pole--a place she refused to visit. Nor would his mother agree that he was so spectacular if she could even imagine the lengths he was willing to go to in order to assure that said owner was never able to return to her home in England ever again.
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