Page 9 of Santa’s Lawyer

“Of course not,” Ander said simply, handing her the cup.

Avery took a cautious sip. It was delicious, and the perfect temperature. Surely Ander was joking about no stomachaches at the North Pole. Yet the stabbing pains that usually immediately attended her consumption of dairy were nowhere to be felt.

“Could you please show me where I could freshen up?” she asked the helpful android.

“Certainly. Right this way.”

Ander held her coffee while Avery entered a changing room that was nicer than her apartment. It was beautifully appointed, similar to the vintage train car in which she awoke. It smelled like sugar cookies and pine trees. Against the wall was a locker underneath a worn gold nameplate, engraved with “Hoarfrost” in formal script. She opened the locker to find several changes of clothes: a dress, a pantsuit, and a fuzzy, vintage sweater. They were all her size. The sweater called to her, but she opted for the pantsuit. She was still entirely bewildered, but at least she’d be dressed appropriately.

She hung up her pajamas in the locker, donned the dark green velvet suit, admired the white-fur accents along the lapel and trim of her blazer, then attached her brooch. It was the finest fabric she’d ever worn, and somehow it seemed perfectly tailored to her curves. She slid into the black leather ankle boots that sat at the bottom of her locker and stepped back to inspect herself in the large, gilded mirror on the wall.

She looked festive, yet ready to take on the world. It was a niche look, but so was her situation.

She stepped closer to the mirror and saw her fair skin was clearer than usual, and glowing. Her cheeks were rosy. Her hair was half-up, perfectly coiffed in vintage victory rolls. It was her favorite way to wear her hair, but she could never get the style to set quite right. The fact that she simply woke up like this confirmed for Avery, more so than even the talking polar bear and the solicitous android, that something extraordinary was happening.

When she emerged from the locker room, Ander was stationed in the hallway, waiting for her. She retrieved her coffee from him as something large came sliding toward her on the floor. She flattened herself against the wall as she saw a penguin whizzing past her on its stomach, smacking into one of Ander’s metal legs, nearly knocking him over.

The penguin popped up, flapping its flippers. “Almost ‘ad it that time, Andy old chap,” he declared in a Cockney British accent. “I’ll be flyin’ by Tuesday.” He turned to Avery. “‘Ello there, love.”

“Gregory,” Ander announced, “may I present Ms. Avery Hoarfrost. Ms. Hoarfrost, this is Gregory. He’s…a hawk.”

Avery shot Ander a confused look. He nodded.

“Well, she can plainly see that, mate, with those sparklin’ blue eyes of ‘ers,” Gregory assured Ander. “Can’t you, Ms. ‘oarfrost?”

“Of course. Pleased to meet you,” Avery said with a small curtsy.

Gregory dipped his head forward in what she assumed was a formal gesture for a bird. He then reached his beak under his left wing and produced a silver pen, with a beautiful, long, brown-and-white hawk’s feather attached to the end. He extended it toward her.

Avery retrieved it from his beak.

“For you, poppet,” Gregory said. “Added the feather me’self.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. She looked at the feather on the pen, which bore no resemblance to Gregory’s plumage. She glanced at Ander, who was shaking his head, and decided to take Gregory at his word.

“How wonderful!” she gushed. “Thank you so much. Um...”

She wished she had something to give him in return. What did penguins, or penguins who apparently thought they were hawks, like?

She felt something stirring in her jacket. She reached into her pocket and was surprised to find a small box. Inside was a wet, mostly dead fish. She held the open box in front of her, and Gregory quickly dipped his head forward, swallowing it whole. Avery stared at the empty box, dumbfounded, and returned it to her pocket. A moment later, the box was nowhere to be found.

“She’s a regular Bobby Dazzler,” Gregory said, clicking his beak. “And right cracking in that suit ain’t she, Andy old chap?”

Avery blushed and ran her hands along the front of her jacket, straightening her lapels.

“I can see it now,” Gregory envisioned, “‘er and the Big Man, side-by-side, what a team—”

“Oh, do behave yourself, Gregory,” Ander said, cutting him off. “Ms. Hoarfrost is our guest, and she’s not even had her interview yet,” Ander said, tapping him on the top of the beak. Gregory nipped at his metal finger.

Side-by-side with the Big Man.

A mysterious, high-stakes, Christmas-centric legal job. In the North Pole.

Avery inhaled sharply, realization stealing her breath.

She was interviewing to be Santa’s lawyer.

“I apologize for my uncivilized companion, Ms. Hoarfrost,” Ander said. “He takes some getting used to, I’m afraid.”