Page 155 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

“I know,” she said, smile somehow growing. And the world was changing.

* * *

Ten years later…

“Mom!”

The shout was loud as only eight-year-olds could ever truly manage, backed by healthy lungs and a raging sense of injustice. The small child who had issued it turned toward the back door, hands balled into fists, radiating upset. Her brother, less angry but equally determined that he was in the right, stood next to her with his eyes fixed on the same point.

The back door opened, and Velma “Velveteen” Martinez stepped into view, the youngest of her children propped against her hip like a very large, strangely serene teddy bear. “What is it this time?” she asked.

Both children began talking at once, words coming fast and furious. Velma frowned, trying to keep track of which twin was saying what. Finally, in a tone that left some small room for argument, she asked, “Bernard knocked down your pyramid?”

“I didn’t mean to!” protested Bernard. “She had her stupid dolls making a cheer pyramid in the middle of the walkway!”

“Don’t call my dolls stupid!” shouted his sister, launching herself at him. The twins went down in a tangled heap, rolling each other over and over. Velma watched, tolerant but annoyed.

On her hip, her youngest waved a hand and asked, “Fight?”

“They need the practice, bun,” said Velma. “And if they’re smart, they’ll stop before their guests start arriving and the party gets canceled.”

“Canceled?” squeaked Bernard, with audible alarm. He let go of his sister and rolled back to his feet, brushing the grass off his shirt as he did.

“Canceled,” said Velma, barely managing to conceal her smile at the grass still caught in his hair. “All the people coming to your party are expecting a birthday for hero kids. Not villain kids. We don’t want to present them with a couple of baby supervillains and watch them take their gifts away.”

“We’ll be good!” said her older daughter, bouncing to her own feet.

Velma smiled. “I know you will, Maya. But you both need to go get ready—with your hands, not by making your toys do it for you. Jackie’s supposed to be here soon.”

That was all she needed to say. Invoking the name of their favorite aunt and babysitter was guaranteed to get them moving as fast as they could into the house. For them, Jackie Frost was associated with Winter, but never with Santa Claus: Velma hadn’t seen him since the day she’d crossed into Winter uninvited to bring Jackie home. He was still there, still catering to the children of the world, but her children knew where their toys came from, and it wasn’t a jolly fat man in a red velvet coat.

“Using me as a threat or a bribe, bunny-girl?” asked a voice from behind her.

Velma turned. “You made it.”

“I made it,” Jackie agreed, reaching out to pluck the toddler from Velma’s hip. “Hello, babycakes. Ready for fun with Auntie Jackie?”

“Cake!” squealed the toddler, fisting both hands in Jackie’s long white hair and tugging hard. Jackie winced and laughed at the same time.

“That’s the way,” she said. “Figure out what you want and grab on with both hands.”

“Sorry,” said Velma. “Lumi loves your hair.”

“Lumi has excellent taste,” Jackie agreed. “Carrabelle’s going to be here soon. She needed to sort out some sort of dominance fight between her rabbit butlers.”

“Our friends are so weird,” said Velma.

“Isn’t that better than the alternative?” asked Jackie.

Velma sobered, giving her a serious look. “It is,” she said. “It really, really is.”

There was a bang from inside the house, followed by the sound of Victory Anna swearing in a mix of Latin and Welsh that would probably have made their ears burn if they’d been able to understand it. Polychrome began speaking rapidly, trying to calm her down.

Velma sighed. “Let’s go stop them before Tag gets home to find the house in ashes,” she said, and started for the back door.

When she opened it, it revealed not her back hall, but the living room of a house decorated in cobwebs and construction paper bats, a teenage girl with orange and green streaked hair standing in the middle of the floor.

“Velma,” she said, with audible relief. “We need your help. The holiday⁠—”