The Present

4-1

“Who’s next?”

All Ghosts of Christmas Present were gathered in our realmevator lobby for equipment pick up before our deployment to Earth. I stepped up to the lace-dressed table where Specter Three and Specter Four were seated. The former, who had peach glitter glistening on her cheekbones, gave me a discerning look.

“Frost, don’t you ever get tired of taking that thing with you on assignment? Isn’t it distracting?” She nodded toward Marley, cradled in the crook of my arm.

“Marley isn’t a thing, Specter Three. Not to me. He behaves himself. Anyway, having a pet is one of the better parts of being human. If I get to pretend to be one for a month on Earth, why not make the most of it?”

Marley yapped as if in agreement, jingling the tiny pair of silver bells hanging from his ruffled maroon collar.

“You are a strange ghost, Frost Mason,” mused Specter Three. She checked off my name on her clipboard and picked up a dark green phone from the neat stack beside her. “Here is your phone. Stay in contact with your team. Keep your notifications on. You know the drill. And now for your annual donation.”

An elf lifted a weighty brick of ice onto the table. Familiar with the routine, I placed my hand upon it and transferred a single spark of magical blue energy into the ice.

“You Specters have been requiring this of us for decades. I’m retiring this year; maybe you’d like to finally tell me what this donation is for?” I asked pointedly.

“Next,” Specter Three said, waving me off. The elf picked up my magic-charged brick and hoisted it over to a cart loaded with blocks my colleagues had already enchanted.

I gave the load a second glance before moving on. I liked having all the information. Working an afterlife job where success hinged on research meant this trait had become thoroughly integrated into my core. Unfortunately, Specter One and his Senior Specter staff weren’t always forthcoming. They told you things that you needed to know, not what you wanted to know. I wasn’t fond of that, but after a hundred years I’d gotten used to this annoyingly vague aspect of their leadership.

Another of my Present Ghost colleagues who’d been in line behind me stepped up to the table and I scooted over to Specter Four. He was much friendlier—a smile so bright and white it looked like he brushed his teeth with stars and gargled with moon glow.

“Your Fa-La-La-La Fashion Pod, Miss Mason,” he said, placing a sparkling gift in my palm. It resembled a chestnut with a long wax end like a candle.

“Now, time for everyone’s favorite tool of the trade. Would you like a bracelet or key ring this year?”

“Bracelet, please.”

I held out my arm and he fastened a silver charm bracelet next to my watch. The CCD accessory came with nine basic charms. The other Present Ghosts and I would get additional, more powerful magic charms later in December.

“Thank you, Specter Four.” I jangled the bracelet and stashed my phone and pod in the outer pocket of my satchel. Marley and I migrated away from the table. Many of my coworkers were mingling on the other side of the room. A few smiled and gestured for me to join them, but after a respectful wave, I went to hang out alone in the corner to mentally prepare for the coming journey. Bismaad, however, found me anyway.

“This is my first time being assigned to a Scrooge in England,” she remarked, giving Marley an affectionate pat. “I’m a tad nervous. You’ve had five assignments over there, right? Any advice?”

A small shiver of repressed memory tremored up my spine. Three out of those five assignments had become UnScrooged in later years. Collin Whitmore, Mary Kauffman, and Todd Birch. They had forgotten the people they promised to be, but I hadn’t. I never forgot any of them, or how much it hurt when I realized my work with them had been for nothing.

I swallowed the bitterness and smiled at Bismaad. “They drive on the left side of the road. A lot of places put cream in their eggs. Make sure you understand the money or they’ll know you don’t belong.” Then I smiled. “And visit Kew Gardens if you’re near West London. They go all out at Christmas.”

“Lovely. I thank you for the recommendations,” Bismaad said, surprising me with her practiced British accent.

“All right, Ghosts of Christmas Present!” Specter One clapped his hands together at the front of the room. “Who’s ready to change someone’s life?”

Temporarily anyway.

“Follow your infiltration instructions to the letter and you’ll land a role in your targets’ lives. Apartments and homes are ready for you in your base cities. As usual, your teleportation station is found within the bathroom. Be as subtle as you can with your comings and goings, and never allow anyone into your dwelling. As many of your roles involve full-time jobs, I encourage you to sleep on Earth as often as possible and communicate with your teams via phone rather than in person.”

“Nothing says goodwill toward mankind like a good cell signal,” I whispered to Bismaad. She snickered.

“Happy Holiday Haunting, everyone!” said Specter One. “Please begin transport.”

Bismaad and I lined up in front of a realm-evator. The ornaments on the lobby’s three pines seemed to glow more brightly. Marley wagged his tail.

When it was Bismaad’s turn, she squeezed my arm before stepping into the lift and swiping her ID badge. Her smile was warm and eyes determined. She winked as the doors closed. A flash ensued, followed by the sound of sleigh bells. When the doors opened again, Bismaad was gone.

Marley and I entered the realm-evator next. I scanned my ID, pressed the Earth button, and watched the doors shut as I pocketed my card.

I hate this part.

Unlike rides between the CCD and the North Pole, traveling to Earth was a bit jarring. I’d never completely gotten used to it.

The number 12 displayed on a screen above the button panel. The realm-evator started to rapidly descend as that number dropped: 11, 10, 9 . . .

I took a deep breath and pet Marley to keep him calm. The sides of the elevator lit up with lightning streaks of red and green. The laugher of children and the deep toll of church bells echoed around us. Golden rings of light flickered on the ceiling.

The lift fell faster, rumbling as we descended—8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and . . .

A shimmering number 1 appeared on screen as the realmevator came to an abrupt halt. I stumbled a second and put a hand up against one of the walls for stability.

“Welcome back to Earth, Miss Mason,” said an automated voice coming from the scanner. The realm-evator doors slid open, revealing another simple white door. I twisted the knob and discovered my new home for the next month. Behind me, the transport twinkled and closed its own doors. It would remain there for the rest of the month for my return trips to the CCD. I closed the “bathroom” door that concealed my magical way home and strode out on the wood flooring. At first glance, I was pleased. It was a spacious loft-style apartment with big bay windows that threw gray light over everything, making the white linen bed glow with angelic haze. Only temptations of the sky were visible through the windows—the metal and glass hallmarks of urban planning took up most of the view.

Marley wiggled so I set him down. He immediately scuttered off to explore.

Behind me, a single red bow hung over the front door. On the wall beside it was a magic thermostat that always came with our Earth dwellings; it read 28 degrees. Ghosts could deal with whatever climate we were assigned to just fine—it’s not like I was going to melt stepping outside in the Southern California weather—but the colder it was, the more relaxed and recharged we felt, so icy temperatures were ideal while we slept or regrouped in our domains.

Light fixtures dangling from the high ceiling twinkled like turkey-sized sparklers. In the chrome-dominant kitchen to my right, candles decorated shelves and garlands hung from counters and cabinets. To the left, a white sofa draped with a scarlet blanket sat next to a flocked Christmas tree. I went up to it and poked my reflection on one of the silver ornament balls. Since my death, I had never gone a full day without seeing a Christmas tree; yet in the last century I’d never actually decorated one myself. I thought that was sad.

“Woof ! Woof !”

In the kitchen, Marley had pressed his front paws against the window and was staring down at the cars on the street two floors below. I placed my palm against the glass and looked out with him.

Los Angeles.

It had been decades since I’d been back. This was once my city. I was born here. I had died here. So much was different, and yet the hallmarks of the place seemed the same. I knew better than to believe it would feel the same though.

“LA at Christmas. Traffic glistening once again,” I mused. Then I noticed a massive silver clock on the wall and was pulled from my reverie. It was a quarter to seven in the morning.

Sugar plum! I need to get changed!

The only other door in the apartment, aside from the exit, was tucked in an alcove behind the kitchen. I opened it. Nothing inside but a broom, which I took out and leaned against the wall. I drew the Fa-La-La-La Fashion Pod out of my bag, hurried to the stove, and lit the wax end. Sparks began flying. Although I had compared this thing to a candle earlier, it was more akin to a stick of dynamite.

I launched the sweet-smelling grenade into the closet and slammed the door. A moment later, the door expanded like a bubble—as if the closet were burping. A cloud of creamy smoke that smelled of cookies wafted out from beneath the frame. I opened the door to reveal the innards of the closet had been converted into a fully mirrored box. Even the inside of the door was one large looking glass.

I stepped into the shower-sized chamber and shut the door. Christmas tunes performed by pan flutes and guitars in a Peruvian style emanated from invisible speakers like elevator music. The perimeter of the floor had a strand of tiny bulbs that created dreamlike uplighting. As soon as I lifted my ID card to a reader on the wall, the digital pad scanned me from hair to heel with a judgmental crimson light.

Then I waited. My frosty blue irises, which I imagined had inspired my namesake, were big and empty in the reflection of the mirror. Per usual, my brown hair was pulled into a conservative updo with a braid on each side looped around a bun at the back.

Glistening particles best described as stardust began to fall from the ceiling and stuck to me like lint. The particles shone brighter and brighter until a fantastic flash consumed me.

When I opened my eyes, I beheld my transformation. My hair remained in its updo, but everything else had changed. I now wore a stylish black coat—not too thick; this was California after all—over a cherry-colored, long-sleeve blouse tucked into a dark forest green pencil skirt. Black pumps matched the black leather briefcase that my satchel had morphed into.

As I stepped out of my magical closet, I checked if my bag still retained all its things—files, keys, phone, miscellaneous office supplies, and wallet. Yup, it was all there. I pulled out a blue folder before zipping everything up.

“Be good, Marley,” I called. “I have a job to get.”

I brusquely exited my apartment. When I set foot outside, I felt off balance for a moment. I loved Los Angeles when I was alive, but since ghosts didn’t get to choose their assignments, I’d only been here a few times in the last hundred years. Like the other ghosts, I’d had to disconnect myself from considering where I once lived as my home. It was the healthiest thing.

The whir of honking cars, the bustling foot traffic, the gleaming sun against the buildings . . . I took a deep breath and then shook my head firmly. No. I’d laid my connection to this place to rest a long time ago and I doubted it could be resurrected any more than I could.