Christmas Carol & the Defenders of Claus Page 4

  Walking toward us, dressed in his Christmas finery, was the Big Guy himself. Santa Claus! His black boots thudded in the quiet of the hall. He tugged at his belt hidden underneath his massive belly. I started to raise my hand to say hi, but as he drew near, he suddenly sneezed. “Aaaachoooo! ”

  “Salud,” Amelia said, quietly, in Spanish. Santa looked at her blankly. “Bless you,” she added.

  “Thank you, young lady,” Santa said and turned, thudding down another hall and disappearing.

  We sat quietly until I finally whispered, “Do you think that was the real Santa?”

  Amelia sighed her distinctive “I think you’re a doofus but I’m too nice to say it out loud” sigh. “Of course not, Carol. He didn’t know Spanish; doesn’t Santa speak every language? And there are a million Santas.”

  “But this is Macy’s,” I argued. “If the real one went anywhere, it’d be here.”

  “Well, assuming there even is a real one, wouldn’t he be a little busy this time of year?”

  “I guess,” I replied, moping a bit. Why did Amelia have to be so practical all the time? Why couldn’t she believe, like I did? “I think it was him,” I muttered, not really believing that but too stubborn to admit it.

  Amelia sighed again. We settled back in our chairs. And we waited. Whatever Christmas magic the city had to offer, it would just have to wait, too.

  At last! Two hours after the endless business of Uncle Christopher, the sneezing Santa and the doubting Amelia, our taxi dropped us in front of Radio City Music Hall, the marquee trumpeting the CHRISTMAS SPECTACULAR, featuring the Rockettes. I soooooo wanted to see that show, but my uncle motioned for us to follow him and we pushed through the crowd toward Rockefeller Center.

  When we rounded the corner and came upon the tree, Amelia and I stopped in our tracks. We stared in awe at the massive spruce, which twinkled with its 18,000 lights and was topped by a glittering star that rose impossibly high above us. We were so dumbstruck we didn’t realize my uncle had continued through the crowd until he hurried back and snapped, “Girls!” I looked at him, dazed. “Ladies,” he said, straining to take the impatience out of his voice. “You must stay close. It’s easy to get lost in this kind of crowd.” I took Uncle Christopher’s gloved hand in mine, and though he seemed startled, he did not pull away. I grabbed Amelia’s hand, too, and my uncle led us through the swirling masses.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the tree. I had never seen anything so beautiful. We stopped along the railing to get a better view, though Amelia and I were the only ones to truly look. My uncle appeared bored, as he always seemed to be when I was with him. I gazed up at the tree, inhaling the brisk air and the smell of pine. I hadn’t felt so happy in a long, long time. I looked at the rink below and watched the gliding and stumbling skaters. “Can we please skate?” I asked my uncle, who glanced at the rink with annoyance.

  “Carol, dear, I have so much work to do.”

  “Please, oh please, oh please. Just for ten or fifteen minutes. Come skate with us.”

  My uncle sighed. “You may skate for ten minutes. I will watch. I prefer not to crack open my skull in front of the riffraff.” I didn’t know what riffraff meant but was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. I didn’t care. All I knew was that, miraculously, he’d said yes.

  Five minutes later Amelia and I were on the ice. The crowd had grown even larger (which hadn’t seemed possible!), so much so that the man in charge of the rink initially refused us entry. “You’ll have to wait till it clears out.”

  “Please,” I begged, knowing my uncle would soon lose patience and insist we leave, regardless of whether we had actually gotten to skate. “It’s just us.”

  “Yeah, we’re small,” Amelia said.

  “Are you good skaters?” the man asked. “Too many beginners out there now.”

  Amelia and I looked at each other. “Really good,” I answered, feeling bad about lying but not that bad.

  “Excellent,” echoed Amelia, the Dominican-born girl who had never even seen a skating rink.

  The man sighed, opening the gate. “Just you two.”

  We squealed with delight. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said and stepped onto the ice, ready for some Manhattan magic. Boom! Down I went. Face-first. Then, boom! Down Amelia went, falling on top of me. We landed right in the path of an oncoming skater. The man yelled—something it wouldn’t be nice to repeat—and leaped over us. He lost his balance when he hit the ice, careening into a shuffling group of four skaters, the five of them ending up in a heap. The man at the gate glared at us. We pulled ourselves up, and I muttered, “Sorry, guess we’re a little rusty.” We started around the ice, avoiding eye contact with the poor fellow who was untangling himself from the group he’d knocked over like dominoes.

  I glanced up at my uncle. He pointed to his watch and held up both hands with fingers open, indicating we had our ten minutes. I turned back to the ice, concentrating on avoiding the skaters zipping by. I was unsteady on my feet but, surprisingly, felt no fear. Hunched over, almost squatting, I forced myself to stand, letting the skates glide. A snowflake landed on the tip of my nose and I looked up. The sky suddenly exploded with beautiful white. I gasped and stuck out my tongue to catch the flakes, which melted pleasingly in my mouth.

  I was so focused on the snow that I didn’t realize what was happening, how quickly I was moving. “Carol!” Amelia called. I had left her far behind. I looked down in wonder at my own feet. I glided across the ice, my legs churning, picking up speed. I weaved around a mother helping a small child. I leaned into my turn at the end of the rink, maintaining my speed and not the least bit wobbly. How was this possible? I felt exhilarated, so full of energy that once more I felt as if I could fly. I breathed deeply, pulling the cold air into my lungs like fuel into an engine. I zipped past Amelia, who was so shocked that her feet went out from under her and she landed hard on her butt.

  I glanced at my uncle to see if he was watching. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide. Yep, he definitely saw me. I laughed, just as surprised as he and Amelia were. I couldn’t possibly explain what was happening, but I wasn’t about to ruin it by questioning too much. Once again, I sped past Amelia, who yelled, “How are you doing that?”

  “I have no idea!” Before I could even think about what I was doing, I leaped and spun, a full rotation, like the elegant figure skaters in the Olympics. I landed on one skate, gliding backward as if I’d been doing it my entire life. Suddenly a man skated up behind, his eyes locked on me, and followed me close. Startled, I veered left toward the center of the rink. He did, too. I slowed. Then he slowed. I picked up the pace. He did the same. He averted his gaze whenever I glanced back, but I had no doubt he was shadowing my every move. And he was creeping me out.

  He looked familiar, though I knew that was impossible. Who would I know in New York City? I glanced back again and was so shocked to find him right behind me that I didn’t see the little girl in my path until it was too late. My skate caught hers and down she went, face-first toward the ice. I spun and fell, landing hard on my tailbone. The strange man moved toward me. I pushed myself backward on my butt to get away, but the man slowed and extended his hand.

  Only then did I notice. It couldn’t possibly be. I must have hit my head and was hallucinating. Everything around me was frozen, and not in the cold way. All the skaters had stopped exactly where they’d been when I fell. The rink was now full of human statues. I saw Amelia at the other end, looking in my direction. But she didn’t move either. And that poor girl I’d run into? She was floating. In midair! Her expression was locked in fear and her hands were extended to break her fall. I glanced up at my uncle. I half expected him to yell it was time to go, but he didn’t budge. And the silence was astonishing. Moments before, cars honked, children screamed, cameras clicked, Christmas music blared. Now there was nothing.

  The man, his hand still extended, finally spoke. “May I help you up, m’lady?”

  My jaw drop
ped. I recognized the voice before I did the face. He wore no glasses. The hair sticking out from under his hat was bright red. “Mr. Winters?”

  “Yes, dear heart,” he said, pulling me up. “Hurry now. There’s much I need to show you.”

  I hesitated as Mr. Winters skated away. Who was this man, really? Should I just go with him? What in the world was happening?

  Mr. Winters turned and saw that I hadn’t moved, and he skated slowly back. He stopped and studied me for a moment. “I’ve frightened you, haven’t I, m’lady?”

  I nodded.

  Mr. Winters appeared slightly hurt by this, but then smiled reassuringly. He looked me in the eyes with that intense stare of his. “I would never in a million years hurt you, Carol. Ever. OK?”

  “OK,” I said softly.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I did. I nodded again.

  “Thank you, m’lady,” he said. “Come.” He turned and skated away.

  This time I followed and we carefully weaved our way through the human statues. We passed Amelia, who I kept expecting to say something. But she stood as still as a tree on a windless day.

  “What happened to them?” I finally asked.

  “We just needed a few minutes alone with you,” Mr. Winters said.

  “What do you mean? Where are we going?”

  “To see him.”

  “Who?”

  “All in good time, m’lady.” We were near the gate now, where the grumpy man stood scowling at the skaters. “Put on your shoes,” Mr. Winters said. “We have to go up.” He pointed at the Rockefeller Center building.

  “What about Amelia?”

  “She’s fine, m’lady. When we start back up, it will be as if nothing’s happened. And you mustn’t tell her.”

  We slipped on our shoes and then hurried through the motionless crowd. I studied them as we passed: a mom wiping chocolate from her toddler’s face; a camera flash permanently lit; a juggler dressed like an elf, two of his batons hanging in the air. Even the snow hung motionless.

  “How did you make them freeze?” I asked.

  “They’re not really frozen. It’s time that is stopped. It’s how he does what he does.”

  “Who?”

  “So many questions, dear heart. You never ask this many questions in class.”

  “You never stopped time before.”

  Mr. Winters laughed. “Be patient, m’lady.”

  We were now inside Rockefeller Center and made our way to the elevators. “How does the elevator work if time is frozen?” I asked as we stepped in. The elevator whooshed upward. My stomach felt as if it stayed on the first floor. My ears popped.

  “Magic, for lack of a better word. If we’re not mistaken, you possess that magic in great abundance, m’lady.”

  “Me? How do you know?”

  “The reindeer, Carol.” He said this as if it were obvious.

  “I just scared him is all,” I said weakly. “He jumped.”

  “You know better than that, dear heart. You know something magical happened that day.” He pointed to the lock of white hair that hung near my eyes. Then he removed his own hat. I gasped. In the middle of his blazing red hair, like a reverse Mohawk, was a long, skinny patch of white. “You’re like me,” he said.

  “But why? Who are you? How did you find me?”

  The elevator opened and Mr. Winters stepped out. “Follow me.” He walked past a roped-off area and through a door marked FIRE EXIT. I followed him up the stairs, breathing hard as we climbed. Mr. Winters didn’t seem winded at all and I struggled to keep up. He disappeared ahead, but his footsteps echoed in the stairwell. “Hurry, m’lady,” he called. I heard a door open and bang shut one floor above.

  When I reached that level, I paused at a door marked EMERGENCY PERSONNEL ONLY. I pushed it open and was met with a sight that sucked the breath from my lungs: thousands upon thousands of blinking lights shimmered through the snow, like something off a souvenir postcard. I stepped out onto a walkway and the hanging snowflakes tickled my face. I heard a faint voice and saw Mr. Winters walking fearlessly along the ledge. I inched toward him, clinging to the concrete wall. It took a couple of minutes to make it to Mr. Winters, who waited patiently. “Isn’t this exhilarating, m’lady?” he asked. I could only nod. That’s not how I would have chosen to describe it. “Pee-my-pants terrifying” came to mind.

  As we rounded the corner of the building, I made the mistake of peering over the ledge. I could see the Christmas tree, looking as small as a piece for a model train set. My stomach did a flip-flop. I heard my name. And when I looked up, that’s what sent me over the edge. There he sat. Santa Claus. In a massive sleigh. A team of reindeer snorted and pawed in the snowy night. Dizziness took hold. My knees buckled. My hand slipped from the concrete wall. I felt myself falling. Down toward the tree and my uncle and Amelia. Down toward my end.

  When I woke up from my fainting spell, Mr. Winters’s face peered worriedly into mine. I blinked, trying to orient myself. I sensed we were moving. I was on my back, in Mr. Winters’s arms. He was sitting on something, which my back rested against. It was soft but solid. I glanced one direction and saw the shimmering tree far below. I cried out and threw my arms around Mr. Winters’s neck. “Don’t worry, m’lady. We’ve got you.”

  “We?” Then I noticed the antlers. Mr. Winters and I were on a reindeer. We were flying! “How did you catch me in time?”

  “I froze you, like the people below, then borrowed one of the Big Guy’s team. Happens all the time with the elves. They’re always falling off the sleigh.”

  “Elves?”

  “Yes, m’lady. Clumsy rascals.”

  “Clumsy,” I muttered softly. “Elves … Santa …”

  Mr. Winters raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right, dear heart?”

  “Am I all right? I’m flying on a reindeer with my sixth-grade teacher. And everyone’s frozen. And over there is Santa and his sleigh. No, I’m not all right! I’m freaked out, Mr. Winters! That is your name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

  “Everything, Carol.” Mr. Winters’s face, which never seemed to go without a smile, turned as dark as the night sky. “Santa’s in danger, and you may be our last hope.”

  A chill tickled my spine. “But what can I do?” I asked softly. “I’m just … me.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” Mr. Winters asked. “Just a kid? Just a girl?”

  I said nothing.

  “Shame on you, m’lady,” he said firmly. “Joan of Arc was just a girl. Anne Frank was just a girl. A girl is a powerful, powerful thing. Never doubt your worth.”

  I nodded dumbly. I sure didn’t feel powerful. The reindeer circled around behind Santa’s sleigh and landed gently on the snowy ledge. Mr. Winters jumped off with me in his arms and set me down softly. I looked at Santa, and he stared back at me with kind eyes.

  “Hello, Carol,” he said.

  “Um, hi, Santa,” I answered. I didn’t know what to do or what to say.

  “We need your assistance,” Santa said. “Will you help us?” His voice was as soft as a pillow. Yet I could hear every word clearly, as if he talked directly into my ear.

  “Why me?”

  “You’re special, Carol,” Santa said. Special? Me? No way. “Haven’t you always known deep down inside that there is something wonderful about you? That your extraordinary love for Christmas means something?” Something stirred within me, a sense of recognition. I thought of how I felt so out of place at school, how I hated being constantly teased and called “Christmas Carol,” but how even with all of that, I took an odd sort of pride in the nickname. “I know it sounds strange, dear,” Santa said, “but we believe you have the gift.”

  My heart swelled, as if Santa’s voice itself were magic. “What gift?” I asked.

  “The power to be a Defender,” Santa pronounced grandly.

  I thought my heart might burst. “Defender
? Of what?”

  “Me, I’m sorry to say. There are those who might do me harm.”

  “Who would want to hurt Santa?”

  “It’s been a long time since anyone tried. I can tell you that story some other time. But that’s where my protectors come in. They call themselves the Defenders of Claus. A bit dramatic, if you ask me, but it seems to make them happy.” Santa winked at Mr. Winters. “The title’s been mostly ceremonial for centuries. Their main job is to help me deliver toys. But over the past several years, Defenders have started disappearing, including your father.”

  “My dad was a Defender?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “We don’t know.”

  My heart ached to hear Santa say that. “I really miss him.”

  “I know you do, honey. As do we. But he’s not the only one. Defenders simply vanish, and we’re trying to figure out why.”

  “This is a war, Carol,” Mr. Winters said quietly, and I shuddered. “If something happens to Santa, Christmas as we know it will end. We need reinforcements to stop that from happening.”

  “Like me?” I asked meekly.

  “I hate it, dear,” Santa said. “You’re much too young. Defenders usually don’t begin training until they’re fifteen or so. But what you did to that reindeer revealed to us you have great power.”

  “I couldn’t have done that at twelve, dear heart,” Mr. Winters said.

  “But all I did was touch him,” I argued.

  “You fueled him,” Mr. Winters explained. “You filled him with Christmas magic and joy, both of which you possess in great abundance. Had that been a young, healthy deer, he might have flown away.”

  “Defenders make reindeer fly?”

  “Among other things,” Mr. Winters said. “We manipulate the web of time and space. Freeze it, move through it, all kinds of things. But I can explain all that later, m’lady. Now you must make a decision.”

  “And it’s a difficult one, Carol,” Santa said gravely. “No one will think less of you if you choose not to join us. You may be in great danger. That’s a lot to ask of someone so young. But we need your help. Will you join us?”