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 lithe 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 and humans who came to live in the Village amongst the magic and mystery of the North Pole.

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 toward 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.”