“So all you have to do is put together an outfit you think she’ll like, stick in on a mannequin for Packaging to reference, and then I’ll approve it and we’ll start bundling that ensemble up for everyone who fits that profile.”

“This isn’t an individual kid?” I said, holding up the photos of #1462.

She picked up a pair of bright green socks covered in a watermelon print and tossed them down the table to a girl who was working on a red T-shirt ensemble. “I wish we had the manpower for that,” she said. “They’re just profiles. They work okay, though.”

I stared at the piles of clothing on the table. “What if those kids hate what I pick out?”

“Then they’ll be disappointed on Christmas morning,” she said seriously, then cracked up. “Dude, don’t take it too seriously. Not like anyone meant it, anyway. This is supposed to be fun.”

I’d never heard that about a job before. I took a deep breath and started poking through the clothes on the table. Lucy watched me for a few seconds, then went back to work.

After a few minutes, someone across the room shouted, “Let’s get some music up in here!” and the sound of peppy Christmas pop filled the room.

I cringed. Holiday music was the worst.

They all seemed to enjoy it, though, and a few elves started dancing while they dressed their mannequins. Everyone here seemed way too happy. I didn’t know what to make of it.

I pulled together a pile of colorful clothes and started sifting through them, looking for things that might go together. I dressed the nearest mannequin, which was harder than it looked, and stepped back to evaluate. The pink T-shirt and jeans looked fine, but boring. It looked like the brighter version of something I’d wear.

“Maybe add some accessories,” Lucy suggested. “A good scarf or necklace can make or break an outfit. Jewelry’s over there,” she added, jerking her thumb toward a series of plastic drawers against the wall.

I sifted through the jewelry and came back with a hot pink bracelet, then poked through the hair accessories and found a stretchy pink and white headband. Lucy tilted her head, then tossed me a pair of leggings.

“Try these.”

I replaced the jeans with the bright pink and purple leggings, and Lucy gave me a thumbs-up.

“You’re rocking it,” she said. “Pin the profile to her shirt and send her through.”

This was fun, I realized after a while. I’d never much enjoyed shopping for myself. Mom had never given me much choice about my wardrobe, and I hadn’t had a lot of spending money after I’d moved out on my own. But these imaginary kids had their pick of everything in the House of Claus, and it was more fun to dress them than myself.

Eventually, even the nasally sound of someone’s “Santa Baby” cover didn’t grate on me so much. Noelle and Mary had been right: This was a lot more interesting than sewing button eyes.

Something didn’t sit right with me, though. Santa’s resources were clearly extensive and, looking at the mountains of clothing, I couldn’t help but feel slightly unsettled.

I waved Lucy over when she was between outfits.

“Why aren’t we putting together outfits for everyone?” I said. “These are all very… Western.”

This fabric must have been expensive. Santa could have spent it on solving world hunger, or advancing developing countries, or food for the hungry, or a thousand things less frivolous than cute clothes.

Lucy smiled and started digging through the pile next to me and pulling out anything purple or gold.

“We have to keep ourselves secret,” she said. “Why else do you think Santa co-opted an existing holiday for all this?” I frowned at her, and she added, “That idea of Santa travelling around the world in one night isn’t really true. He only visits families that celebrate Christmas.”

“Rich families,” I said.

Her smile left her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, more quietly. “We have to make the parents believe they did everything. Once in a while we put together a Christmas miracle, if we think we can get away with it, but most of the time we have to be sure to match gifts to families’ socioeconomic levels, religious beliefs, cultures—there’s a whole department that just matches gifts to families and makes sure we’re not infringing on anyone. It’s complicated.”

“Apparently.”

“We have to keep security tight around here,” she said, almost apologetically. “Secrecy is a big part of that.”

I stared at the mountains of fabric around us.

“Then what’s the point? If you do all of this and then you spend all that effort making the parents think they bought the presents, why do you even do it?”

“Santa does it because he wants to,” she said simply.

“But why?”

“Why not?”

She didn’t seem to even understand my question. We looked at each other, equally confused, and then she shrugged and offered, “He donates to a ton of soup kitchens and humanitarian aid organizations, if that’s what you’re asking. The rest of this just gives him something to do.”

She laughed at my bewildered expression and went back to work.

We took a break for lunch. Lucy dragged me to the cafeteria and made me sit with her and some of her friends. They chatted about some new Glim movie that was coming out and on how Glim cinema was really “hitting its stride.” Finally, I nudged Lucy.

“What’s Glim?” I said.

Her eyes widened. “It’s us,” she said. “Oh, gosh, I hadn’t even realized. Of course you wouldn’t know. Glimmers are what we call magical people. Elves, faeries, nymphs, even vampires—all the people you probably only know from stories.”

“There’s more?” I said.

I frowned at her, but what did I have to be so bewildered about, really? If Santa Claus existed, and I was sitting in the snowflake-shaped Workshop eating lunch with elves, of course anything else was possible.

It still made my head spin.

“Way more,” Lucy said. She bit her lip. “I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you. Humdrums aren’t really supposed to know about us, but, I mean, it’s not like we could have kept it hidden under the circumstances.”

“And I’m a Humdrum,” I said. “People keep calling me that.”

She looked a little awkward. “I know it’s not super complimentary.”

I stabbed a salad leaf with my fork. “No,” I said. “It fits. Describes my life perfectly.”

She nudged my arm with her shoulder. “Not anymore,” she said, as if this whole kidnapped-to-the-North-Pole adventure was something to be excited about.

Maybe it was. I’d had a better morning dressing mannequins than I’d had in a long time.

After lunch, Lucy pulled me into her office, a tiny, windowless room practically wallpapered in fashion photos and motivational posters. She handed me a stack of manila folders and a large brown paper bag filled with colorful fabric.

“Would you run these to Mary’s office?” she said. “Stuff for her to sign, and then I need her to approve the scarf designs. You can just leave everything on her desk. She probably won’t get to them for a while. Thank you. You’re the best!”

I let her load me up and then found my way back to Mary’s office. One nice thing about the Workshop’s design was that it was hard to get lost within a wing. All I had to do was keep walking until I found the right office.

Mary’s door was slightly ajar. I didn’t have a free hand to knock, so I nudged it open with my hip. Mary wasn’t there, but I could hear her voice coming through a side door.

I realized after an instant that I’d walked in on something I probably shouldn’t be hearing.

“This is serious,” Mary said in a low, intense voice. “I’m trying to keep up appearances, but it’s not like they don’t know what’s going on.”

“Most of them don’t,” said Santa. I recognized his voice immediately, and it made me tense up. Santa, I was pretty sure, didn’t like me much.

I set the folders on the desk as silently as possible, then tried to find a space for the bag.

“Frost is not going to let up until he’s gotten what he came for,” Mary hissed. “You can stick your head in the sand all you want, but he’s made it into the city twice.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I’m fully aware of the situation, but I don’t know what you expect me to do about it. Security’s on alert and we’ve reinforced the dome as much as possible.”

“That’s not going to be enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

I backed up and tried to slip out of the door as quietly as possible. Just as I left, I heard Mary slam something down on a table.

“I know everything,” she snapped. “I’m your wife, remember?”