Befana rode through the icy night air. It was crisp up there, high up in the air, but that crispness came loaded with melancholy, for it had been decades since Befana had ridden the route she was flying…yet the course was as familiar to her as it was the day she rode it back home.

She saw the blinking red light and knew she’d reached her destination. The giant glowing gumdrop on top of the red and white striped candy cane — made of real sugar, even though it was over ten stories tall — was the marker of the true North Pole.

Befana landed her broomstick right outside the big, shiny workshop. It didn’t look the way it used to. It used to look much cozier, much warmer, less cold and corporate, but apparently, this was where the magic was made.

Befana walked toward the front door and checked her watch. Soon enough, a portal appeared in front of her, a portal of purple flames. Out stepped a familiar woman, who pulled the portal shut behind her, putting the magical chain she’d used to summon the portal back ‘round her neck.

“Took you long enough,” complained Befana.

“Come on, you know that getting my hair up this high is an art,” said Perchta, patting her head.

“Don’t see why you came to tonight’s party as ‘The Bride of Frankenstein,’” said Befana.

“Well, you came as a witch — I thought that we were dressing up!” said Perchta, a hand to her curvy hip.

“It’s just that your costume implies there’s a husband to ‘The Bride of Frankenstein,’ and we both know that you’re just like me — single and ready to jingle,” said Befana.

“I’m glad to see somebody got in the Christmas spirit…now, you just gotta get into some Christmas sheets,” teased Perchta. “What? I mean those warm flannel sheets you get every year at that Christmas market in Germany!”

“Look — one dance,” said Befana. “You said I had to give him one dance. Then, I’m done, this whole thing is done, and I’m going home — maybe by myself, maybe with one of those hunky Christmas elves or a pair of sexy ice elementals, but, definitely not with Santana frikkin’ Claus. There’s a reason he’s my ex.”

Befana walked into The Workshop. Its layout was now unfamiliar to her, but, she followed the commotion to a large event space. Masks were being handed out at the front door. Perchta and Befana both chose dark violet masks. They put them on and walked into the party. They grabbed a pair of grape juice and grape vodka cocktails, marked ‘Hell Juice,’ and stood on the sidelines, watching the party.

“You know, you’re stalling,” said Perchta with a grin.

“What? No,” said Befana. “You wish.”

“I just call ‘em like I see them,” said Perchta. “After all…if you really just wanted to get in and out, you’d go up to him, start dancing.”

“Looks like he’s kinda busy,” said Befana. “I’ll wait.”

“So you care about bothering him?” asked Perchta.

“I don’t care about shit,” said Befana. “At least, jackshit when it comes to Claus…after he, well, broke my heart. Guess there’s a reason witches rarely fall in love.”

“Then why not go bug him?” asked Perchta, elbowing her friend.

“I don’t wanna have another fight, not here, not…well, before The Ride,” said Befana. “I don’t want to be the reason Christmas gets ruined for everyone else. It might be ruined for me…but I still put on a brave face and go out and deliver gifts and pretend I’m not hurting inside. But, I just have to deliver gifts across Italia, and he…he has to deliver them around the world. He may be a jackass, but, he’s damn good at his job.”

“You talking about Santana?” asked a voice. Befana looked. A curvy gal like herself and Perchta was standing near them, in a green and red velvet dress, with a green and red face mask. She was serving herself some holiday punch.

“Yeah, sorry — I take it he’s your boss?” asked Befana.

“You could say that,” said the stranger. “Sounds like you two have history.”

“Girl, you have no idea,” said Perchta. “You a Christmas elf?”

“Well, I’m dressed like one,” said the stranger. “Now, why are you two here if you aren’t fans of The Jolly Fellow?”

“I’m trying to get her to have a dance with him,” said Perchta with a wink that wasn’t really visible through her mask. “She owes me one.”

“Don’t you mean she owes him one?” asked the stranger, confused.

“It’s so lame — so, Perchta here, she set me up with Santana, and we went on a horrible date recently,” said Befana, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what she expected — given we’re exes.”

“You dated Santana?” asked the stranger.

“Yeah, for years,” said Befana. “I thought…well, I thought we were going to get married, but, things changed, people changed, and —”

“And what?” asked the stranger softly.

“He did something I thought he’d never do,” said Befana. “He…well, he was cheating on me.”

“He was?” asked Perchta. “You’ve never told me the full story before.”

“It’s so embarrassing,” said Befana, waving her hand over her face. “You see, it was Christmas Day, way back in, oh, 1989. I woke up, expecting a ring, and instead, downstairs, I saw him trying to hide something away — a baby, in a bassinet. I knew what must’ve happened. There was someone else, someone he’d had a baby with, and he was trying to hide that from me. I…well, I didn’t want to make a scene. I did what I thought was best.”

“What did you do?” asked the stranger.

“I packed what I could carry on my broomstick,” said Befana, tapping her broomstick on the floor, before putting it onto her back. “You see…if Santana had a baby with someone else, that meant someone else was in the picture. He must’ve been cheating — after all, we’d gone out for over five years, and the baby couldn’t’ve been older than a few months. That meant he must’ve met someone while we were together, and they…well, they had a baby. I left to make room for her and the child because I knew that if I was in the picture, all I would do was stop them from becoming a happy family.”

“So then why did Santana go on a date with you?” asked the stranger. “If there was this mysterious other woman, where is she now?”

“I never thought to ask,” admitted Befana. “Didn’t seem like my business. He wrote to me, but, I never answered. How could I? What would I even say? I knew what was in my heart — venom — and I refused to release it out into the world. I may be a witch, but I’m not evil. I just…I just kept it all in and ignored the feelings I had for Santana. In time, they faded.”

“Do you hate him?” asked the stranger.

“Of course not,” said Befana, shaking her head. “I thought I did, for a long time, and then, I realized, there’s no way I could. After all…I’m his fated mate, and apparently, that frikkin’ means something. I think Fate refused to let me feel that hate, or maybe, it was the power of the Christmas spirit, the Christmas magic that powers my witchcraft, that stopped me from letting hate consume me…but either way, the answer is no.”

“And the baby?” asked the stranger. “What about her?”

“I could never hate a baby,” said Befana. “How could anyone hate a baby, a baby that didn’t ask to be born? I swear…when I saw that baby in his arms, before he put it away in the bassinet, to wheel it away, I swore that the baby saw me, that it smiled when it saw the smile on my face. Of course, that was before the reality of what I was seeing hit me.”

“Wait,” said Perchta. “Strange elf child…what do you mean ‘her?’”

“Well, of course, the baby was a girl,” said the stranger, removing her mask. “Everybody at The North Pole knows about Pandora Claus — the adopted daughter of Santana Claus, rescued, as a baby, from a river in China, all those years ago, like a half-drowned kitten.”

Befana watched as the stranger revealed her face, showing the brown almond-shaped eyes she’d seen all those years before.

“You,” whispered Befana. “You’re…the baby.”

“Well, I was the baby,” said Pandora. “Pandora Claus, a pleasure to meet you…Befana.”

“If you knew who I was, why did you come over here?” asked Befana. “I should leave, I’m so sorry, I’ve already —”

“Don’t go,” said Pandora, reaching out to touch Befana’s arm. “After all…I think you still owe my dad a dance. For what it’s worth, Befana, I can’t guarantee this, but, I don’t think my daddy cheated on you. I ain’t never had a momma growing up — but you know, I could always use a new friend.”

“Ahem,” said a voice. “May I have this dance?”

Pandora turned. The most handsome frikkin’ vampire in the world was in front of her.

“I…uh…yes,” said Pandora. “As long as underneath that mask, there’s a certain ice elemental named Jack Frost.”

“That’s too bad,” said the highly sexual vampire, taking off his ice-white half-mask. “The only thing underneath that mask…is Frost Bite.” Jack leaned in to whisper the pun into Pandora’s ear.

“Get it? Because I’m a vampire?” asked Jack, pulling back. “It’s me, Jack, Pandora, you see, it’s a costume, and —”

“You could’ve stopped at Frost Bite, kid,” said Perchta, who had teasingly poked at Jack for everyone’s edification. “Go dance, you two. And speaking of dancing…”

Jack and Pandora left to dance. Across the floor walked a lone figure, in a black suit, with a black velvet vest, a dark brown leather tie, and a black domino mask. He looked like a BDSM billionaire cowboy, mixed with Santa Claus, and the last part was mostly due to the fact he was Santa Claus.

“Befana…may I have this dance?” asked Santana.

“Y-yes,” said Befana. “Of course…Santana.”

Santana took Befana by the waist and pulled her close. The curves of her body were familiar, but at the same time, unfamiliar, to his hands. The heady scent of her feminine aura entered his nose, and he took in her aroma. She smelled sweet and nutty, like freshly baked amaretti cookies, the almond desserts they’d enjoyed many a night at her place on the Italian coast.

“You know…it’s traditional to move your feet or your arms or something,” said Befana.

“When?” asked Santana.

“When…you dance?” suggested Befana. “You did ask me to dance, right?”

“Oh, right,” said Santana.

Santana realized he hadn’t thought past the part where he would ask Befana to dance, but then, the music changed from pop to a string quartet playing a soft waltz. That was a dance Santana knew, and, from his past with Befana, he knew she knew it as well.

Santana looked for the source of the music and found it — as the conductor was wearing a white sheet and a set of glowsticks, linked in a chain, all around his neck. The conductor had also snipped two holes out of the top of his costume so he could let his curved goat horns hang loose. They poked through the top of the outfit. The horny old goat, seeing Santana look at him, gave him a thumbs up.

Santana shook his head. Apparently, Krampus was sure that one way or another, he’d get Santana and Befana back together…but Santana knew that some things were like snow globes. Once they were broken, it was nearly impossible to put them back together, and they could never be exactly as they once were.

Of course, as soon as Santana turned, he managed to step on Befana’s feet, because he wasn’t focused on the dance.

“Ouch!” said Befana.

“Sorry,” said Santana.

“You know, you don’t have to hurt me just because you’re dressed up as Père Fouettard,” teased Befana. “When women say they want it rough…they don’t usually mean that they want you to crush their toes!”

“It’s been a while since I did this,” said Santana.

“I’m out of practice too,” admitted Befana. “After all — I should know to avoid your big dang feet by now.”

“By now?” asked Santana, raising an eyebrow.

“I just meant…we’d danced so much together, that, well, I’d gotten used to avoiding them — your clompers, that is,” said Befana, blushing. “Whatever. It’s been…a while since I danced.”

“How long?” asked Santana.

“An embarrassingly long amount of time,” admitted Befana.

“How long?” Santana repeated, before leaning in to whisper something in his ex-girlfriend’s ear. “You can’t lie to me, Befana — after all, that might just get you on my Naughty List.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” said Befana.

“Okay, on three,” said Santana. “One…two…three.”

At the same time, they both said, “1989.”

“Let me guess — some New Year’s Eve party?” asked Santana. “Some handsome warlock from Prague?”

“It was an ‘eve’ party — a private one, on Christmas Eve,” said Befana, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me — Christmas might be about toys and games, but this…this is one game you don’t want to play Santana.”

“That…was my last time too,” admitted Santana.

“I see,” said Befana. “I guess sometimes…we can talk like normal people, even about the past.”

Something glinted in the low light of the party, right into Befana’s eye. She paused and looked up. Santana paused and followed Befana’s gaze. Above them, there was a very special decoration. A giant round ball of plant matter was hovering in the air. It had the red berries of holly and the white berries of a particular plant made for kissing. The white berries were in the shape of a letter ‘P’ for Pandora – who apparently had magically summoned the mistletoe out of thin air! The kissing ball was covered in a sheen of iridescent glitter than glistened in the moonlight of the glass dome covering the top of the ballroom.

“Oh, no,” whispered Befana. “Is that…”

“Mistletoe,” said Santana. “You know what that means.”

“I mean…it is tradition,” said Befana.

Before Befana could make her move, somebody bumped into her and somebody pumped into Santana. Befana fell forward toward Santana and Santana reached to grab Befana and stop her from falling. Befana’s own magic caused her to float a few inches off the ground, to prevent her from falling, causing Befana’s lips to brush against Santana’s, while Santana kept a hold of her soft, broad waist.

Santana was shocked. He couldn’t believe that Fate had brought Befana back to him and that now, they were kissing, the same way that had kissed under the mistletoe that Christmas Eve all those years ago. He leaned into the kiss and gently cupped Befana’s curves as she floated a few inches off of the ground.

Befana pulled herself closer to Santana and ran her hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. She kept her eyes closed and took in a breath. He still smelled the way he’d always smelled – of pine trees and sugar cookies.

The kiss was broken by somebody else bumping into Befana because the pair was still in the middle of the dance floor. Santana caught Befana before she tilted to the floor.

“Do you…wanna go somewhere more private?” whispered Santana.

“I thought you’d never ask,” admitted Befana.

“Well, I am asking,” said Santana.

“Yes, I do,” replied Befana. Santana smiled and led her by the hand through the party, to the exit, out to the halls, to the bright red and white striped elevator in the main lobby of The Workshop.

As the elevator went up to Santana’s office, Befana was surprised to find it didn’t make stops at every dang floor in the workshop like it used to. The elevator stopped. Santana led her through his lobby — still cozy, like a log cabin — and into the most important room at The Workshop.

Befana stepped through the double doors to Santana’s office and looked around the familiar office. Not even the throw pillows on the loveseat, or the fake polar bear skin rug in front of the fire, had changed since she’d left, since the last time she’d seen it — since the night before that fateful Christmas Day.

“It’s funny…it feels like just yesterday, I was in this office,” said Befana. “So many things about The Workshop have changed. I’m glad to see this is still a cozy place.”

“We don’t have to talk about the past,” said Santana.

“But, we do,” said Befana. “Santana…I was wrong to leave.”

“I said, we don’t have to talk about it,” said Santana.

“Fine,” said Befana. “But…you have to let me explain later, okay?”

“Fine,” said Santana. “But, tonight…I just want to spend time with you.”

“W-with me?” asked Befana. “When there’s a whole crowd of folks down there, in your ballroom, who want to see you?”

“Trust me — the food’s good, the music’s good, the dancing’s good,” said Santana. “They can entertain themselves. There’s only one person I want to spend this time with…and it’s you.”

“I…I thought you’d never want me, after what —” started Befana.

“Shh,” said Santana, holding a finger up to Befana’s lips. “Do we really wanna talk about the past?”

“No,” admitted Befana. “I guess not.”

She turned and looked around the office, arms crossed over her body. She’d missed the place. Suddenly, the room filled with light. She turned — lightning was illuminating a storm on the horizon.

“Oh, look,” said Befana, staring out the window. “Guess a storm’s brewing.”

“Blame Boreas, not me,” said Santana. “I can have Krampus arrange for a portal to take you home, or, I suppose if Perchta’s around, she could —”

“I know how to handle my broom in a storm,” said Befana. “However…”

“You’d rather take a portal?” asked Santana.

“However, I’d rather not leave The North Pole tonight,” said Befana, raising an eyebrow. “After all…you and I, we…”

“We what?” asked Santana.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for,” said Befana.

“Well, you know what they say — better late than never,” said Santana.

“Oh, Santana,” gasped Befana as Santana grazed her cheek with his stubble so he could whisper into her ears, “Take off your clothes. Now.”

Befana got up and removed her witch’s hat first. She took off her broom quiver and slipped off her spiky heels.

“I said take your clothes off,” growled Santana, who was now leaning back in one of his leather armchairs. He took the cat o’ nine tails off his back and playfully whipped it at Befana, grazing the tops of her thighs with the tiny ends of the cat o’ nine tails.

“Well, well, it looks like ‘Leather Daddy Santa’ has made a return,” said Befana. “I guess miracles can happen on Christmas…well, except, it’s not Christmas yet, is it? It’s Christmas Eve Eve, as you folks call it.”

Before Befana could continue, she was interrupted by a jingling sound that rang out around The Workshop.