Pandora walked into the boardroom, the biggest one in her father’s workshop, carrying her stack of journals. In all of The Workshop, there wasn’t a boardroom bigger, and yet, the room seemed far too small for the number of beings it contained, some of which she didn’t even recognize.

There were even two Christmas trees seated in office chairs.

It was really frikkin’ weird.

Krampus. Avery. Boreas. Ginny. Befana. Of course, there was Santana, with a single free seat next to him that he patted when he locked eyes with Pandora. But, among their number, there were beings she had never spied before, that she had never heard of before.

Pandora walked over to take the free seat next to her father.

“What is all this?” asked Pandora. “Befana told me to get up here, said it was an emergency.”

“It is an emergency,” said Santana. “It’s an emergency meeting. It’s time to save Christmas.”

“Who are all these people?” asked Pandora.

“People you’ll be working with closely in the years to come,” said Santana. “Of course, you know me, Krampus, Avery, Boreas, Ginny, and Befana.” That group waved to everyone else as their names were read, except for Santana, who everyone knew.

“There’s Perchta — she’s sometimes called the ‘female Krampus’ but, uh…well, let’s just say those’re fighting words,” said Santana. “She’s a Christmas demon like Krampus.”

A woman who looked like the female version of Krampus waved. She was wearing a bright sweater and had a basket full of goodies with her.

“Meet Grýla and Leppalúði,” said Santana. “They are the Christmas trolls of Iceland and…”

An older woman and her husband waved. They had bluish skin that almost looked frostbitten.

“…they’ve got thirteen sons, the Yuletide Lads,” said Santana.

Thirteen bad boys, wearing various forms of nightclub attire, were standing across a wall. They didn’t wave but rather, nodded when they were mentioned.

“Each of them handles mischief on a different day of Christmas over in Iceland,” explained Santana. “There’s Stekkjarstaur — the sheep harasser. There’s Giljagaur — hides in trenches, steals milk. Stúfur steals leftovers from pans. Þvörusleikir is a spoon licker. Pottaskefill steals leftovers from pots. Askasleikir licks bowls — even if his name sounds like he licks something else. There’s Hurðaskellir — he slams doors. Skyrgámur is just super into yogurt. Bjúgnakrækir steals sausages. Gluggagægir cases joints — peeks into houses to see what to steal. Real classy. Gáttaþefur is a bread thief — real original and totally not a derivative of Victor Hugo’s whole schtick. Ketkrókur uses hooks to steal meat like some kinda pirate, and uh, Kertasníkir…”

“I like candles,” said one of the Yuletide Lads gruffly, taking something out of his mouth. “What of it?” Kertasníkir put the item back in his mouth. It was a long tapered pumpkin spice scented candle, with the wick and label still on it.

“And…of course, this is my daughter, Pandora Claus,” said Santana. “She’ll be taking over for me…eventually. Anyway. We’re all here because of an emergency. Her boyfriend, Jack Frost, an ice elemental, started melting.”

“And why does that affect us?” asked Perchta. “No offense, Santana, but…the ice elementals have always handled their own stuff.”

“Because if their magic is waning, our magic may be in danger of the same fate,” said Santana. “All magic is powered by belief. If people are no longer believing in the ice elementals, then who is to say that the fire elementals aren’t next?”

“Our powers are already pale compared to what they used to be centuries ago,” admitted Boreas’ wife Ginny, a fire elemental.

“Exactly,” said Santana. “And Befana?”

“As a witch…my powers are not as strong as they once were, due to the lack of belief in witches,” admitted Befana. “I’m still doing okay, but…it just isn’t the same as it used to be.”

“Who is to say that the trolls aren’t next? Or the demons? Or all of Christmas-kind?” asked Santana. “So my daughter, Pandora…well, she’s been trying to find a way to get people to believe in ice magic again. Have you been successful?”

“I…have not,” admitted Pandora. “I took Avery’s advice and looked through all my journals, all eleven years of journals, and the notes I have for this year, and…I didn’t come up with anything. It’s so stupid. All I have are notes about romance and couples falling in love and other girlish things.”

“It’s okay,” said Santana. “Well, that means we just have to open the floor up to ideas. Does anyone have any ideas on how to increase the level of belief in magic, among humans?”

“What about, oh, I don’t know, revealing ourselves to them?” asked a Yuletide lad.

“Humans choose not to see what they don’t want to see,” said Santana. “Half the time, I don’t even need to use stealth magic on my sleigh. Humans choose not to see it…but luckily, they still believe in Christmas.”

“Okay, well, what about causing a giant snowstorm, so they have to believe in the power of ice magic?” asked Perchta.

“Yeah, and kill half the humans that could believe in the ice elementals, to begin with, and make the others bitter and want to hunt us down,” said Krampus. “Great idea.”

“Okay, well, I don’t see you coming up with a better solution,” said Perchta. “What, you think we should use demoncraft to fix this?”

“The last thing we want to do is involve the powers of Hell in this,” said Krampus. “You know that it’s rarely wise to make a deal with devils.”

The room fell silent as no more contributions were made to the discussion.

‘Twas the night before the night before Christmas, when all through The Workshop

Not a creature was stirring, except for one whispering Yuletide Lad…

“Told you it was a mistake to come to this,” said lad. “All we did was get roasted by The Jolly Fellow.”

“Boys!” hissed their mother, Grýla. “You are here to help Santana Claus, which is an honor! I swear, I raised a bunch of little trolls!”

“You literally did,” said one of the literal trolls. “If you didn’t drag us here, we’d be preparing jólabókaflóðið, so when your powers fade, remember, we were looking out for the family.”

“We’re not the frikkin’ mafia,” hissed Grýla.

“Jólabókaflóðið?” asked Pandora. “What’s that? I’m sure you can do it here.”

“Fat chance,” said one of the lads. “It’s an Icelandic tradition, one of the ones that those people carry on yearly. It’s a bit modern, but they love it.”

“It means ‘Yule book flood,’” explained another lad. “A traditional Christmas gift in Iceland is books and chocolate. So…there’s often a bunch of Icelandic books released right before Christmas, because practically everyone is giving out books, to friends, family, coworkers, whatever.”

“And…this helps people believe in Christmas magic?” asked Pandora.

“Yeah, we said that,” said a lad. “It makes our powers stronger, because it makes the belief in Icelandic Christmas magic more powerful, like a volcanic eruption of Christmas magic. It’s insane.”

“And these books…they can be about anything?” asked Pandora.

“Of course,” said a lad. “Thrillers, romance novels, technical manuals, whatever.”

“That’s it,” said Pandora. “Maybe…maybe my journals aren’t so useless after all.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Befana.

“This is gonna sound crazy…but, what if we did a worldwide jólabókaflóðið, and…we gave out a ton of books and chocolate to the people that love books and chocolate?” asked Pandora.

“And who would that be?” asked Avery.

“People like you…like me…who believe in love and other things they can’t see,” said Pandora. “People who read romance novels.”

“And what does this have to do with the ice elementals?” asked Boreas.

“Don’t you see?” asked Pandora, flipping through her stack of journals. “Jack…he was here with me, the whole time, part of my shenanigans, doing ice elemental stuff. People will read about me, and about him, and about all the crazy stuff that happened down at The Wreath. They’ll read about you, and about Ginny, and about dad and Befana, and about Krampus and Avery, and about the eight totally in love couples Jack and I helped push together down at The Wreath. And…well, maybe if they can believe in the romances, they can believe in the rest of the magic.”

“That’s a crazy idea,” said Boreas, crossing his arms.

“Oh,” said Pandora softly.

“So, how do we start?” asked Boreas. “It may be crazy, but a lot of the best ideas are.”

“I…hadn’t actually gotten that far,” said Pandora. “I have no idea what we’d do.”

“Well, I do,” said Santana. “I’ve run logistics — and every other damn department — at The Workshop for years. Prepping for jólabókaflóðið is going to be about as hard as preparing for Ragnarök. We’re going to need those journals turned into romance novels, because we can’t just publish them as-is, can we?”

“No, sir,” admitted Pandora. “They’re diaries…but there are stories in there that can absolutely be framed differently.”

“We’ll get all the best writers from the Christmas elf community to translate the journals, chapter by chapter, into romance novels,” said Santana. “But, getting the books into digital form is one thing. Getting them into physical form so we can leave them under trees, is another.”

“You’re going to need labor for that,” said Krampus.

“The ice elementals can provide that,” said Boreas.

“You’re going to need materials too,” said Befana. “You’re going to need paper for the books, as well as chocolate — a lot of it if you expect it to last a reader through twelve whole books.”

“The chocolate part’s not optional?” asked Santana.

Befana exchanged a look with Avery, then with Ginny, then with Pandora, then, back with her husband.

“No, honey, the chocolate is absolutely not optional,” said Befana pointedly but calmly. “You cannot expect readers to read romance novels without big boxes of chocolate. Just as our magic runs on belief, their powers are fueled by chocolate. Good grief! You truly have no idea how romance readers operate…but luckily, I have an e-reader full of the things. You see, Santana…I am not just a Christmas witch. I’m a woman, with desires and needs that only the bawdiest of space pirate romances can sate. I’m a romance reader, and that’s pretty damn magical.”

“Okay, well, then we’re going to have to find a way to get the chocolates,” said Krampus.

“Noël?” asked Santana.

“Yeah, by ‘Noël,’” said Krampus with a frown.

“No, I mean, Tía Noël, you should stop sulking, and come out,” said Santana. “You too, Tío Nadal.”

The two Christmas trees morphed into things looking like humans, one turning into a man with a brown, crackled bark-like skin, the other turning into a woman with green leafy skin.

“You called?” asked the woman.

“Are you two planning on helping or what?” asked Santana.

“You didn’t list us on your roll-call sheet,” said the woman.

“Well, you didn’t seem to be in a participatory mood,” said Santana. “Pandora, meet your aunt and uncle, Tía Bûche de Noël and Tío Tió de Nadal.”

“Hey,” said Pandora, waving awkwardly at the naked tree people. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” said the woman. “Well, Santana, let me guess — you want us to, what, help you with this little scheme?”

“That’s literally the reason you were invited,” said Santana, rubbing his temple.

“Does your daughter know why we are reluctant to help?” asked Tío Nadal.

“Not…exactly,” admitted Santana.

“Well, the reason we never visit is that your father here let his little demon friend spread a rather nasty rumor about your uncle,” said Tía Noël. “Just as your troll friends here are from Iceland, and Befana is from Italy, we are also from specific countries. I am French, and your uncle is Spanish…and Krampus started the rumor that he wasn’t just a tió de Nadal, but that he was…oh, I can’t even say it.”

“The…pooping log,” said Krampus between giggles.

“I had never been so insulted,” said Tío Nadal. “Here I am, a tree deity, and I am being insulted by this, by this, by this demon, and being called a piece of caca. I am a Christmas shifter, not a Christmas shitter!”

“It was pretty funny,” said Krampus. “I got all the kids to hit their Christmas logs and tell it to poop and give them candy and nuts! You gotta admit — it got people to believe in you.”

“Demon, it is you who should have the scatological name!” hissed Tío Nadal. “You are the one with the farts from Hell!”

“I guess it is good we aren’t going to the demons for help with this issue,” said Boreas.

“Well, for that insult, they have both been cursed,” said Tía Noël. “Krampus may only grow Christmas trees. All other plants will die in his care. And Avery…you cannot make a proper bûche de Noël.”

“It’s so unfair because I didn’t even do anything!” said Avery, crossing her arms.

“You took too long to date Krampus, and given he was already being punished, well, that’s the one I picked,” said Tía Noël.

“Regardless of your grudges against those two…will you help us with the books and the chocolate?” asked Pandora. “I don’t know how we’ll do it without you two, and…well, what if this problem spreads and —”

“Young niece, we’ll help you,” said Tía Noël. “That is…if we get an apology for the rumor started by Krampus.”

“It’s a tradition!” protested Krampus. “You want me to apologize for a tradition?”

“Krampus!” hissed Pandora. “Apologize!”

“They’ll find a reason not to accept it,” said Krampus.

“Do it anyway!” ordered Pandora.

“Sorry,” said Krampus.

“Sounded fake, not accepted,” said Tío Nadal.

“See? What did I tell you?” asked Krampus.

Pandora turned to face the pair of trees. “Well, it probably doesn’t mean anything coming from me…but, I’m sorry about their behavior. I’m sorry about the rumor, and I’m sorry about them taking forever to date. Trust us — everyone’s annoyed with that.”

“Apology accepted,” said Tío Nadal. “Darling?”

“I accept it as well,” said Tía Noël. “I will provide chocolates for this, this ‘Yule book flood.’” She waved her hands, and a rain of chocolates started streaming down from her palms. There were tiny chocolate bars, wrapped truffles, and chocolate chips for baking, all coming out in a flood that would make any BBW’s mouth water.

“And I will provide the materials for paper,” said Tío Nadal, waving his hand and making a rather unappetizing pile of paper pulp appear on the table. “Any idea how much paper you will need?”

“How many stories are there?” asked Santana, turning to Pandora.

“Uh…eleven full stories,” said Pandora.

“Eleven?” asked Santana with a frown. “Well, that won’t do. Eleven’s an odd number. We’re going to need you to come up with a twelfth story, even just notes that one of the writers can turn into a full-fledged book.”

“Me? Come up with a whole story?” asked Pandora. “I can try.”

“Good,” said Santana.

“But…I’m not very good at writing,” said Pandora. “How do I make the series end?”

“That’s up to you,” said Santana. “We all get to write our own endings.”

“And speaking of endings…if we don’t manage to save ice magic by midnight on Christmas Eve, I’m going to have to freeze Jack for a millennium,” said Boreas. “It’s the only way to be sure he won’t melt away into nothing, and that’s the longest amount of time I’ll be able to freeze him for. I can’t freeze time…but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

“What are the alternatives?” asked Pandora.

“If I don’t freeze him, he could keep melting and melt away by New Year’s Day,” said Boreas. “It makes the most sense to just freeze him, thaw him out in a millennium when a cure is found, and…see what we can do. That is, if whoever is alive then will be able to do it. If the magic fades, I’ll lose my powers and start to age as a mortal would. I can’t tell the future. I can only prepare for it.”

“Okay, so let’s say we get these books written and edited in time for Christmas,” said Pandora. “What then? What about printing them out and putting them online? How are we gonna do that? Most of the Christmas elves are busy with their normal duties, and we already have issues getting all the presents made by the deadline as it is. We’re already going to be borrowing a bunch of them to help turn the journals into romance novels.”

“But the ice elementals aren’t,” Boreas reminded Pandora. “If our magic is disappearing anyway, this is our one last shot to save it. As I said before, elementals can help out the elves. They’ll do whatever they’re told.”

“How’ll you get them there?” asked Pandora. “Can they all fly?”

“I’ll handle it,” said Krampus, nodding at Boreas, who nodded back.

“Alright, well, what about getting the presents to people?” asked Pandora. “Delivering all these books is going to require more manpower.”

“Or maybe, it’s going to require some woman power,” said Befana, giving Ginny a fist bump. “You know, I have a whole garage full of luxury Italian sports-brooms, right? Avery, I can count you in, right?”

“Uh, heck to the yes,” said Avery, reaching over to fist bump Befana and Ginny. “Team BBW is on the job…and that includes you, Pandora. After all, you have that brand-new sleigh.”

“I do? I mean, I can? It does?” asked Pandora, blathering. “Dad, am I…”

“You’re ready, Panda Claus,” said Santana. “You’ll never feel one hundred percent prepared for a ride, because every year, all kinds of shit pops up. It’s not like we have more time to train you.”

“Okay, but, my sleigh…it’s going to require some reindeer,” said Pandora. “Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen…they’re your reindeer. What are we gonna do, split them? Use half a team each?”

“I’ll handle it,” Krampus said again.

“How?” asked Santana, furrowing a brow.

“Let’s just say some people owe me a favor,” said Krampus. “Some people that…promised to help if The North Pole was ever in a pickle.”

“But this is a problem for The South Pole,” said Avery.

“Mere semantics, my dear,” chastised Krampus, raising a brow. “After all, North, South, what does it matter? This season, everything’s been turned upside-down.”