‘Quite a scene you had,’ Albyrne remarked conversationally.

  Lacey grabbed a towel and dried her hands. ‘Yes, it was. If I’d known a hungry stomach would cause so much trouble, I would’ve gotten some food first,’ she said, trying to laugh it off.

  Albyrne, however, didn’t follow her cue. ‘It’s okay, lass. Some days you win, some days you lose.’

  He studied his still-stained hands. ‘Bah, why is this so hard to get off?’ Apparently giving up, he also grabbed a towel and began drying, smearing streaks of green onto it.

  ‘That’s a lot of paint,’ she said.

  He grinned, pulling his crumpled body up straighter in enthusiasm. ‘I’m doing four-leaf clovers for Santa. Come Christmas night, he’s going to be the luckiest man in existence. And I’ll slip a few in for the kids here and there as well,’ he added with a wink.

  Lacey smiled. ‘I’m sure they’ll love it. Is anyone helping you?’

  ‘Oh no, little miss. This is a one-leprechaun job, that only a leprechaun can do. And now, I’d better go fill my belly.’

  Walking past her, he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry, lass, your luck will return. It always does.’

  ‘Somehow, I feel like it already has,’ she murmured to herself, fighting the urge to check her shoulder for a green handprint, as she watched him walk into the lunch room.

  ??

  The afternoon shift was quiet, everyone focusing on their own work, in the lull after lunch. Gift-wrapping paper rustled in the background, occasionally interrupted by the sound of metal scissors sliding through material. A Jack-in-the-Box screamed, as it slid past the hands of its handler, only to be squished down into containment again. No one even raised an eyebrow. Here, in the workshop, it was all just background noise.

  Lacey sat at her bench updating her notes. Toy pieces lay scattered around her, providing cover. With luck, anyone looking would conclude that she was really making toys. Santa would forgive her, she was sure. Her real task was finding Jinxy after all.

  She really wanted to talk to Peter, but he was out with the search teams. However much she longed to confer with him, to pursue the new Albyrne angle, it could wait. Possibly being outside in the snow and cold was a much larger threat to Jinxy’s life, than anything Albyrne may have had to do with it.

  She looked down at her notebook, where she had circled the names Tinsel, Blinky, and Huey. Even though her main suspicion rested on Albyrne right now, she and Peter would need to talk to them too. Could she go question them? As an outsider, it would be awkward for her to ask around for them by herself. Besides, if they were able-bodied enough to move ice blocks, they were likely also searching with Peter.

  The ticking of the large cuckoo clock mounted high on the front wall filled the room. Staring around, Lacey noticed a big wooden calendar on the wall for the first time. In the day slot, a slat prominently reading ‘Reinday’ was inserted. Below it, two big wooden blocks were turned to 09, with the words ‘Days till Christmas Eve’ painted brightly below it.

  She snorted softly. Right there, in front of her eyes. If she had paid attention from the start, she could’ve avoided the morning’s mishap with Peter. She didn’t blame herself, however. Hitting your head and being transported to another world cuts a person a lot of slack.

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  She rearranged the components on her desk. Who was she kidding? There was no way she could concentrate on making toys after seeing the green paint dripping from Albyrne’s hands. She subtly shifted on her seat, bringing him into view. He was sitting in a far corner of the workshop, seemingly immersed in slathering paint onto wooden four-leaf clovers.

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied the shillelagh by his side. Solid wood and sturdy. How hard could you hit an elf over the head with that?

  Soft snores sounded from the small supply closet. Bethy was still out cold. How hard had she been driving herself to be this exhausted?

  Lacey sighed and shook her head. She was good at waiting. Everyone always said so. But what most didn’t know was how she’d become that good. It was mostly through waiting by herself in front offices for appointments to speak to counsellors, while clocks ticked and pens scratched in the background. And that one week where— she shook her head. Oh Cassy. Why?

  She looked down to find a page full of hearts, flowers, candy canes, and stars; her hand poised to write a name in cursive script. She dropped the pen, leaning back in her seat and staring at the ceiling instead.

  Albyrne was humming an upbeat tune, a happy smile on his face as he painted.

  She wasn’t used to this. Back on earth it had never been necessary to stare at a mystery and do nothing about it. She’d dig into the numbers, calculating and reasoning, until she discovered the answer. And then she would hand it back to the secretaries to close the file. Mystery solved.

  But here… Worry for Jinxy gnawed at her.

  Yes, it was important to make sure that Jinxy wasn’t dying an icy death. But, she could equally be in danger in the village.

  What if Albyrne had her locked up somewhere, hungry and cold, with no hope of escape? What if he had sold her to human traffickers? She might be transported further out of reach with every hour that went by. What if?

  Lacey clenched the desk, silently drumming her sock-covered feet on the floor.

  She could question Albyrne right now. But if the paint was just a coincidence, they’d both be embarrassed. Maybe she could ask him to chat outside. She was sure he would go with her. But that was dangerous. He might be old, but that shillelagh looked tough. She could wait. She should wait. The wood gleamed wetly in the light.

  As if to confirm her thought, he reached for the shillelagh and agilely swooped it through the air, deftly bopping each finished clover.

  She squirmed, feelings clashing within her. Was that really who she was? Willing to go all in when it was nice and safe in her own office with harmless numbers dancing in front of her. But when push came to shove, when a sweet, sparkly elf like Jinxy’s life depended on it, she wasn’t willing to walk the line? What kind of person did it make her?

  A person who stayed alive, her sense of self-preservation whispered. Someone who lived to fight another day.

  She picked up the pen again, meaning to further analyse what she knew so far, only to find herself pressing the nib so hard into the notebook that it punctured the pages beneath. Taking a deep breath, she laid the pen down and placed her hands in her lap.

  There was a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. Albyrne was rinsing his paintbrush, and closing the can of paint. He looked at his paint-smeared hands, then got up with a sigh and headed over to the communal basin. Water gurgled as it poured from the tap, splashing down into the sink. The sound conjured the image of the frozen waterfall in the glade of snowdrops, it was so intrinsically Jinxy. She could almost see the little elf dancing through it, the gurgling water turning into laughter echoing through the ice.

  The image shattered as Albyrne twisted the tap closed with a squeak.

  Enough. She would not sit silently by as Jinxy’s life is extinguished.

  The next thing Lacey knew, she was hastily gathering up her toy parts, clearing her bench, and dropping the notebook into her little carry bag. Getting up, she walked out as normally as she could, shrugging into her coat and hurriedly slipping her feet into her boots. She went out, quickly rounded the corner and peered back, waiting for Albyrne to emerge.

  It only took a few moments before he also stepped out into the arctic cold. Tapping his shillelagh, he sauntered down the street. Lacey paused. It wasn’t too late to stop here and wait for Peter. That’s what he would want her to do.

  But what if she stopped now, and later it turns out that this brief moment had been the difference between life and death? Could she live with herself? She looked at the door to the workshop. It wasn’t too late to go back inside. She could still assemble another toy before the day was done.

  Ahead of her, Albyrne turned a corner, disappearing from view. She took a breath of cold air, then hurried after him, the snow whispering secrets as her feet swished forward on the path.

  ??????

  I’m curious how your instincts line up with hers.

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