Visions of Sugar Plums by Kristine Grayson

Author:Kristine Grayson [Grayson, Kristine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WMG Publishing

Chapter 13

SHE SHOULD HAVE brought a gas mask. Nissa had forgotten about the cigarette smoke, and she shouldn’t have. It hit her every time. But this winter had been particularly cold and snowy at the North Pole, and the internal heating system at Image Headquarters was very 1950s. It had probably clogged up due to all the tobacco being consumed, and no one had had time in the last few months to do any maintenance.

The pipe and cigar smokers huddled in the back of the conference room, as if they knew they could pollute more air from that location. The cigarette smokers actually tapped their unlit cigarettes on the table, thinking, talking, waiting to light up maybe? They couldn’t be grossed out by the cigar smokers, could they?

Everyone around the table was male, again. The older Image Specialists, the men who created the media Santa, were the only ones here. The women who had been working on the tech last time Nissa had come to this conference room were gone.

They were Image Specialists too, but not senior ones. And Nissa had had their jobs before escaping to the Greater World. They were called “hon,” and “sweetie,” and were asked to bring coffee, which they did. Nissa had actually talked with personnel more than once, complaining about the atmosphere in Image Headquarters—anonymously, of course—and had been told that Image Headquarters would remain an Old Boys Club until the Old Boys decided to retire.

She had no idea how long that would be, because everyone’s lives here were magically lengthened. Even the non-magical humans who came to work here as adults managed to get an extra hundred or so years out of it. Those who had some magic sometimes had two hundred or more years.

And these guys—well, most of them were part elf (some would say part S-Elf, but she didn’t really want to look at the genealogies to check)—and she was truly unclear as to how long they lived. Her mother’s grandparents still lived, but wouldn’t say how old they were. Elves didn’t talk about personal things, like longevity or family matters, which was why it took so long for the Image Specialists to come up with an image for Mrs. Claus. She wanted to remain anonymous—and technically she was, since her name was not (in the North Pole, anyway) Mrs. Claus.

In fact, she looked nothing like the rotund, cheerful woman of the Image Specialist’s imagination. Nissa always thought of her more as Cruella de Vil—with a mean streak.

But of course Nissa didn’t say that. She didn’t say much when she was at the Pole. It was safer not to.

And now, she had the meeting she’d been dreading for weeks. In which she would probably have to speak. And, she worried, if she said something wrong, she could lose her job and her beloved New York apartment.

She had worn black pants and a loose red tunic to this meeting, clothes that were easily washed. She actually had started a closet in her

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