The Naughty List (8 page)

David nodded his thanks and offered her a pair of chopsticks. He dug in with relish, declaring blissfully, “Awesome. You should eat before the food gets cold.”

Rosalie eyed him in disbelief.
He’s sitting there…so normal…like nothing ever happened.
She burst out, “What the hell are you?”

He swallowed and answered in all seriousness. “I’m an elf.”

Rosalie stiffened. Her mind immediately filed his comment under Lunatic Ramblings. She scanned the tabletop now littered with empty cartons from the Golden Palace. Where did she put that damn pepper spray?

David laid down his chopsticks. “I know what you think, but could I do this…” With a puff of air, he disappeared and then reappeared almost immediately. “…if I were an ordinary human?”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped open. Her brain rifled through dozens of explanations before she settled on the most logical one. “I’m in a coma. You are a hallucination caused by a severe allergic reaction to the elf hat.”

“No coma,” declared David cheerfully. “No hallucinations, no allergic reactions, although continued use of that hat will definitely lead to serious mental health issues.”

Why is my hallucination arguing with me?
“Elves don’t exist,” she insisted.

“And yet…” He spread his arms with a flourish. “Here I am.” He popped out and in again. “Ta-da.”

His carefree attitude was maddening. Rosalie had offered a rational scenario to convince him she was crazy and he wasn’t real. Damn it, why didn’t the hallucination get the point and leave her alone in the nice coma ward? She tried again. “Elves are a foot tall, and you’re like…what? Five-seven?”

“Five-eight and a quarter,” he bristled. Height was obviously a touchy subject even to a figment of her imagination. “And I’m not an elf. I’m an E-L-F, all capitals. The letters stand for Elemental Life Form. All E.L.F.s are Integrals, early beings tied to the aggregate forces of nature. There are others. We call them the three D’s—Demons, Divinities, and Deities.”

Her brain registered the words, but they didn’t process. “You…divinities…what?”

David regarded her with obvious approval. “Most humans would have run screaming from the room by now.” He tapped his chopstick on her plate. “You eat. I’ll explain.”

Staring transfixed at the elf or rather E.L.F, Rosalie picked up a chopstick.
Let him speak. In a few minutes a nurse will enter with my meds and I’ll fall back into oblivion.
She took a bite of orange chicken, surprised at how delicious the imaginary food tasted. Hopefully the nurse would take her time.

“As I said, E.L.F.s are Integrals; so are dryads, gnomes, Japanese Kami, the Indian Vedic, Viking war gods, the Greek and Roman Keek">“As I mythos, and a host of others. We keep a low profile for safety. Contrary to popular belief, the stories about us as all powerful are hooey, only one or two extraordinary skill per Integral. E.L.F.s teleport.”

Rosalie swallowed. The chicken was excellent, just like the chicken at the Golden Palace. She couldn’t remember ever eating a realistic dinner in a dream. The food smelled great, too. She’d never smelled anything in a dream either. Doubts about the coma theory crept in. She eyed him suspiciously. “If Integrals are real, how come people don’t know about you?”

David shrugged. “Integral numbers were always shaky, made more so by infighting and turf battles. Over the centuries, we interbred with humans, lost the physical aspects, but retained mystical elements. Now we look like everybody else.”

Rosalie hesitated. He sounded so reasonable. Her steadfast belief in a mental breakdown faltered. “Let’s say, I believe you, and I don’t, because I still like the coma theory, but for conversation sake—what do you want with me?”

“Integrals maintain a hidden organization. Many own mystical weaponry and treasures handed down from generation to generation. People would kill to get their hands on them, not to mention…” He shifted uncomfortably. “…some of us are descended from hellspawn. Let’s just say I know more than a few you should never borrow money from. As a precaution, long ago Integrals decided the most powerful objects should be kept under lock and key at corporate headquarters in New York City.”

Rosalie nearly choked on her eggroll. “You’re incorporated?”

“Of course. We pay our taxes. No one wants to mess with the IRS. Certain families because of their inbred sensitivity to the objects are chosen as guardians. That brings me to why I’m here. One of the objects disappeared. I tracked The Book to Penrose’s.”

Rosalie gave him the eye. “I don’t know where you get your intel, but I assure you we don’t stock magical relics, not even special order.”

David’s banter vanished. Through a crack in the E.L.F.’s friendly façade, Rosalie glimpsed something hidden underneath. Concern? No…fear. Unconsciously, she shivered. What rattles a mystical being with the ability to teleport away at the first sign of trouble? Now would be a good time to wake up from this dream.
But you don’t believe this is a dream or a hallucination anymore, do you?

Desperation crept into his voice. “The Book is in Penrose’s. I know it. I feel it. I just can’t find it.”

“Why come to me?”

“You know the store.” He dropped his gaze. “I hadn’t planned to reveal myself to anyone at Penrose’s. Integrals keep their existence on the down low for security reasons, but…” He fumbled with the words, his face growing red. “You got into trouble because of the candy and the notes. I decided before asking for help, I owed you an apology.”

“I thought you were a Sneaky Shopper,” Rosalie blurted out and then chuckled in embarrassment. “You have the right skill set.”

Some of the weariness left the E.L.F.’s face. “I guess I do, but the Sneaky Shopper was the lady with the red eyeglass frames. I followed her when she tailed you and heard her call your boss. I thought maybe if I explained everything…” He reached out and grasped her hand. “Please, Rosalie, I need someone who knows all the ins and outs of Penrose’s. If The Book gets into the wrong hands…”

He looked so lost. Rosalie’s skin warmed under his touch. She cleared her throat. “Why did you leave the notes?”

He lookalign="justify">“I…well…I wanted to see you smile.” He dropped her hand and flushed. “People haven’t done much smiling lately since The Book disappeared.”

Rosalie eyed him askance. “All this over a book?”

“Not just a book. The Book. The most magical, powerful book of all, one of the oldest mystical relics. My family is the official keeper. The duty was passed down for dozens of generations and became mine when I turned twenty-one. The Book is a codex tapping into each individual’s unique spiritual essence. Grievances and moral choices are weighed and measured. The result is the separation of humans and Integrals into two lists with the propensity for virtue on one side verses baser characteristics on the other that detour an individual from a righteous path.”

Rosalie wrinkled her brow, straining to understand. “Okay, a book with two lists. On one side are nice people, and on the other…” Her eyes widened.
Oh, no. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t possibly mean…
She shot him a piercing gaze. He looked away and studied an empty take-out carton.
Oh, cripes.
“The Book is the Naughty and Nice List!” She sunk back into her seat, stunned. “Are you telling me I’m sitting across the table from one of Santa’s Elves?”
Where is the nice nurse with those meds?

David cleared this throat. “I never exactly said I wasn’t. He’s
the
Santa, by the way, an honorary title, given to the head of clan E.L.F. Chief of Norse deities is called the Odin, head of Middle Eastern Demons is the Baal, that sort of thing. Dad’s real name is Brian.”

“Dad? He’s your father?”

“Well, yeah. I told you, The Book is a family thing. Dad is a direct descendant of a Norse forest deity. You’d like him. Helluva nice guy, nothing ever fazes him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s jolly.”

“All right, fine,” David added with an eye roll. “He’s jolly, but not fat. He works hard to keep off the middle-age spread. He and Mom go to the gym.”

“There’s a Mrs. Claus, too?”

“Of course,” he sputtered. “I didn’t spontaneously generate from nothing. Her name is Grace, she’s human, and has an MBA… Mom and Dad met in college. By the way, the last name is K-l-o-s-s. Great-great-grandpa tweaked the spelling when the family immigrated back in the 1880’s.”

“The rest of the legend is nothing but bunk,” the E.L.F. continued. “Live at the North Pole? My folks own a condo in New York City, and Dad hates the cold. Toys built by elves? If nothing else, Integrals are excellent business people. None of us will give away stuff for free or work without good medical, dental, and retirement plans.”

“No flying reindeer?” jumped in Rosalie. David shook his head. She offered up a weak smile. “I’m a little disappointed.”

He grinned back. “Don’t be. You ever get up close to one? Reindeer are dumber than a sack of three-day old garbage and smell about the same.”

“So, the story is—”

“—a story, but The Book is real. Each person who’s alive—who’s ever lived is in there, assigned to one list or the other.” The intensity in his green eyes burned with an inner flame. “Understand, Rosalie, The Book is never wrong. It sees right into your soul and knows not only which list you should be on, but also why. You can’t hide from The Book. You can’t lie to The Book. It always knows the truth and judges accordingly.”

Shaken by the depth of his feeling, Rosalie dared a question. “What happens if you’ Kens acre assigned to the Naughty List?”

“You mean moral consequences? There are none. The Book lists the sins. Penalties are either human or Integral decisions.”

Rosalie shook her head in confusion. This dream made less and less sense. “Then what’s the point?”

“The Book has a karmic aspect. People on the Nice List, attract more nice people and vice versa. Ever do something wrong and get a bad feeling?”

“Like a guilty conscience?”

“The Book sent a warning you’d slipped onto the wrong list. Being placed in one category or another not only affects you, but people around you. Did your mother ever say to choose friends wisely?” Rosalie nodded. “She was right. Hang around people on the Naughty List long enough and good fortune heads south.” Abruptly, he leaned forward. “Think about the nicest person you know.”

A picture popped into Rosalie’s head. “My friend, Marissa Garrett.”

“I’m willing to bet she’s on the Nice List, attracting more nice people to her. Good things happen when nice people stick together.”

“Wait a minute,” Rosalie protested. “Her son is sick. She has money troubles. How is that nice?”

“It isn’t,” David agreed, “but that’s not how the List works. The Book doesn’t prevent bad things from happening, but bad times don’t stick to people on the Nice List. Once The Book is back under lock and key,” he stated with confidence, “your friend’s life will take a turn for the better.”

Elves, Naughty and Nice Lists, Santa Claus…excuse me, the Santa Brian Kloss, Mrs. Grace, and their bundle of joy, David.
Rosalie’s head spun.

David’s voice filled with sympathy. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We usually don’t dump so much on an individual at a time. Corporate has a twelve step program for breaking the news to humans gently.”

Rosalie looked the E.L.F. square in the eye. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down.
Damn, I think I believe him.
“Say all this is true—what happened to The Book?”

The E.L.F. scowled. “It was stolen. I have to get it back. The Book acts as the world’s conscience, sending subliminal warnings to those who stray to the naughty side. Outside the confines of our family’s possession, The Book is vulnerable to malevolent influences. Its ability to make unbiased, objective judgments is compromised. Naughty becomes the norm. More and more people fall off the Nice List. The Book can’t warn them to get the hell back before it’s too late. The Naughty List grows longer, the Nice List ever shorter, and the world tumbles into chaos.” His face twisted in anguish. “Please, help me, Rosalie. I’m certain The Book is in Penrose’s. I need someone who knows all the hiding places and would notice if merchandise was altered or moved.”

“What does this thing look like?”

David pantomimed a volume roughly eighteen inches wide by two feet high. “Leather bound, inscribed with runes, locked with a solid gold clasp.”

She wrinkled her brow in thought. “I haven’t seen it, but several storage areas in Central Receiving aren’t used often. Maybe—”

David’s face lit up. “You’ll help me?”

Rosalie was taken aback. This is crazy, her brain insisted. You can’t possibly go along with him. A normal girl would be spritzing pepper spray around like air freshener and chase his hiney right out the door. Simply because he’s exhausted and kind and liked your smile is no reason to—
S Ko&#ounhut up brain. Logic went out the window several hours ago.
“I guess, I will.”

“Thank you, Rosalie, thank you, thank you!” David jumped up and kissed her with exuberance. He immediately pulled back and blurted out, “Sorry, sorry, not a stalker. I swear.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled, flustered. “The store won’t be empty for another couple of hours, but I don’t have a key.”

“No problem. I can dash-away to any place either in my line of sight or I’ve been to before.”

She started. “Dash-away? Are you serious?”

“What can I say? Ever since an ancestor of mine read that dumb-ass poem the word stuck.” David stifled a yawn.

It was hard not to note the fatigue shadowing his expression. Rosalie motioned him to the couch. “Why don’t you put your feet up? I’ll make coffee.”

David slunk wearily toward the sofa, but paused first to plug in the Christmas lights. “Nice,” he noted with approval. “Makes even the elf hat tolerable.” She shot him a doubtful look. “Seriously,” he insisted. “You should see our tree. We only put up handmade ornaments. The Kloss’s are huge fans of macaroni art and glitter.” David sunk into the cushions and rubbed his eyes. “You’re a good person, Rosalie. Your name is definitely on the Nice List.”