Before she even finished her sentence, Corey was up and making his way toward the swinging kitchen door. Once he entered the kitchen, he could see there was simply no excuse for Mr. Waddlebug not answering him when he had yelled for his servant earlier. He was sitting at the round kitchen table, one elbow supporting his rather large noggin, a well-worn book in one hand and a cup of steaming tea at the ready. When Corey entered, he didn’t even look up, as if he was mentally transported away by the story in hand. “Waddlebug!” Corey spat out in a sharp whisper. The sound of his name caught his attention, and the old elf sat up quickly, rattling the table and sending droplets of tea onto the wooden surface with a splash, his spoon clattering against the side of the china cup.

“Sorry, sir,” he replied, righting his spoon and setting the book aside. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Corey had no time to argue. “Get me a jar with a lid--but poke some holes in it or something. And be quick about it.” Still whispering, Corey pulled the creature out of his pocket, his hands cupped around it for security, and as Mr. Waddlebug jumped up to do as he was instructed, he glanced curiously at what his master was holding, but he was not able to tell.

After a few moments of hasty action, Mr. Waddlebug produced the requested jar, the tin lid stabbed through enough times to provide adequate oxygen, in his novice opinion. “What is it?” he asked as Corey stepped over to the kitchen counter toward the newly fashioned cage.

Without answering, Corey carefully dropped his captive into the jar, quickly securing the lid so that the little mouse could not escape. “There,” he said proudly, placing both fists on his hips. “Now, she’ll have to come to the North Pole.”

Again, Mr. Waddlebug asked his question, eyeing the mouse curiously. “What is it?”

“What do you mean what is it?” Corey asked, still whispering, but this time his voice a bit louder out of frustration. “It’s a dormouse, of course,” he replied.

“Yes, I can see that,” Mr. Waddlebug admitted. “But why are you keeping it in a jar?”

Corey sighed again, rubbing his brow, suddenly aware that he felt a headache coming on. “Because I want to keep it safe. Once Serendipity realizes it has gone missing, she’ll come up here to retrieve it, and then we will have her.”

Mr. Waddlebug took the information in, chewed on it a moment, and then asked the one question he knew could potentially make his master quite angry. Nevertheless, he needed some clarification. “So, the doll maker refused to come on her own then?”

Corey’s lips pursed for a moment in anger, and he took a deep breath to keep from yelling. At last he replied, “No, she didn’t refuse. Not exactly. She just needs some more persuasion, that’s all. And once she is here and sees all that we have to offer, she’ll stay. I’m sure of it. In the meantime, this little fellow needs to be kept safe and sound. And that is up to you. Do you understand?’

“Yes, of course, sir,” Mr. Waddlebug replied, looking at the little mouse curiously as it tried to claw its way up the sides of the small glass jar.

“And make sure my mother doesn’t find out about this. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“I will,” Mr. Waddlebug assured him.

“Very good,” Corey replied, nodding as he began to step back toward the swinging kitchen door.

“Sir?” Mr. Waddlebug cried after him.

One hand on the door, Corey stopped and turned his head. “What is it?” he asked sharply.

“What is his name?” Mr. Waddlebug asked, smiling at the little mouse in a friendly manner so as to reassure him.

“What difference does it make? He’s nothing more than a bargaining chip,” Corey explained, pushing open the door, and reapplying the confident smile to his handsome face, hoping to hide his frustration, exhaustion, and cynicism.

He might have been able to fool anyone else, but not his mother. “Corey, what’s the matter?” she asked as he returned to the chair he had most recently vacated.

Corey sat down heavily, crossing one leg so that his shiny black boot rested on the opposite knee. “Nothing, Mother. I’m just a little tired,” he assured her, taking away his fake smile and replacing it with a less assertive one, one meant to comfort her.

Eustacia studied her son closely for a moment, attempting to decide whether or not he was being disingenuous with her. “Corey, have you ever thought, perhaps, it’s time to slow down a bit? Start a family?”

“Mother…”

“I’m only saying, when your brother met Pyoria and started working less and concentrating more on his home life, he became much happier--and much easier to live with.”

Corey raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Mother? That I’m difficult to live with?”

“No, of course not, dear--not you. It’s only, I think you would be much happier if you had some balance in your life. You work yourself to death. And being half elf, I would think you would have at least another couple of hundred years before you should even begin to think about full retirement. Why not slow down a bit? You have plenty of time to accomplish all of your professional goals,” Eustacia explained in her gentle, nurturing voice.

As much as Corey wanted to dismiss her words, he knew she spoke the truth. He did work too hard. He had completely ignored any semblance of a private life for decades, if not longer. However, he wasn’t about to agree with her outright, not this moment anyway when he had such an important task at hand. “Mother, please don’t worry about me. When the right woman--or elf, fairy, what have you--comes along, I’ll know it. And I’ll slow down then.”

“But Corey, you’ll never meet her if all you do is work. Unless she’s one of your projects,” Eustacia added, an idea popping into her head. “Corey--what does this Serendipity look like? Is she… pretty?”

The expression on Corey’s face would have answered her if the resounding, “No!” did not, as he reeled in horror. Visions of the crazy-haired woman with alabaster skin so pale she could be mistaken for an albino, her hands covered with paint, her eyes nearly transparent, filled his head, bringing along memories of the stench that seemed to hang around her like a cloud, and he felt his stomach begin to churn again. “No, Mother, I assure you, Serendipity Fizzlestitch is anything but pretty.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Eustacia muttered.

“Don’t worry about me, Mother,” Corey assured her, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m still in my prime. I’m not even one hundred years old yet. There’s plenty of time for me to meet someone. Now, you should be getting home. I’m certain Father will be wondering what’s happened to you.”

“I’m sure you’re correct,” she replied, standing. “Just take care of yourself, Corey.”

Corey stood and wrapped his arms around his mother, stooping to do so. “I will. Never mind me. Now, shall I walk you home?”

“Heavens, no,” she insisted, patting him on the cheek and smiling at her handsome boy. “I can manage. I love you, Son,” she reminded him.

“I love you, too, Mother,” he said, kissing her rosy cheek.

“My sweet, sweet boy. I got so lucky with you, darling. Such a good boy!” She continued to mutter words of affirmation as she took her hooded cloak off of the peg near the door, slipped it on, and let herself out.

Once she left, Corey let out the breath he had been holding. She wouldn’t think he was such a sweet boy if she had any idea that he had just kidnapped a little mouse and now intended to hold it hostage until its rightful owner agreed to come to the North Pole--a place she refused to visit. Nor would his mother agree that he was so spectacular if she could even imagine the lengths he was willing to go to in order to assure that said owner was never able to return to her home in England ever again.