Santa Claus's Arc

Chapter 7 of 5

The broken sled lay far behind in the snow. Santa stood on the high roof with the bells hanging free from the Rex's collar. One jump would ring them. One ring would wake the street below, where dark windows waited and children slept. He had hundreds of homes left and the sky was turning gray. The fast trick was useless if it screamed with every leap. Ginger Breadwell climbed up a drainpipe and dropped onto the roof beside him. Flour dusted her round cheeks. She had helped him rig the last fix, and she looked at the loose bells now with a frown. "Snow won't hold them. Wood breaks. We need something that won't quit." Something rustled inside Santa's open gift sack. A snake poked its head out. It wore a tiny red coat with white fur trim and a small pointed cap. It had curled itself around a stack of gifts to keep warm. Beside it, a lizard in bright holiday colors clung to the sack's rim, tail wrapped tight. They had crawled in somewhere among the deliveries and ridden along. "Out, both of you," Santa said. But the snake flexed its long body and he stopped. It was muscle, end to end. Not wood. Not snow. He lifted the snake from the sack. "Will you hold still?" he asked. The snake blinked up at him and squeezed his wrist once, firm and patient. Santa carried it to the Rex's chest. He coiled the snake around the belled collar and pressed the bells flat beneath its body. The lizard scrambled down his arm and wedged itself against the biggest bell, pinning it from the side. "Jump," Santa told the Rex. "Soft." The dinosaur sprang to the next roof. The snake clenched tight at the landing. The bells pushed into living muscle and made no sound. The lizard held the last one quiet. Below, no window glowed. No child stirred. Ginger grinned. "They grip. They won't crack like wood." She thumped the Rex's flank. "Go." Santa rode on, roof to roof. The snake tightened at each jump and loosened between them, never tiring, never breaking. He cleared a dozen homes, then fifty, then far past the count where the sled had failed. Down each chimney, up again, silent. The sky kept graying at its edge, but the quiet held. Then the snake lifted its head and hissed. Santa followed its eyes to the horizon. Beyond the last rows of roofs, the dark wasn't dark anymore. A thin pink line cut the clouds. The sun was coming, and homes still waited past the edge of town. He had the silence now. He did not have the time. He hauled the Rex to a stop and stared at the brightening sky, counting rooftops against the minutes left before every child in the world woke.