Page 6 of Merry Cris Moose

Tinker frowned, setting down the gadget. “The belief levels? That hasn’t happened in—well, in at least the last couple of centuries.” He turned to Holly. “Any idea what’s causing it?”

“None. I’ve been over all the data and it makes no sense.”

“I had to go south to meet with the head toy designer of Schultz Toys…”

“Keely Blake?” asked Tinker, his head coming up. “Oh, she’s good. Very good. Her toys might have just that spark needed to make the kids’ belief systems go into overdrive.”

“That was my thought, as well,” said Cris, nodding. “Holly and her people have done everything they could,” he said drumming his fingers on the table.

“Nothing is working,” Holly admitted. “I’m really afraid we’re running out of time.”

“Not to worry,” said Jack. “The head honcho is back; I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

Tinker shifted in his seat. “But belief doesn’t just vanish like that. Something—orsomeone—has to be draining it.”

“Agreed,” said Cris, frustration gnawing at him. “We need to figure out what’s happening and get it stopped before it’s too late.”

Holly stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “If the world is losing its belief in Christmas and everything it stands for, we might not have enough magic to finish making the toys or to power Santa’s sleigh. The reindeer can help with Christmas Eve and the way they manipulate time, but there’s nothing else they can do.”

The room went silent, the air heavy and thick with tension as everyone exchanged uneasy glances. Cris could feel the weight of their gazes on him, waiting for direction, for answers. But he didn’t have any. It didn’t help that his mind kept drifting back to Keely. Something about her still lingered in his thoughts.

“Cris?” Tinker’s voice broke through his thoughts. “We need a plan.”

Feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, Cris straightened his back. “First things first,” he said, his voice steady. “We need to isolate the problem. Holly, you and Tinker focus on the factory’s reserves. Look for any anomalies in the system, anything that could point to why the power levels are dropping so rapidly. Jack…”

“I’ll handle the external factors,” Jack interrupted, his eyes locked on Cris. “I’ll check the weather patterns to see if there’s any unusual activity in the northern realms. If someone’s tampering with something, it won’t go unnoticed.”

Cris nodded, grateful for Jack’s willingness to take this seriously. With Jack that wasn’t always a given. “Good. I’ll keepan eye on production levels and the sleigh. If things don’t get better fast, we might need to prepare for the worst.”

“And what about Santa?” Holly asked, her voice hesitant. “He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

“Not if we can help it,” Cris said firmly. “The big guy’s got enough on his plate. This is our problem to solve.”

The room fell silent; the enormity of the situation sinking in. Cris’s mind churned with possibilities, strategies, and the growing fear of what might happen if they didn’t figure out what was happening in time.

As the meeting broke up and he headed for his cabin, his mind drifted back to Keely. He needed to see her again. Maybe Tinker was right. Maybe she could help. Or maybe he was just trying to justify reaching out to her.

He let out a breath, trying to steady himself, but a chill of realization crawled down his spine. Keely wasn’t just some woman. She washiswoman. The thought hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, making his heart pounded in his chest.Fated mate.He hadn’t believed it could happen—not to him. Fated mates happened to predators—lions, tigers, wolves and the like, but not to non-predatory species like him. While moose could be lethal, they were not in the same class as the more overtly violent species. They were, however, incredibly pragmatic, and Cris took great pride in that. He had accepted that his role as Santa’s right-hand man would mean sacrifices. Family, love—those things had never been part of his plan.

Until now.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind was spinning, piecing together the sudden connection that was forming in his head.Keely’s toy designs.They had been brilliant, filled with whimsy and imagination—exactly the kind of thing that could spark belief in children. And belief, more than anything, was the lifeblood of Christmas magic.

It was a long shot, but what if Keely’s innovative creations were the key to reigniting belief? What ifshewas the answer to the crisis they were facing?

He picked up his phone and dialed Tinker. “Tinker, what if we brought on a whole new line of toys?”

“That’s not so easily done, especially this time of year. Most designers are finishing up their work.”

“What about Keely Blake?”

“She works for Schultz…”

“But what if she didn’t? I got the feeling she was holding something back. What if she’s been developing her own line of toys?”

There was silence on the other end. “Maybe. Her designs are different. They’re... innovative, filled with something that’s missing in other toys—even ours. The kind of things that could remind children of the magic and wonder they’ve been losing touch with. If we can introduce her ideas into production, it might be enough to reverse the decline.”

“It’s a risk,” Cris said, his voice cautious. “Bringing someone here—letting them in on what’s really going on... it’s dangerous. What if she can’t handle it?”

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