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Chapter 8~ The Singing Raccoon
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As the group neared The Singing Raccoon, Kit could already smell the airy waft of peppermint and…brandy? She saw several people lined along the walls of the building, waiting to be let in. Girls with obnoxiously blonde hair in Santa hats shivered in their cocktail dresses while the sleazy guys tried wrapping coats around them. That wasn’t Kit’s crowd but she knew the type. She knew people like that in high school—had friends like that in high school. Only then did a fairly obvious thought strike her.
“How are we going to get in?” she asked.
Grandpa Scott turned his head to her slightly and nodded, “That’s great question, Kit. Any ideas?”
No one spoke. They went on with their quiet shivering until Scott cut in again. “Come on, guys, what’s the game plan here?”
“Is there a back entrance?” said Charlie.
“Yes, but it’s guarded, too. Our only way in is through the front.”
“Just use magic on the bouncer, Santa,” Bernard grumbled.
“In front of all these people? You’re not thinking clearly in the New York air, Bernard.”
Kit just eyed their group for a couple of seconds before smiling and pausing in her strides. They looked back at her curiously. Kit watched the Santa hats on the girls bounce in the cold breeze.
“I have an idea.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Shut up,” Kit hushed.
“I feel like something right out of the Macy’s mall,” grumbled Bernard. Although, he had pretty good reason. Bernard had reluctantly traded in his fine-crafted scarlet and silver tunic for a cheap cotton and nylon version of a Christmas elf costume that Santa had whipped up for him behind the corner—fully embellished with green tights, pointy shoes, and a jingle-belled elf hat with fake ears. Kit had to force down her smiles. He looked atrocious.
Bernard fumbled with the fake ears, even more red in the face than before.
“You know, this is pretty racist. I do have actual elf ears under these things.”
Kit rolled her eyes and tightened his cap. “Don’t be so upset. We’re all making sacrifices.” In fact, Charlie and Kit wore costumes nearly the same. Kit shivered in her tiny green elf skirt as they made their way to the bouncer. Only Santa remained in his original attire. The whole crowd was struck by them as soon as they came into view. But, Kit kept her focus on the large, intimidating man at the door. He towered over even Santa himself and eyed Bernard’s shoes with amusement.
“Came straight from the North Pole, did you?” he chuckled.
Bernard tried stepping forward. “Are you trying to say something?” But, Kit pushed him back.
“We’re the hired Santa and elves from, um…Holiday for Hire? We have a shift tonight for a few hours.”
“Is that so?” the bouncer incredulously replied, “I wasn’t told we hired a fat guy and his little people.”
Bernard fumed. “Do I look small to you?!”
“I’m sure there’s just been a mix-up. Check the list,” she said.
“Already did.”
She smirked to herself. “Check it twice.”
The bouncer glared at Kit and the rest of them before shifting his eyes through the list. Bernard coughed loudly over the snap of his fingers and the little bell chime of magic floating through the air. And suddenly, the bouncer stopped his grumbling and stared at the list.
“Oh…there it is. Holiday for…Tire?”
“Holiday for Hire,” Kit explained while glaring behind at Bernard, “It’s supposed to be Holiday for Hire.”
“Whatever. I guess you freaks are in.” The bouncer opened the heavy metal door and out flowed the sweet piano music from inside. The group slowly dispersed into the smoky room. The large room trapped the smell of cranberry and alcohol and threw it back into your face. But, it comfortably housed many guests lounging in dining chairs all seated around a central stage at the back of the room. But, no one was eating. In fact, the whole vibe of the room was something out of a Fitzgerald novel. The people drank decorated cocktails and smoked as if they’d never heard it could kill you. The holiday jazz sang clear from a band with instruments that gleamed gold and silver in the spotlight. Some of the band members even wore suits! Kit half expected to see Frank Sinatra sweep into the microphone. It was all too much to take in and made it too hard to breathe.
“What is this place?” Charlie asked through his coughs.
“The Singing Raccoon,” Scott replied with a grim look at the space.
“Why’s it called that?”
“My best guess,” Santa continued, “because the whole place is smoky, feral, and smells like a dumpster.”
But, Kit couldn’t waste any more time here than she enjoyed to. Hidden in the unhealthy glamour of the club was something unsafe, and she felt it. More and more eyes were being drawn to them.
“We need to find Frost. I think it might be best if we split into pairs and asked around,” she decided.
But, Bernard, nearly wonderstruck in the atmosphere, spoke up, “I don’t think it’ll be that hard to find him.”
“What do you mean?” Then, light applause accompanied the end of the song followed by more sudden excitement. Bernard pointed to the stage and Kit followed his eyes. A new performer had entered the stage. A pale man in a dark blue suit and silver waistcoat strode on and waved a charming hand to the audience before taking a seat at the piano. His hair was a striking black with streaks of white and silver tucked in under a navy and silver fedora. But his tie stuck out the most with its white and silver adornments and the fact that it looked like it’d been frozen solid.
The leader of the band shook the pianist’s hand and took the microphone. “I think you all are familiar with my man, the smoothest piano player this side of New York, the cat who can freeze the keys and melt your heart. Give it up for Mr. Frost.” The crowd had all but given up their drinks to pay attention to Mr. Frost and didn’t hesitate to start the applause even before their next song began. The squeal of the saxophone and the hum of the bass drove them into a swing version of “Jingle Bell Rock”. The whole gang was drawn in just like the rest of the crowd and none of them knew what to say.
“That’s Jack?” Charlie guffawed. Santa nodded disapprovingly.
“In retrospect, this isn’t the worst thing he could’ve been doing.” The song bounced on and ushered in a handful of dancers from the crowd to take the floor.
Kit turned to Bernard. “We need to get to Jack.”
“How?” he said, “He’s busy up there and there’s no way he’d see us through the lights. It’s not like he’d want to talk to us anyways.”
“Wait,” Kit interjected, the gears spinning in her brain, “Jack’s never met me before, right?”
“Right.”
She smirked again. “I think I know what to do. Cover me, Bernard.”
A confused look sprung on Bernard’s face but Kit was already making her way behind the stage and behind the thick black curtain behind. Bernard squeezed through the rest of the crowd in quiet anxiety to join her.
“Kit!” he fiercely whispered, “Kit, where are you?” The back of the stage was just a dark, nearly empty space full of cords and sound equipment. He could barely see a thing. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulders and he almost yelped.
“Did I scare you?” whispered Kit, a mischievous grin on her face. Bernard took a second to catch his breath and his composure.
“I’ve been alive for over 3,000 years so I pride myself on not being easily scared,” he lied calmly.
Kit cocked her head to the side and grinned, “I don’t know…you looked pretty scared.”
Bernard rolled his eyes with a hidden smile. “What are we doing back here?”
Kit drew attention to the sound equipment and cords closest to the curtain and pointed. “As much as I love good holiday music, I think this show needs to be cut short. But, it’s fine. They’ll all get to enjoy it tomorrow.”
The two approached the equipment and knelt down.
“Flashlight,” she chirped. Bernard snapped his fingers, sounded the bell chime, and handed Kit over a flashlight.
“I think you’re starting to use me as some sort of magic problem-fixer machine.”
She smirked and clicked on the light in the darkness. “That is what you do best,” she teased.
Kit began unplugging any cords she could find and flipping ‘on’ switches to ‘off’ until the music behind the curtain ceased and the complaining from the crowd began. The room was soon a madhouse of drunk, high “jazz cats” minus the jazz.
“What next?” asked Bernard.
“Make a branch of mistletoe appear in Frost’s lap.” His fingers snapped. The bell chimed.
Then, there came the voice of the band’s leader. “I’ll go check what it is.”
“No—” the voice was cut off with another, higher-pitched voice with a bit of ice in its lungs, “I’ll go.”
Kit turned to Bernard. “You need to get out of here now.”
Bernard looked taken aback. “No, I’m not leaving you here to deal with Frost alone.”
“It won’t work if you’re here, Bernard. Frost knows you.”
“Kit—”
“I’m not arguing with you. You have to trust me. Do you trust me?” There was a shared moment of silence between them. Even in the dark, Kit could tell Bernard wasn’t comfortable with this. But, he knew she was right.
“Okay, I’ll go.” And then, he was gone in a fizzle of snowflakes.
Nearly a second later, Frost appeared from behind the curtain, a distrusting look on his face. He made out Kit’s figure in the dark and waved his hand so the nearby lamps lit the space in a warm glow.
“You’re just a kid.”
Kit narrowed her eyes. “I’m not a kid.”
“How’d they even let a kid in this place?”
“I’m not a kid.”
Frost began circling closer towards the equipment, eyeing Kit like possible prey. “I’m assuming you’re the one who busted the equipment and left me that twig.”
“Yeah,” Kit glanced down at her cheap costume. “I’m an elf.”396Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOBb6RM04Sk
Frost burst into laughter—the high-pitched kind that still held a bit of darkness inside it. “Wow, a funny kid, too. I know elves. You’re not an elf.”
“I’m elf enough. That’s all you need to know.”
He took a step forward and the mood shifted. Kit nearly stepped back. She saw back into his eyes a swirling storm of anger.
“I know what I know. Here I am doing my thing out there, having the time of my life when some chump tries to ruin it, for what? What do you even want anyways? An autograph? Money?”
“I want you to talk with some of my friends.”
Frost rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Friends? Like Santa?”
Kit fell quiet, unsure how to respond. Frost took advantage and began hooking up the equipment again.
“I know who you are, you know; you’re Charlie’s kid. I may not visit for the holidays anymore but I still hit all the houses in New York in January. Never thought you’d grow up to be so—” He eyed Kit up in down then made a face, “—ordinary.”
Kit glared. Now she understood the disenchantment of this guy.
“You’re going to talk, Frost.”
He stood up and smirked. “What makes you so sure?”
A voice came from the spot where Kit had come through. Scott, Charlie, and Bernard appeared in the light. “She has good reason.”
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