A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

you really think—?” Jimmy said, awed by the note.
    “Yes, I really do!” Tessa said with hushed reverence.
    They passed the gift stocking between them, examining the solidly tangible feeling of the candy canes between their gloved feelings.
    “Nobody will believe us,” Jimmy said, smiling.
    “They don’t have to,” Tessa said. “Right?”
    Jimmy thought about it, then laughed out loud and said, “Right.”
    ***

In times of old when days grew cold and nights grew long and no one went outside much, rewarding well-behaved, cooped-up kids at Yule time made good sense.
    But what about those naughty kids? They could really get carried away back then! Mercedes Lackey wrestles with that notion in this special Secret World Chronicle installment.
    —KO

The Longest Night
    A Secret World Chronicle Prequel Story
    Mercedes Lackey
    The absolute quiet was broken only by the crackling of flames. Vickie Nagy gave up trying to be interested in her book, sighed, and put it down on the bed beside her. Tucking her legs up under the plush velvet spread, she wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees, brooding, as she gazed into the fire in the fireplace at the foot of the huge bed.
    Under other circumstances she’d have been luxuriating in the comfort. This was probably the best bedroom she’d seen outside of pictures in magazines, ever, especially for someone like her, who wallowed in fantasy novels and historical romances. The fireplace was only there for the ambience, not for heat—though these buildings were probably the oldest on the North American continent, the magicians who ran and staffed this very special school kept things nicely modern when it came to amenities. Central heat and air, plumbing and wiring that met every modern standard, even satellite television and internet. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in here that either wasn’t an antique older than the USA, or had been built to look like it was. The dark wooden bed was a huge Tudor canopy number, complete with red velvet bed-curtains matching the bedspread that you could pull shut all around, isolating you from noise, and creating a cozy, dark cave. But there was also a good reading light and her own cassette deck (usually playing classical music) in the headboard of the bed—which also had a cupboard she could stash books in. The mattress was more comfortable than anything she had ever slept on before. There was a faint scent of sandalwood from incense burning over the fireplace.
    Her clothing had been put away in a matching freestanding wardrobe. There was a real Turkish carpet on the floor, old and soft and beautiful.
    The fireplace she was staring into was giving off just enough heat, and no smoke at all. It had a tiled hearth, and a carved mantle of some sort of dark red wood.
    As for the rest of the furniture, there was a real red-velvet “fainting couch,” and two red velvet chairs that were so cushy you hated getting out of them, positioned on either side of the fireplace. Another wardrobe actually hid a mini-fridge, a TV with cable, and a player.
    And the bathroom was to die for, with a cream-colored, claw-footed tub deep and long enough that a tall man could float in it without hitting his head or feet. The supply of scents for the water was enough to make even the most jaded hedonist raise an eyebrow.
    If this room had been hers, she’d probably have considered herself well and truly spoiled rotten.
    But it wasn’t hers. It was in the guest section of the West Building of St. Rhiannon’s School for Exceptional Students, and she was here, because her parents, who were FBI agents with the FBI’s Metahuman Agents section, had been sent out on a Job, and it wasn’t one she could go along for. Which was super-depressing, because it was Yule Break at the School, and she could have gone without anything getting in the way of her studies.
    As long as it was just her parents, and the Job in question was something she could