Brick’s good mood did not last long, especially when the third batch of Shifter Shortbread cookies failed on him.

  “These grindin’ shifter cookies keep glitching on me,” Brick swore, pummelling the dough with his fist.

  The dough had indeed blended into one, the distinct orange, yellow and plain biscuit batter swirling together as though it had been mixed rather than rolled end-on-end.

  “I guess we need a patch for that,” I said, cursing our luck again that Jenny was being unresponsive to all attempts to contact her. I wondered if James had gotten past the first line of his apology yet.

  Brick had worked closely with Jenny, giving her specific instructions on the different reactions he’d learned from Earth recipe books, but the Newtopian default was still just mashing ingredients together to make them ‘pop’ into the required item.

  Brick growled in frustration, glaring at the failed shortbread as though he wanted to burn it to ashes.

  “Maybe we should move on to one of your other recipes, sweetheart.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm his frustration. The tension smoothed slowly from his brow, and then he nodded wordlessly, balling up the dough and tossing it onto the pile of gingerbread men that had grown to about waist height. Jackal, having sharpened and arranged the weaponry, had begun shovelling them into the fireplace to get rid of them.

  We baked until the morning of the 5th, with only four of our six recipes proving possible under the laws of Newtopian physics.

  A tray of twenty-five treats was placed with care under the counter to be held in reserve while Bastion and Jackal arranged the limited-edition releases in the cabinet behind glass.

  Meanwhile, Bruiser was bending some metal pipes with his immense strength into barriers to herd customers through the entryway to the counter and back out again.

  Bastion had painted the prices onto a menu board, which he and Jackal displayed on top of a chair on a table in the front window, since the blood, saliva and sweat smears on the window had created a thick glaze to about shoulder height.

  When we had everything ready, we took our positions and put our game faces on.

  Bruiser and Jackal removed the bracing behind the glass doors, and attempted to ease them open slowly, but the huge throng of people throwing themselves against them proved more than even their combined strength could withstand.

  “Give me all you have!” one woman shouted. “I need twenty!”

  “I was here first!” A feliskin swiped his claws at her, but Jackal thumped him on the head.

  “Limit one per customer!” Bruiser shouted over the din, shoving the woman roughly down the maze of metal bars and trying to hold the others back. A gnome skidded under his legs, thwacking the woman in the shins to overtake her. The woman fell with a scream, but grabbed the gnomes’ ankles and they fell to a wrestling heap on the floor, punching and biting each other until they both popped out of existence.

  “Damnit,” I muttered. We had to sell some of these, it would be a total waste of all of Brick’s efforts if no one managed to reach the front of the store. “Next!”

  The feliskin was allowed through, and he sprinted to the front of the store, hopping over the barriers with a catlike grace.

  “Give me all this will get me!” he screeched, slamming a pouch of gold on the counter.

  “One per customer,” Brick said firmly, counting out the coins. “You can have an éclair – one hundred gold.”

  “That’s robbery!” the feliskin hissed. “You’re a dirty orc grifter!”

  Brick raised his fist, but I put a hand on his shoulder, sliding in front of him. Brick had experience as a warrior, but I was the one who had experience in customer service.

  “You’re welcome to leave if you don’t want to make a purchase,” I said firmly. “But I’ll have you know that these are limited edition luxury goods made from the finest imported ingredients. Their price is reflective of their exclusivity, and I assure you that they’re worth every coin.”

  The feliskin’s whiskers twitched, and his nose wrinkled in distaste, but then he shoved the pouch forwards.

  “This better be worth it,” he hissed. “Give me the damn éclair.”

  We completed the sale and directed the feliskin towards the exit just as the next customer approached. I processed the orders with Bruiser and Jackal doing as best they could at managing the entryway, Bastion at the exit and Brick standing guard next to me, growling at anyone who dared to argue with me over prices or sales limits.

  Finally, the cabinet was cleared, just as the street seemed to inexplicably empty. The final stall holders were closing up shop having sold out of goods with a few stragglers arguing with each other in the square.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Where’d they all go?” Jackal asked, flinging the door open wide and stepping out into the street for the first time in days. We all followed, unable to see through the reddish glaze that had been left on our windows.

  “I think that might answer your question,” Bruiser said, pointing towards the edge of town.

  A troop of goblins in forest green armour marched up the street, wielding odd red weapons and pounding on each door as they passed.

  If the doors remained shut, the goblins smashed windows or scaled the buildings to enter through the chimney. A wood elf was dragged out through a window and bound in chains, then driven along the street by other whip-wielding goblins.

  “They must be the Krampus’ enforcers,” Bruiser said grimly. “I never imagined there could be so many of them. I doubt if they came for us, we’d be able to fight them all off.”

  “Lucky we figured out our presents in time,” I said, seeking out Brick’s hand and giving it a squeeze of thanks.

  As they got closer, I identified the goblin’s red weapons as long socks which seemed to be filled with metal balls. When they swung them, they crashed through windows and dented wood.

  “Give it back, you stinkin’ troll!” Blade’s voice screeched as a gnome skidded around the corner and streaked past our shop, a brightly red wrapped giftbox clutched in his hands.

  A dagger flew after it and buried itself in the gnomes back. The thief fell to the ground and promptly popped out of existence.

  “No!” Blade pounced on the empty air, scrabbling in the dust for the present. “Where is it? Where is it? Kira’s going to kill me!”

  “Problem there, Blade?” Bruiser asked mildly.

  The feliskin let out a yowl of rage.

  “It took me so long, so long to find the perfect gift,” Blade said, claws scratching lines in the dirty pavement. “And now I’ve got nothing.”

  “We should have kept a few extra presents behind,” I muttered, thinking of our twenty-five pastries safe in the cabinet inside. “There’s nothing else we could give him to gift her, is there?”

  Brick frowned. “Not with a dollar value attached to it. We could probably spare a short sword if you want it, though.”

  Blade spat on the ground. “It’s useless. Useless.”

  “The gift is in the giving!”

  “Gift inspection!”

  “’Tis the season! Bring out your gifts!”

  The goblins were approaching, their troupe of prisoners growing by the minute as they busted into houses and hauled out those they deemed unworthy.

  One group of goblins split apart from the rest and began clearing out the market, whipping some of the stallholders who had taken too long and smashing their wagons with their wicked stuffed stockings. Wooden contraptions were erected, and I realized with a start that they were stocks set up on a large stage.

  Two large trolls had entered the main square as well, drawing a phaeton made of black wood behind them, which unfolded into a pop-up store that would have looked at home in Necromancer Heights.

  “The gift is in the giving!” A goblin screeched at the prisoners, cracking his whip behind them as they were driven up to the black carriage.

  The wood elf emptied his pockets desperately, handing over all his gold. A goblin from within the phaeton then handed him what looked like a black gift card, which he snatched before sprinting back towards his home.

  The next civilian, an orc, was herded up to the phaeton, but he roared at the goblin rather than paying up. A whip cracked again, and the goblins sprang on him, beating him into submission and dragging him up to the stage where he was put in stocks.

  The goblins had unravelled a large banner which hung next to the orc, reading ‘THE UNGIVING’ in ugly spiked letters.

  “This is so barbaric,” I whispered, watching another feliskin taken up to the phaeton.

  “I don’t have any money!” The feliskin shrieked. “I can’t afford anything!”

  “The gift is in the giving!” The goblins chanted, and the one in the phaeton handed a contract out to the feliskin, who took it with shaking hands. He shot one terrified look at the orc roaring with pain, and hurriedly signed the contract. He was then issued a black gift card and sent to another waiting pen under the leering eyes of the goblins.

  “What are they going to do with him?” I asked in concern.

  “He’ll be able to give his gift, then he’ll be taken to work off his debt at the workshop,” Blade said dully. “It’s where I’ll have to go as well. I spent my last gold on that gift that despawned with that damned thief.”

  I clenched my teeth in rage. This was so unfair.

  “I’ll give you one of my pastries,” I said finally. “You’ve just got the one gift to give, right?”

  “Kira is the only one important to me,” Blade said in agreement. “I’ll pay you back. How much is it? What’s it worth?”

  “They’re a hundred gold.”

  “Emma, you can’t,” Bastion said, gripping my elbow, but I shook him off.

  “I can’t not. We need to sort this out one way or another, and we can’t let this go on indefinitely,” I said, waving my hand at the growing number of civilians being herded into the stocks or the debtor’s pen.

  “Let one of us go instead,” Bruiser said. “I’ll go.”

  “The gift is in the giving!” Two goblins approached us, one brandishing a whip and the other a loaded stocking. “Gift inspection!”

  Blade turned his eyes to me pleadingly. “A hundred gold. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

  I nodded decisively and gestured for the goblins to enter.

  “Emma, please reconsider,” Bruiser said again.

  “Name your recipients,” the goblin with the whip had tucked it under his arm and unfurled a scroll, ready to check off names.

  “Send Bonaparte to tail me and have someone remain behind at the shop to keep checking in if you can make contact with Nightfall, James or Jenny.”

  “Emma, if you seriously plan on doing this, I’m coming with you,” Bastion said firmly.

  “Can I come too?” Jackal asked, his brow wrinkled in concern. “I want to protect you.”

  “I’d still prefer if it was one of us who went in the first place,” Brick said. “If you die here, we can’t get you back.”

  “It’s the same deal with you,” I pointed out. “Besides, I need someone left behind to form a rescue party if I can’t figure my way out of there.”

  The goblin with the stoking smashed it on the counter impatiently. “Name your recipients!”

  “Don’t get your loincloth in a knot,” I snapped, glaring at the little creature. “We’re getting there.”

  Heart pounding in my chest, I handed a pastry over to Blade.

  “Bastion, Jackal and I will go. You two remain behind and send help if we can’t get back to you,” I said, nodding to Brick and Bruiser. “I’ve still got my Animal Speak ability equipped, so if you send Bonaparte or any birds with messages, I’ll try get one back to you as well.”

  “The gift is in the giving,” one of the goblins snapped his whip between Bruiser and me, and I flinched back in reflex.

  Jackal grabbed the whip-wielding hand in his fist and dangled the goblin in front of his face.

  “Be nice to Emma,” he growled at the goblin. “Or I’ll smash your stupid goblin face.”