Our original plan was to spend four weeks at the festival, but by the third week, we were ready to leave. The thrill of being surrounded by weed smoke, alcohol, and sex had diminished quickly. It got old having to fight to use bathrooms with hundreds of other people at a time. Fur and desert heat didn’t mix well. The flaming statues and exotic cuisine were cool, but people spoiled the experience.

  Every morning, we woke up to find more vomit outside our tent than the night before. All the good bands had already performed, but we couldn’t watch any of the performances either way. Even the simple act of walking around became a hassle as more and more people got into day-drinking themselves into idiots with low tempers.

  I’ll admit watching a cyclops fight an ogre over a bottle of tequila was something I’d never forget, but it happened four times in the same week.

  But we couldn’t leave without Russell. The worst part was we couldn’t have known without a shadow of a doubt whether or not Russell was still around or if he had left us. Wes kept reassuring me that his cousin wouldn’t be so careless as to drive off without us, but we couldn’t even get him to answer the phone.

  “So if we’re trying this if we’re together, can I tell you to wear pants now?” I asked jokingly.

  There was a new chemistry between Wes and me, a new dynamic. With everything out in the open, we had to figure things out. We said we’d try to see where things went, but making moves was easier said than done. There was a fuzzy boundary between our friendship and the unknown path we were taking. We found it easier to keep treating each other as friends, but that made it harder to see each other as anything more, despite our willingness.

  To alleviate the tension, we resorted to asking each other questions until the awkwardness subsided.

  “Only if I can tell you to stop wearing them,” Wes replied as we crossed a more barren patch of the sandy desert plains on our way to the festival’s outer limits.

  We were hoping to find Russell hiding out in some place we hadn’t visited yet. With there being so few locations we’d yet to cross, the only places left were those far from the main areas.

  As we walked, I noticed something peculiar in the distance. A bird was flying in our direction. I couldn’t make out what kind of bird it was, but it was close to the ground and heading straight for us. It wouldn’t have been the first time I was attacked by a bird looking for an oversized meal. As it gained speed, I ducked behind Wes, who stood still.

  To my surprise, the feathered creature ignored me entirely and landed on Wesson’s arm. I slowly and hesitantly stood up as I watched the Falcon and Wes have a full-blown conversation. Just as I started to feel relieved, the bird retook flight and left us. I stood confused.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I know where my cousin is,” Wes replied.

  “Did you have that bird looking for him?” I questioned.

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  “So, you really can control animals?”

  “I wish. Animals are just like you and me. They have lives of their own, so getting them to do stuff usually costs something.”

  “What did having a falcon search for your cousin cost?”

  “That was an eagle, and trust me, you don’t want to know,” he joked.

  At least I hoped it was a joke.

  “If you say so, but where is Russell?”

  “Santa Claus has him,” he said with too straight a face for what came out of his mouth.

  I thought for sure I misheard him.

  “Santa Claus?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The Santa Claus?” I asked again, still in awkward disbelief.

  “Apparently he’s here, and my cousin is with him.”

  Santa Claus was a human magician famous for holiday-themed spells. Back when my dad was a kid, Santa was rumored to have gone so far as to use his spells to deliver presents to kids around Christmas time. As time went on, he stopped going out as often as he once did. Santa was almost an urban legend by the time I was 12, but the media covered him from time to time enough to know he was real. For him to be at STR, it seemed out of character.

  “Do you think I can kiss you?” Wes asked while I was still in the middle of processing.

  “What?”

  “Can I kiss you?” He repeated.

  “Right now?”

  “No, I mean in general,” he said.

  “I don’t know. I mean, if you were a girl,” I said.

  “But I’m not a girl,” he corrected me.

  “And that’s not a problem, I just...”

  I paused before putting my foot in my mouth. Though it might have been too late.

  “Maybe we should focus on your cousin for now,” I said, and we started walking again.

  The mood took a sharp, unavoidable turn.

  “Yeah... he’s supposed to be over by stage 3. Santa has a private setup,” Wes said.

  We didn’t talk during our walk. Neither of us had any more questions to ask at the time, or if we did, they weren’t big enough to ask yet.

  “Holy shit!” Wes laughed, breaking the silence as we made our way around stage three. There was a set of brightly colored tents conspicuously hidden from view by the stage’s build.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Dude! Elves,” Wes exclaimed as he pointed out the pointy-eared people that seemed to be manning the different tents.

  “Wes, we have elves in Daybreak.”

  “But those are Christmas elves. Look at those red and green footy pajamas. Our elves don’t walk around looking like toddlers,” he joked, and admittedly, it got a laugh out of me.

  At least the mood was back to cheerful. Was that a requirement when dealing with Santa and his elves?

  We approached the tents, but a duo of rather muscular elves stopped us from going any further. People liked to think of elves as little people with fragile twig like bodies, but some of them could compete as Olympic athletes. Like Wesson, plenty of pointy eared people hid incredible strength inside slim bodies. For an elf to look like body builder, they must have been dangerous.

  “Please state your business,” said elf number one, who was decked out in an all green leotard.

  His partner stood behind him silently intimidating Wes and I. Or, more accurately, he tried to intimidate us but couldn’t because of those outrageous clothes.

  “We need to see Santa,” I said.

  “Then find us in December,” the green elf said with a lack of interest in his tone.

  “It’s important,” I added.

  “Sure, kid. You’re not getting through unless you have an appointment, and Santa ain’t looking to talk to you.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “We’re not kids,” Wes said, backing me up.

  “What, are you with the Easter bunny or something?” Mr. Green asked, looking me over.

  Wes turned to me and almost laughed. He had to bite his lip to keep it in. I figured if it could get us through, I could humor the assumption.

  “Yes, yes, I am,” I lied.

  “Oh, shit,” Mr. Green exclaimed with open eyes.

  I couldn’t believe he bought it, but I was the right kind of creature for the con.

  “Why didn’t you say so? Is this about the holiday council?” He asked.

  He and his partner stepped to the side to let Wes and me through.

  “It’s a private matter, but we need to speak with Santa as soon as possible,” I added.

  Wes broke face and laughed, almost to our detriment. Lucky for us, my appearance held enough weight in our story for the elves to let us through regardless.

  We were escorted to Santa’s private tent by a different elf wearing the same ridiculous Christmas get-up in a shade of red.

  “So what’s the difference between an elf and a Christmas elf?” Wes asked.

  “We get 401ks,” our Christmas escort replied with less cheer than one would expect.

  “What’s up with the skin-tight pajamas? Is that like a uniform or something?” Wes continued.

  I nudged him to stop baiting the elves further, but he kept shooting off low hanging fruit from the joke tree. He enjoyed the moment a little too much.

  The elves were so militant that the situation was more severe than our knowledge indicated. Lucky for us, their attitude made them too thick skinned to take Wesson’s jokes to heart.

  Santa’s tent was the biggest out of a set of 5, and they were large tents. They were almost big enough to consider small homes. The smallest was a few walls short of being the same size as my home in Daybreak. Approaching Santa’s tent, we found that he was outside reclined in a chair, sunbathing. There was only one way to describe Santa at that moment.

  Soggy.

  There were too many rolls of fat to count, and each of them was making enough sweat to fill a swimming pool. His white beard was dirty with some kind of sauce kin to gravy, and for some reason, despite his lack of a shirt, he felt the need to wear leather gloves and his iconic hat. The closer we got, the more disturbing the scene became. Wes and I both shared a number of glances, silently signaling to one another that we indeed saw the same thing.

  Once we made it over, the elves left us with the big guy. I don’t think Wes or I wanted to say anything, but I stepped forward.

  “Mr. Santa Claus, sir,” I said, almost timidly.

  Santa was a celebrity, a powerful magician, and I was a rabbit half his size and nowhere near his net worth. I thought it best to try to remain respectful and dignified. There was no telling how he’d treat us.

  He sat up, and his entire body rolled, sloshing sweat with the slightest of movements. The fat man took one look at me and rolled his eyes like I was delivering bad news.

  “I told Easter I’d return his basket before spring,” Santa said.

  He also believed I worked for the Easter bunny.

  “Santa, sir, we’re not here because of the Easter bunny or his basket,” I said.

  “Then why are you here, and how’d you get past the front line?” he asked in a pissed off tone.

  “We’re looking for my cousin Russell. He’s a satyr like me, bigger horns, more fur, drinks a lot, talks a lot,” Wes said, finally chiming in.

  “You’re related to the bitch with a losing streak?” Santa said rhetorically.

  “So he is here,” I said, ignoring the apparent insult hurled at Wes.

  “Cunt tried to drink me out of a reindeer, couldn’t hold his liquor long enough to keep the clothes on his back, so I took everything else,” he said, laughing and flinging sweat enough to make Wes and I both step back.

  “Where is he now?” Wes asked.

  “Should have traveled with better company, boy. Your kin is in trouble,” Santa said as he stood up from his seat, leaving a moist spot where his back was.

  We followed the fat man into his air-conditioned tent. It was Christmas. There were trees adorned in lights, cold flurries, and elves walking around waiting on the fat man’s hand and foot. Snow fell endlessly, despite our being in the desert.

  “How much does he owe you?” Wes asked.

  “More than you can pay,” Santa replied as he continued to walk deeper into his pad.

  I think he believed we’d leave if he kept his back to us long enough.

  “Please, we need him,” Wes pleaded.

  “And I need a month without kids like you begging for shit you can’t get yourself. I swear I can’t throw one festival,” Santa retorted.

  “What do you mean ‘can’t throw one festival’?” Wes and I both questioned.

  “What do you think STR stands for? Santa’s Therapeutic Retreat,” the fat man said.

  Santa being the one responsible for throwing a festival in the middle of the New Mexico desert was a surprise, but we couldn’t focus on it.

  “Your cousin, he’s in some deep shit, and he ain’t going nowhere. Unless you want to join him, I suggest you and your short-tailed friend be on your merry way,” Santa said to Wes.

  The fat man took a seat on what might have been the Christmas throne. Wes and I both tried to argue for Russell’s release, but we were cut short by a team of elves. They forced us out of the tent, then pushed us out of the Christmas zone completely.

  “Shit!” Wes said as we were knocked to the sand.

  He actually seemed worried. We went back to our tent to regroup, and the entire time he couldn’t stop cursing at the wind. Once we were inside our own space, I rested a hand on his shoulder to keep him from nervously pacing back and forth.

  “Wes,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster, and he simmered down enough.

  “I’m sorry Pitch, this isn’t how I wanted things to go,” he said, turning his head away from me.

  “It’s fine. It’s not your fault; your cousin is an idiot,” I joked, and it got a grin out of him.

  “We can’t leave without him. Do you know what my mom will do if we hitchhike from New Mexico to Montana? She’ll think I almost died, and I’ll never get to go anywhere again,” Wes explained before adding, “and he’s my cousin.”

  “Then we’ll have to convince Santa to let him go,” I said.

  “Santa doesn’t seem charitable. We have to free him ourselves.”

  “Free him? You mean break Russell out?” I asked in a tone, obviously implying the recklessness of the suggestion.

  “Yeah, it’s Santa, not the county jail,” Wes joked.

  “We don’t even know where he is.”

  “You can still do the whole invisible thing, can’t you?” Wes asked.

  “... Yeah,” I said hesitantly because I knew where he was going.

  “Then just turn it on, walk over to Christmas Land, and check the tents till you find him.”

  “You realize I’d have to be naked, right? Like, no clothes.”

  “I’m aware,” he said.

  “And I’d have to stay invisible long enough to check at least four tents.”

  “Yep,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Wes!” I exclaimed at the ridiculous idea.

  “I don’t hear you coming up with a better plan,” he said.

  “Even if I find him, how would I get him out? I can’t make other people invisible. And what if he’s behind bars or chained up?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t think of another way.”

  We went silent. I thought it over for a minute. Wes sat in his bed, and I sat in mine. If I had known any kind of magic, or we had a different set of skills, the predicament might have been simpler. Either way, I was hitting a wall as far as ideas were concerned.

  “Fine,” I said.

  Wes looked over at me, confused until I continued.

  “I’ll do it. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it,” I said.

  “Thank you,” he said while I sighed with exhaustion.

  We decided to wait until night. During the last few hours of sunlight we had, I took the time to practice my particular skill. I rarely used my invisibility. It always seemed like a useless power when I had to be nude for it to be effective. The longest I ever held my transparent form was 5 minutes. It took extreme calm and attentiveness to keep from slipping back into visibility.

  Stress, anger, anxiety. Anything close to fear was enough to slip up. I had nothing but stress because if I messed up, I would've been caught walking around Santa's tents with my snowballs out.

  When it was finally time to go, I was feeling less than confident. Wes awkwardly turned his back to me, so I’d have privacy while I got undressed.

  “You got this man,” he said, attempting to cheer me on.

  “This still feels like a bad idea,” I replied as I dropped my pants and left my clothes resting on my bed. I went transparent, and it was time for the real test.

  “Alright, look at me,” I said before Wes turned around in response.

  He looked right at me, right through me.

  “Can you see me?” I asked nervously.

  “You’re fading in and out,” he said.

  I tried to relax. It wasn’t going to be any more comfortable once I left the tent.

  “Ok, you’re good now. I can’t see you at all,” he said, but it was hard to feel confident.

  It was like trying to hold my breath while keeping myself from thinking about how much I needed air.

  “Great,” I said sarcastically before heading for the tent’s door.

  Pulling back the curtain door, Wesson’s voice stopped me before I stepped outside.

  “Hey, Pitch,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  “Now’s not the best time, Wes,” I said.

  “Right, right,” Wesson replied, and I went on my way.