White Owl in Toyland part 1

“Tell us a story, Aunt Theena,” said Gregory, my older nephew.
“Pleeeeeeese” echoed his younger brother Nicholas. They sat upright in their bed with eager anticipation sparkling in their clever brown eyes. Babysitting them was a chore I enjoyed all too infrequently, as my dual careers didn't often allow me the pleasure. But Alex and Beth were out for a weekend retreat, and I'd volunteered to watch the boys.
“A story, hunh?” I hemmed. “I know a lot of those. Once upon a time...”
“Not THOSE kind of stories,” harrumphed Greg. "Tell us a Christmas story. And not the ones Father Timothy tells," he added quickly.
"And put White Owl into it, please," Nick added. "She's the best!" I was flattered of course, but my young nephew is very much taken with all costumed heroes right now. His collection of action "figgurs" was large, but lacking White Owl. Until just this month, I had been on probationary status with the superhero Guild and my likeness hadn't been licensed. But White Owl had been released in time for Christmas, and Nick was dying and hoping to unwrap one on December 25.
"OK," I said, putting my hands up in mock surrender. "Let me think a moment." I paused, considering how to put some of my recent adventures into a child friendly, Christmas adventure. I had the added caveat of not giving away my secret identity. Finally inspiration struck and I started.
About 25 years ago, a little girl was born, named Felice Natividad. She was born to loving parents on Christmas Day, who loved her and provided for her every need. December was her favorite month, and her parents were careful to separate her birthday from Christmas, celebrating each as a special occasion. Felice was happy and loved both Christmas and her parents.
But one day, fate intervened as it often does and one snowy Christmas (and birthday) morning six year old Felice awoke to find herself an orphan; her parents had died in an accident on the way home from a late Christmas party with friends.
The man from child protective services was dressed in a long red stadium coat, and had a long white beard. To Felice's childlike eyes, he resembled a certain denizen of the far north. But to her dismay, he didn't take her to the North Pole; instead Felice found herself sleeping in a strange bed in a group home with girls she didn't like.
Life was hard after that for Felice. She was shuffled from foster home to group home to foster home again. She grew hard, bitter and distant. No one remembered to separate her birthday from Christmas anymore, no one made her feel special. And she was certain she didn't believe in Santa any more.
Greg just yawned at that revelation, but Nick's eyes lit up like saucers. I smiled and continued.
When Felice was 16, she went to a movie with the group home where she was staying. The movie was called "Believe" and was a children's movie. Though the plot was simplistic, Felice was fascinated. The children in the story discovered they could travel anywhere and any when with the phrase, "Envision, believe and here we go!" If only that would work for her. She could go back and save her parents! Late that night, in her room in the foster home, Felice began envisioning her childhood bedroom. No detail was spared; Felice was as exacting as her 6 year old mind could remember.
Softly, she chanted her new mantra, "Envision believe and here I go." With her eyes shut Felice felt herself falling into the bed, then into a long, dark tunnel. The tunnel twisted and jumped, and Felice nearly lost it a time or two. But her run ins with the police had kept her sharp and adept at remaining focused. A moment later, she pulled up short at a doorknob. With a determined look on her face, Felice swung the door open and stepped into a familiar yet unfamiliar room.
The room was still the same size, but the friendly pink walls, with the cabbage rose border was gone, and in its place were posters of the Queen City Gems and the Cobras. Her precious canopy bed had been replaced by a set of bunk beds. Felice looked behind her at the door she'd come through, and realized it was the closet. The clothes were all boy clothes, and the toys on the floor indicated at least one and possibly TWO boys were living in HER house, in HER room.
Felice swung open the door and stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway. Her room had always been at the top of the stairs and overlooked a grand, tall living room. Now gazing over the railing, Felice's eyes were drawn to a gleaming Christmas illumination. A tall gorgeous tree stood in front of the picture window. The tree was covered with gleaming blue and gold lights, ornaments, tinsel. A silver angel hung on the top of the tree. Underneath, a mound of presents rose, waiting to be opened by whatever family was invading her home.
Felice went down the stairs, and gazed up at the tree, awestruck. Her hand reached out and she felt the sharp pine needles in her palm. Her reflection grinned back at her in the silver, red and blue balls and Felice felt a joy and warmth she hadn't felt in years. "It's not fair," she mused. "Why should they be so happy and I'm so miserable." Her focus on the room began to flutter and she realized her time was up.
"No!" she gasped. Desperately, she clutched at the tree, snagging an ornament. "I have to see if it works!" As if a giant rubber band was attached to her back, Felice was snapped up the stairs and through the closet door. She felt herself falling, twirling and falling. Then with a thump, she stopped.
Cocking an eye open, Felice studied her surroundings one more time. A pale false dawn illuminated the room and she saw she had been returned to her uncomfortable bed in the group home. But had it all been a dream? Or had she actually been home?
Felice saw her fist was clenched tightly. Slowly she opened it, and in the pale light she saw a tiny jingle bell. Her mind raced with excitement! She'd succeeded and on her eighteenth birthday, she graduated from foster care, and stepped into an inheritance. But she soon learned it was easier to make money by stealing it from others.
A strong moral sense kept Felice from taking money from the poor, or those who were weak. But several wealthy families, and crime families as well soon found themselves with much less than they had.
"When are we going to get to White Owl?" asked Nick, a pout crossing his face.
"And how is this a Christmas story?" rejoined Gregory.
"I'm getting to that," I said. "But I thought you needed to know a little bit about Jingle Belle."
"Jingle Belle? Who's that?" asked Nick.
Greg punched him in the arm. "Stupid! Felice is Jingle Belle! Isn't that right Aunt Theena?"
I nodded. "Can I continue?" The boys settled down again and I continued.
Felice made herself a costume--one of green with candy striped green and dark green stockings. But while the simplicity of her pop in and pop out robberies made her richer, Felice still felt unhappy.
"I need a new challenge," she said. And then one night in early December, Felice got a wonderful idea. A wonderful, terrible, awful idea. "I'm going to stop Christmas once and for all--and December 25 will be my birthday celebration ALONE!!.
She sat still in her chair; thinking, envisioning and believing. "Here I go!" she said to herself.
When her eyes opened, Felice found herself in a large barn. It was exceedingly cold; she could feel the wind biting though her bodysuit. But in the barn she could see eight stalls with deer sticking their heads over the gates.
"I've done it," she said. "And there's no going back." You see, in the six years since she'd learned her traveling spell, Felice had mastered it. She could stay as long as she wanted in any one place. Moreover, she could bring things to her, or send things far away.
She waited, patiently in the cold barn until she saw the deer pick their heads up. She crouched in a dark corner, a heavy barrel stave in her hand. She saw the man, looking like the man from Children's Services, shuffle into the barn. He was stocky, heavy set and had a kind face. The biting cold didn't seem to affect him much; as he wasn't wearing a heavy coat. Felice listened as the man fed each of the deer, rubbing them down and talking gently with each of them. He got to Donner, and patted the old deer with his big hands. Felice could see the long sinewy fingers, gnarled with age and long hours of skilled woodworking. She rose from beside the stall and swung the barrel stave at the old man.
Of course he ducked. He was fast for an old man, and clever too. "Felice!" he said. "I always did think you were one of the Naughty!" Felice seethed. She understood the capital letter in the title, and swung again, hitting the jolly fat man in his rib cage. Down he went, clutching his belly in pain.
"I'm not Felice any more," she raged, beating the old toymaker into senselessness. "I haven't been her since you took my parents away! I'm Jingle Belle!"
Santa groaned and slumped unconscious to the dirty floor of the stables. Jingle Belle tied him tightly, and dragged him across the snowy waste to his studio. The work on the floor stopped as she dropped her burden on the wooden balcony. "All right, this joint is under new management," she declared. "You all work for me!"
But out of sight, in the North Pole communications center; a hurried message was sent to the Queen City Police. "Help! We need White Owl. North Pole!"
(to be continued)