She wakes up on Christmas morning and expects a gift. It’s an apprehensive sort of feeling, a tightness in her chest, because as set as she is against doing what Beatrice says… her stepmother is right. Life would be better in Boston. The Negaverse here is more organized. And Beatrice has surprised her, even though she knows it’s all manipulation. Who’s to say that her stepmother won’t keep treating her nicely once she moves?

But there are so many people counting on her to say no. Laney, and Natron, and… she wants to know more about how Bischofite died, but that’s not going to happen for at least a while.

Gemma puts a sweater on over her pajamas and goes downstairs. Gabby and Ethan are on the floor under the tree, ripping through wrapping paper to reveal a huge set of Legos and an American Girl doll and… Gemma bites her lip. She remembers Christmases like this before her parents divorce. She glances at her father.

Christopher is seated on the couch, drinking coffee from a mug emblazoned with the name of his company and wearing a pair of lambswool slippers that, judging from the shoebox on the floor, were new.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” says Gemma right back.

“I think I saw something for you under there,” he says coyly. “See what Santa brought?”

She bites her tongue. Gemma doesn’t believe in Santa Claus anymore, although Gabby and Ethan do. Old men on magical sleighs who sneak down the chimney to deliver gifts aren’t real. Aliens and magic and knights - those things are real.

She must hesitate too long. “Gemma, what are you waiting for?” prompts Beatrice.

Gemma nods and finds her box under the tree. She can’t imagine what her stepmother might have picked out for her, but she knows it will be a bribe.

The box is small. It looks like jewelry. She feels her father and stepmother’s eyes on her, and Gemma slips a thumb under a flap in the paper and unwraps it. The box underneath is smooth leather, with a lid that flips neatly up to reveal a delicate silver chain and a pendant, glossy blue stone, round like a globe…

This must have been expensive, thinks Gemma. Is this how much I’m worth to them?

She swallows awkwardly and looks up at them. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s beautiful.” It’s too nice. I don’t deserve this, she thinks, but she holds still and lets her father fasten the chain around her neck.

“Isn’t this a lovely visit?” asks Beatrice. Gemma nods, feeling like a mouse in a trap. Beatrice gives her a keen look. “Now,” she says. “Who wants pancakes?”