MJ skipped around the studio throwing sparkly tinsel, strings of colourful lights, scented candles and home-made paper chains over every inch of visible surface. She belted out Christmas carols whilst she worked:

"Jingle bells, Clive smells

Luke ran away

The Layton Mobile lost its wheel

And Don Paolo got away... HEY!"

"For the last time, it's been Christmas already," Clive groaned as he gritted his teeth and covered his ears. That girl's singing sounded like a strangled cat being scraped across a cheese grater.

"And bah humbug to you too!" MJ replied cheerily, dancing up to Clive to tie a bright red ribbon around his head. "Lighten up, Scrooge. It's Christmas! OMGI'MSOOOOOOEXCITED!"

The boy deadpanned. "I hate Christmas."

MJ's bubble of overwhelming happiness suddenly exploded. "WHAT?" She choked out "W-WHY?"

"You're abusing the caps lock button again."

"WHOOPS— Whoops! ... But how could you hate Christmas? It's the most wonderful magical fantastical time of the year."

"You're completely excluding Hanukkah, Eid, Yule, Kwanzaa and any other important festival that falls around the same time..." Clive sighed "Beside the point, I haven't exactly had many joyful Christmas memories. The first few Christmases without my parents were terrible; I always wanted the holidays to end quickly. I may have enjoyed celebrating with my adopted mother, Spring and Cogg but then Constance passed away... And last year I spent my Christmas inside a prison cell. So, it's not hard to comprehend why I despise the season so much—"

Clive froze mid-sentence. MJ had wrapped her arms around his waist. Hugging him.

"I'm really sorry; I forgot about... what happened in your early life." She snivelled into the back of his blue blazer. (That's it, definitely burning this jacket later Clive thought.) "The others and I are going to give you the best Christmas you've never had—"

"I told you, Christmas was over weeks ago."

"—I swear on my life as a writer!"

Chapter Nineteen

A BOW FROM THE RAVEN-BOY

That afternoon General Clamp was determined to whip Clive into shape— metaphorically speaking, of course. Though, Clive did debate whether receiving fifty lashes would be less painful than doing endless laps of the camp's confines. His lungs burned as he circled a row of tents; Clamp breezily cantered alongside him, barking out useful tips: "Swing those arms!", "Keep your gaze ahead!", "And don't forget to breathe!"

Emmy followed him too... from the back of a white Unicorn with a golden mane who had been issued to her by Anton.

Clive finally completed his circuit and collapsed onto the sandy gravel of the square Clamp had marked out for them. Other troops sparred in nearby squares; their laboured breathing and the stench of sweat engulfed the air. "How... did I do?" Clive asked through thick pants when his two overseers entered the training area.

Emmy patted her trusty steed Philip ("Philippe Beauregard Belle Kesem Zelda Van Trottingham II" was his name, he had informed her), dismounted and offered Clive a hand up. "Not bad for your first lap," she said encouragingly.

That was only the FIRST lap? Clive groaned. It already felt like he'd run a hundred marathons.

"This is for your own good." Clamp, who hadn't even broken a sweat from the run, insisted "We need to get you in fighting fit shape. Ten more rounds and you'll have muscles as big as mine. " The general flexed his bulging biceps for emphasis.

"What's the point in getting fit if I don't even know how to fight yet?" Clive sighed as his gaze shifted to the sword at Emmy's waist. "I require a weapon to defeat the King—, I mean, the Dark Witch... or at least give me some combat lessons!"

("It's warlock!" a not so far away voice echoed.)

"No way," Emmy shook her head, frowning. "You're definitely not ready yet."

Clive wanted nothing more than to make that masked molester squirm with trepidation. He wanted the Witch to feel weakness just as Clive had. He wanted revenge. He needed something to fight with (at best, a sharp and imposing implement); he must prove himself to everyone if they were going to forgive him. Why couldn't his sister understand that?

However, Clamp believed it was a marvellous idea. "I like your eager attitude, Clive. And I know just the Larnian who can help you. Be right back!"

As the Centaur charged away in the direction of the blacksmith's tent, Emmy gazed at her brother solemnly. "This doesn't mean you can try anything reckless."

"Reckless? Excuse me, but when exactly did you become the queen of responsibility?"Clive snorted. ""I think I'm quite entitled to a have a weapon. Luke- who is thirteen years old, might I add- gets a dagger. Even Flora is receiving tips on how to defend herself now..." He trailed off when he noticed General Clamp returning. Behind him was the strangest being Clive had ever seen, even by Larnia standards.

Half bird, half boy. So was the individual standing before them. He sprouted wings with shining black feathers in the place of arms and walked on two thin taloned feet. Looking at the face beneath the navy blue cap, human-like features were accented by keen eyes and a protruding nose resembling a beak.

"Clive, Emmy," Clamp drew their incredulous stares away from his comrade. "This is our esteemed weapons master, Crow."

Crow gave the young adults a methodical nod. "Greetings."

"This lad has wits sharper than my own blade," Clamp vaunted "He'll find the perfect armament for you, Clive. That I have no doubts about."

The raven boy began to scrutinise Clive closely; inspecting his size, his stance, his centre of gravity...

"It's hard to concentrate properly if you keep gawking at me like that," Crow told him dryly as he tested the strength of Clive's arms.

"Uh, sorry..." Clive apologised awkwardly "It's just... Why do you...?"

"Why do I appear the way I am?"

Philippe sniffed from behind Emmy, who was listening curiously. "That question was a tad imprudent," the Unicorn pointed out.

Clive winced. "I didn't mean any offence!"

"Of course you didn't." Crow smiled wryly. "Don't worry; you're not the first person to speculate. Honestly, I'm not sure myself... For a while, there were rumours that I was some sort of Half-Breed; supposedly, my dad was a Dryad who got seduced by a Hag. Other stories say I had a beastly curse put on me when I was born." He shrugged. "Some believe I'm a bearer of misfortune, or that I do dealings with the Witch. Because of this, I keep to myself a lot."

("It's WARLOCK!" The voice loomed closer now...)

It was disheartening to discover that prejudices existed even here, in this world. Clive grinned at the so-called hybrid. "Well, Crow, I'd say it would be my lucky day if you could help me."

"You know what... I like you, sir. Hold on a moment, I've got just the thing for you."

"Is it a gun?" Clive asked almost too eagerly. "Please tell me it's a revolver, or a pistol, or some kind of sniper rifle like off Modern Warfare Three!"

Crow looked at him oddly. "No... Actually, I'm have no idea what you're talking about. What's a 'sneye-pa'?."

"I don't think firearms have been invented in Larnia yet, Clive," Emmy hissed. "You way too addicted COD, anyway. "

Clamp sighed while he watched Crow stride to his quarters to retrieve an item. "It's mostly older Larnian-folk who are afraid of him," the general admitted quietly. "Must be because they haven't encountered a kind like him before... On the other hand, the youngsters in the camp would follow him to the ends of the world." He stopped speaking when Crow came back with a bundle of cloth.

Crow presented the promised item to Clive. "You don't seem to possess the upper body strength of your sister (Emmy smirked at this statement)... so it would be harder for you to handle a sword, mace or another heavy weapon," he explained. "I picked out something special that I've been saving for a while now..."

Clive unravelled the cloth to find it contained a long white wooden bow. This was accompanied by a silver sheaf of arrows with black feathers cut into flawless uniform lines. "Thanks. Its... perfect," Clive breathed. Perfect for him—the arrow was a cunning killer; silent and swift.

"Don't mention it," Crow dismissed "I made it myself. But you can take it for free."

Emmy relaxed slightly as Clive flung the quiver over his shoulder. The weapon was well made and pretty impressive. Clive would be shooting from longer distances in a battle; he'd likely be stationed at the back of the ranks, nowhere near the Witch.

"You should try it out!" Clamp urged.

Crow insisted on setting up a shooting range for Clive as he wanted to see his "product in action." Clive faced the target several metres in front of him. It was a fiddly job fitting the arrow into the bow; however, before Clive could release the shot, a sharp shout cut across the training area:

"Clive! Emmy!"

It was Beasley. He was flying at the speed of a comet towards them from the inner camp. Flora and Luke hastily followed with fearful expressions.

"What's the matter, Puzzle Bee?" the general inquired.

Beasley whizzed to Emmy's shoulder, announcing urgently. "It's the Witch! She's demanded a meeting with Anton. She's on her way here with half her bloomin' army!"

Suddenly a magically magnified voice could be heard throughout the entire vicinity, as if someone were speaking into a huge microphone. "FOR YOUR INFORMATION: 1.) I ARRIVED FIVE MINUTES AGO, 2.) I WISH TO SPEAK WITH ANTON IMMEDIATELY, 3.) I AM A WARLOCK, AND 4.)... CLIVE, MY DEAR BOY, I AM COMING FOR YOU.

Clive turned paper white and began to tremble. "No..." All his intentions of revenge went straight out the window. He's here Clive thought. He's here for me...!

Emmy couldn't miss the look of horror in her brother's eye. She steeled her nerve. "Well, if the Witch wants to meet us, we'd better give her a welcome she won't forget." Luke and Flora nodded and each of them took one of Clive's hands, assuring him.

Emmy leapt up onto her steed's back. "Hi ho, Philip!" she called.

The Unicorn snorted. "May I remind her highness that my name is Philippe Beauregard Belle Kes—"

"Yeah, whatever, Phil; just move it!"

"Okay... Open your eyes."

Clive did as MJ instructed, taking in the scene before him:

The studio set looked like something straight off the front of a 'Seasons Greetings' Card. A silvery-green Fraser fir tree fully decorated with iridescent ball balls, tinsel and festive figurines stood in the corner of the stage. In the centre, a long table covered with a satin red cloth, cutlery and candles had been set up. Behind the table was a roaring long fire (God knows how they got that in there), rows of stockings hung from its mantle. Most impressive was the winter backdrop, however. An animated picture of falling snowflakes could be seen, the screen made it appear that you were gazing through the window onto a cold December night.

"So," MJ said quietly "What do you think?"

(I see she still hasn't worked out Christmas is over yet.) "Okay, this is..."

"Amazing? Fantastic? Beautiful?"

"Unexpected," Clive enunciated "But it seems you put a lot of time and effort into preparing all of this for me. Thank you."

"Ha! You do like it!" MJ cried triumphantly. "He approves, everyone! You can come out now."

"Thank God," Don Paolo grumbled "I was starting to think we'd done all this work for nothing."

The other cast members came out from hiding under the table wearing Santa hats. They all ran over to Clive, thrusting wrapped packages of all sorts into his arms.

"What are all these?" Clive asked suspiciously.

"Presents of course!" Luke grinned "Everyone decided to get you something."
"Everyone except Descole," Emmy clarified.

Descole informed loftily "Being allowed to bask in my very presence is the ultimate gift."

The professor smiled. "Of course, gaining presents is not the true meaning of Christmas—"

"Yeah whatever, Professor! Go on, open your presents," Puzzlette ushered Clive (Who the hell invited her?) "Open them open them open them NOW!"

Clive carefully unwrapped a pink coloured box from Flora. Crap. It was a box of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. But because it was (a belated) Christmas, Clive smiled at Flora and feigned devouring one of the rock hard biscuits.

Next came Luke's gift... a navy green cap, funny how it resembled the one Clive wore when he was younger. Clive thanked Luke sincerely.

The professor (one of the only people to bring Clive a small gift every year when he was in jail) bought Clive a book. Typical, but the ex-convict was grateful nonetheless.

Clive laughed at Emmy's masterpiece. She'd made him a dart board with Bill Hawk's ugly mug in the bull's eye.

Grosky, Chelmey and Barton all chipped in to get him a notepad and a fancy fountain pen.

Don Paolo's offering was a single smelly old sock with a hole in it. "Hey, I'll take that back if you don't want it," Don Paolo said when he saw Clive's look of disdain.

Last but not least, Granny Riddleton handed Clive a puzzle book and Puzzlette gave him a fly swatter (though he couldn't understand why).

"Time for turkey dinner, courtesy of Rose," MJ declared when the presents had all been opened. Everyone cheered— "Flora hasn't cooked the food, hooray!" –and rushed to the long table, ripping open the crackers. MJ took Clive's hand, leading him to the top of the table. She placed a Santa hat on his head and whispered "Merry Christmas, Clive!"

"Merry belated Christmas to you too, MJ."

"Oh, shut up and eat your turkey!"

[[I finally updated! What is this madness?:O I hope it lived up to your expectations. I've developed a soft spot for Crow recently so I included him in this chapter.

Next time: Anton faces Descole and we find out there is a traitor within Anton's army. Who will it be?

Review because I finally updated! Yay!]]