Uncle Drosselmeyer knew his way around a clock. He loved his sister's children so much that he built them a clockwork dog just in time for Winter's Eve. It had a plexiglass coat and brass organs that slid and shifted like the inside of a very old timepiece.

"That's sorcery. Craft." Papa Hoffman muttered, not liking the way his three children chased the artificial husky around on the carpet. He shook his head and furiously thumbed the talisman at his neck.

Marisol went straight to her uncle's defense. "Juju's not craft, Papa." She must have told him a thousand times, but still Papa refused to look at Drosselmeyer's creations with anything but suspicion.

Marisol was the middle Hoffman child and had always admired her uncle. Tonight she believed that this

gift was proof of his genius. If she had it her way, she would grow up to be a clock master just like him.

Mama affectionately gathered Papa's arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Look at how much joy Drosselmeyer's juju brings the children. Can't you give this puppy a chance? Just this one time?"

Realizing that Papa would need more convincing, the youngest Hoffman child, Frix, ran up and began pleading with him.

"Papa, you can't say no. I've already given him a name!"

Marisol looked sideways at her brother. "Who said that you could name him?"

Ignoring her, Frix tugged on the hem of Papa's sweater. "His name will be Zwölf and I promise to train him. He can even sleep in my room."

"Now, wait a minute–" Marisol interrupted, not liking one bit how Frix asserted himself as lead guardian over what was supposed to be the family pet.

These were the least of her troubles because Papa only seemed to double down.

"It doesn't matter whose room it's sleeping in because I will not have some craft-begotten mongrel living in my house!"

"Papa?"

The third and eldest Hoffman child, Lucinda, called from her spot on the rug. There she had the puppy's head resting in her lap. She looked down at the dog fondly as she scratched behind his ears until his neon lantern eyes blinked in sleepy bliss.

"Papa, please."

Very carefully Lucinda rose to her feet, settling the dog's head on the rug without waking him. She moved about with great care, for the doctor had forbidden any abrupt activity during her recovery.

Lucinda approached the rest of her family with the most delicate steps, holding her arms at low, graceful angles.

The child was so light and measured in her skip, as if she hadn't spent the last six months on hiatus from her weekly dance lessons. Marisol and Frix held their breaths as Lucinda Hoffman continued to prance closer and closer.

Papa never stood a chance.

Lucinda balanced on her toes, her nightgown rippling around her knees. She bowed low, arching her wrist with that otherworldly, swanlike grace that Marisol could never replicate in her own dancing, no matter how many hours she practiced.

Still bent over in her bow, Lucinda tilted her cloudy gray eyes upward.

"Can we please keep Zwölf? I feel like he's already ours."

Not knowing how many Winterfests Lucinda had left in her, Mama fought to hold back tears. Uncle

Drosselmeyer grinned knowingly from behind the cracked lenses of his goggles.

Papa blinked his own cool gray eyes and lost all willpower. "Fine. The mongrel can stay."

Lucinda slowly raised herself to full height. "H-he can?"

Papa blinked as if waking from a dream. He hesitated. But before he could express a possible change of heart, Lucinda raced forward and seized him in the strongest hold she could muster.

"Oh! Thank you... Thank you Papa!"

Marisol and Frix went berserk. In between joyous hops, they cried, "Zwölf gets to stay! Zwölf gets to stay!"

Lucinda let go of Papa, who was back to growling and scowling.

"You didn't let me finish! That... thing can only stay until Winterfest is over. Then it's going back home with your crazy uncle."

The Hoffman children kept rejoicing, for they knew that no such thing would happen. They were certain that Zwölf would be theirs forever.

In the years to come, Marisol would never forget that Winterfest. It would be the last one where Lucinda danced.

Five Winterfests passed since then and Lucinda had grown steadily weaker. By the time Marisol was fifteen, Papa and Mama Hoffman were preparing this to be Lucinda's last Winter's Eve.

"Tell us what you wish for the most this year," Mama said as she bent over Lucinda's bed-bound form. Though she was barely twenty, Lucinda moved with the steady grace of a geriatric monarch.

Papa was there too, holding Lucinda's hand and trying to keep up a strong face.

"That's right, sweetheart. We'll get you anything you want this year. You just name it."

Lucinda coughed and looked past Mama and Papa at Marisol and Frix. She winked at them before

looking back up at their father. "You're not going to like it, Papa."

The gray eyes that Papa shared with his eldest daughter softened as he caressed her damp forehead and said, "You don't worry about me, Luce. Just tell us what you want for Winterfest."

The oldest Hoffman child said, "I want to spend this year with Uncle Drosselmeyer. Just like that time he introduced us to Zwölf."

From where she stood, Marisol could see Papa's spine go rigid. There was laughter in Mama's voice as she bent over and kissed Lucinda on the head. "Oh sweetie, that's all? We'll call your uncle right up."

Marisol and Frix shot private celebratory glances. Frix, being still a child, had to be thinking about all of the toy soldiers Drosselmeyer was bound to bring with him. But Marisol was hopeful that her uncle would help her work on her juju.

It came as no surprise that Papa wasn't thrilled when the Hoffman family had learned about a year ago that Marisol possessed the same affinity for juju as her uncle.

Papa eventually grew accustomed to his daughter conjuring life back into any broken appliances or whispering the glitches out of the more complicated household devices. It didn't take long for Marisol's juju to become a part of the family dynamic just as Zwölf had after spending a few days following Papa around and fetching his slippers whenever he needed them.

Marisol often relied on her new mastery over clocks to take her mind off of Lucinda's deteriorating health. When the eldest Hoffman child learned of Marisol's new gift, she squealed in delight and requested little juju ballerinas to occupy the empty spaces on her shelves.

"I'm no clock master like Uncle Drosselmeyer," Marisol told her. "But I'll do my best."

The most she could make her ballerinas last was a few hours before their clocks would eventually need winding up again. And the clockwork dolls were

limited in the moves they could perform, the most complicated being a pirouette.

After Mama and Papa left Lucinda's bedroom, Marisol approached her sister's side and said, "With Uncle Drosselmeyer's help, I'm going to build a proper ballerina for you. This one will be able to leap real high and do splits. I promise."

Lucinda glanced around her room at the dozens of ballerina prototypes. "I'm thankful for every toy you've made me. They're all special in their own way." She chuckled. "You've made me a ballerina from every corner of the world. And they each have their own style of dance and wardrobe. How could I possibly ask for more?"

Marisol knelt by the bed so that she was level with Lucinda's shoulder. "I haven't made one that looks like you yet. This next one will. She'll have your eyes and your pretty hair."

Lucinda reached out and tugged one of Marisol's fiercely spun coils. "I want one with hair like yours too.

In your favorite yellow dress. That way, they can be sisters. Like us."

If Lucinda took after Papa, then Marisol was a slightly lighter-skinned version of Mama. Their parents came from two separate islands. Papa's side was all olive-toned skin, aquiline noses, and pale eyes. Contrastingly, Mama and Uncle Drosselmeyer's people had richer complexions, fuller, rounder features, with hair that cast the illusion of appearing coarse, but was in fact wickedly soft to the touch.

When it came to the youngest, Frix, family and friends said that he was an equal blend of Mama and Papa's polar genetics. As for the girls, Lucinda especially favored Papa in the eyes and her head of windspun curls. Marisol, on the other hand, had hair more like Mama's. She wore her crown in braids while the rest floated along the nape of her neck.

While Marisol was trying to wrap her mind around how she might fulfill Lucinda's requests, the elder sister gathered up the younger's hands and said, "Close your eyes. I have something for you."

When Marisol was told to open them again, she found in her hand a basket stuffed with decorative paper. Curiously, she peeled the paper away. Under the wrapping were two shiny round surfaces trimmed in brass.

"Clock master goggles! Thanks, Luci." Marisol donned the gear as if it were as precious as a crown of gems.

Lucinda added, "Now you're a real clock

master's apprentice. Wait until Uncle Drosselmeyer sees."

As if Lucinda had spoken the magic words, a loud crash echoed from downstairs. It was followed by Papa's irate curses and Mama's amused laughter. Soon Frix and Zwölf joined in, their combined barking and hollering making it impossible to tell who was who.

Marisol sighed and patted Lucinda's hand. "I'll be right back."

The young clock master found her family making a ruckus over a fallen Winterfest tree. Half of its decorations, which Marisol had built herself, were strewn across the floor. Zwölf and Frix were making it even worse by marching around on top of them.

Papa fanned the air above his head with the end of a broom, his face as red as a kidney bean.

"Damnation! Bats again?" He wheezed. "Haven't shown up in months! But the moment Drosselmeyer rolls into town, they're suddenly nesting in our tree? Don't try to convince me that it's a coincidence."

Uncle Drosselmeyer casually stepped into view with his arms crossed behind him. "Bats? I don't see any bats here. Brother, you really should sit down and have a drink. Or three."

Marisol leaped the last few steps and bounded over the tick-tockery shambles.

"Uncle Drosselmeyer!"

"Oh!" The old man grunted when his niece raced into his arms. "Has it really been five years? Look at how you've grown! And is that clock gear that I see?"

Papa suddenly turned his attention to the goggles on Marisol's head. "Curses. More of this juju nonsense, Marisol?"

Marisol shrank at the edge in Papa's voice. Using her uncle's waistcoat as a shield, she said, "Don't be mad, Papa. They're a gift. Lucinda made them for me."

Papa promptly softened his gaze. He grumbled under his breath and went back to sweeping for the so called bats.

Uncle Drosselmeyer squeezed Marisol's

shoulders and said quietly, "I can't wait for us to get started on your lessons, but first, take me to your sister. I have something for her."

Marisol gladly led Uncle Drosselmeyer to

Lucinda's chambers, Frix and Zwölf following behind. Lucinda's eyes lit up when the four of them entered her room. She tried to sit up a little straighter for her guests.

Uncle Drosselmeyer rapped his knuckles on the open door. "Happy Winter's Eve. I brought you something."

Frix shoved his way to the front and blurted, "Luci, if it's a toy, will you let me try it out first? Pretty please!"

Marisol fought the urge to hurl her new goggles at her brother's head. "Frix, get out of the way."

He shot her a cold look over his shoulder. "On second thought, Luci, if Uncle Dross gives you another one of those ballerinas like Marisol makes, you can keep it. They're boring."

Hotly, Marisol said, "Take it back, Frix."

When he made it clear that he would not, Marisol wrestled him towards Lucinda's shelves. The furniture swayed with the force of Frix's weight as he used the momentum to shove himself back against his sister. Now it was war.

Some of Lucinda's toy ballerinas came to

Marisol's aid, leaping down from their shelves and

pirouetting on Frix's face. Zwölf flounced around the two of them, chasing his tail obsessively when their rivalry grew too intense for him.

While the three of them were occupied, Uncle Drosselmeyer pulled aside the lapel of his waistcoat and retrieved Lucinda's present. Though her body was tired from all the excitement in the house, Lucinda forced her eyes to stay open.

"Uncle, how did you get here so fast? I only just asked Mama if she would invite you."

The clock master winked his good eye. "I had a hunch. Besides, I've been working on this toy for quite some time. As soon as it was finished, I knew it was time to come see you. Here it is."

He carefully placed the parcel on Lucinda's blanket.

"I wonder what it is." Lucinda's gray eyes

gleamed as she unboxed a human-shaped figure. Then

she gasped, "A Nutbreaker? Frix! Marisol! Get off the floor and look at this!"

In a matter of seconds, all three of the Hoffman children were gathered together and mesmerized by the handmade Nutbreaker. Drosselmeyer had designed him to shatter nuts on his own. The siblings took turns placing

hazelnuts between the toy's broad teeth and watching him grind them down to dust.

He was certainly a handsome Nutbreaker, his garb a combination of fastidiously tailored pieces and draped fabric with exotic print. His serious brown face was softened under the touch of amber-toned blush on each cheek. He had dark, lush corkscrew curls that snaked out of a regal fur cap. Lucinda's Nutbreaker could have easily assumed the role of a dauntless matador or a foreign dignitary.

Unable to keep her eyes open or her head up, Lucinda slumped against her pillow in a labored, but blissful slumber.

Marisol tried to hide her disappointment. She wanted to keep playing with the Nutbreaker, but it was Luci's toy and she was all out of energy. When Marisol told Frix that it was time to put the Nutbreaker down, he took off with it.

"Nuh-uh! I didn't even get to finish my turn."

Marisol looked to Drosselmeyer for assistance. "Uncle, can you tell Frix to give it back? He can't play with Luci's stuff when she's resting. It's not fair."

Drosselmeyer said nothing, pretending to be more interested in the toy ballerinas, who had long since escorted themselves back to their homes on the shelves.

"You made all these dancers by yourself,

Marisol?"

Meanwhile, Frix put even more distance between himself and Lucinda's bed. Then he pulled something round and shiny out from his pocket.

"See, Marisol? Uncle Dross doesn't care about your stupid made up rules. Besides, I need to see if the Nutbreaker's strong enough to make a dent in one of my toy cannons."

Marisol threw herself at her brother.

"Frix, stop!"

But it was too late. The youngest Hoffman child popped the bullet between the handsome Nutbreaker's teeth and watched him automatically chomp down.

Despite the air shattering with the sound of a devastating crack, the iron ball remained unharmed. The lower half of Nutbreaker's jaw piece, however, wound up falling to the floor.

"Frix . . ." Marisol stared in horror at the crime scene. "You just . . . broke him. He was Luci's!"

The boy rushed out of the room, discarding the toy on the nearest dresser. The Nutbreaker teetered and threatened to drop off the edge. Marisol had to dash in order to catch him. Once he was in her arms, she cradled the toy as if it were a newborn.

"Shh. Shh. It's okay," she whispered, knowing he must be in tremendous pain. "I'll make things right."

Marisol held the Nutbreaker close and turned a few times in place. A vision of herself dressed in minty stockings and a fluffy skirt came over her. Alone in her imagination, Marisol elevated onto her toes. Though she was nowhere near as graceful as her sister, she closed her eyes and danced with the ruined Nutbreaker. Lucinda may never have the chance to dance with her new toy, so Marisol danced for her too.

She danced, and danced, and danced . . . until she realized that something could have been done to prevent this.

"Uncle?" Marisol slowly came out of her dream, her eyes lifting to meet Drosselmeyer's. "Why didn't you stop Frix? You know that he would have listened to you!"

Needles pricked the back of Marisol's neck. "Uncle Drosselmeyer?"

But the clock master was gone.

~~~

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