Chapter 3

Some nights you toss and turn like a spinning top, but sleep just won't come. The pillow never feels quite right, and the blanket can't keep you warm all over. Other nights, you fall asleep as if you'd sunk into a feather bed, and the whole night passes in an instant.

I fell asleep quickly, but in the morning I woke up for no reason with one clear thought: I needed an apartment. Urgently! It was as if someone had placed a goal right in front of me. A place of my own, even if only for a while. It had to have a bedroom, a bright kitchen, a big living room, and a rug in the middle of that living room—and it absolutely had to be white! And there I'd be: Sultana Natashka the Magnificent! Sitting on my butt in front of the TV in my pajamas, a turban on my head and a huge cup of tea in my hand, watching a love story and stuffing my face with candy. Delicious candy! And no one else around. Oh—and snow falling outside the window! Big, fluffy flakes!

What better way to get over my last relationship?

With that thought in mind, I rushed off to work, but once I got there, I couldn't settle down. Every spare minute, I searched my phone for rental listings. But no matter who I called, nobody was willing to help me right away. It was always something: the apartment, the neighborhood, or the lease term. No one said no, but everyone promised to help after the holidays. After all, it was the end of December! The season of office parties and frantic shopping!

I applied color to my client's hair, wrapped the strands in foil, noted the time, and moved her to an empty chair so she could flip through a magazine. Peeking from the salon floor into the neighboring nail room, where my boss was based—Igor Fuzherov, the owner of the Beau Monde salon and the best-known manicurist in town (a forty-two-year-old sweetheart, a perfectionist with the soul of a child and an alligator's business instincts)—I waved at him frantically:

"Hey, Fuzik! What are you waiting for? I've been free for a whole minute! Send your girl over for a blowout, quick! I have half an hour, and then the real rush starts! I won't even have time for a smoke!"

The smoking part was figurative, of course, but the salon was in full swing, with steam practically coming out of our ears! Though that's how it always was before the holidays. A woman sat at Igor's table. Another, younger one, had settled on the leather loveseat with a cup of coffee. Igor snapped his long fingers at her and called her over affectionately:

"Lola, you hear me? Chop-chop! Today's your lucky day! Scoot over to Fairy!"

The client's sour expression immediately brightened, and she jumped to her feet. Then she kissed Fuzherov on the cheek.

"Thanks, Igor! You're a miracle! I'll owe you forever!"

"Oh, stop, sweetheart!" Fuzik waved her off, working the nail file with a flourish. "Friends don't keep score. Pay cash at the VIP rush rate and we'll call it even!"

This time, the happy client rewarded Igor with an air kiss. The girl grabbed her purse and dashed over to the salon floor. Dropping into the shampoo chair, she leaned her head back against the headrest, crossed her legs, and chirped:

"Oh, thank you for taking me, Fairy! You have no idea what a crisis I'm in! My husband is flying out, my sweetheart is flying in, and we have dinner at a restaurant at six. I called the receptionist, but you were completely booked! And I just got out of the sauna without having my hair done! When I found out I couldn't get in with you, I was devastated! You're the only one who knows exactly how I'm feeling! I always leave here feeling like a queen!"

The queen had long hair, long legs, and a long tongue. If you ask me, I would've shortened the last one considerably—why did I need to know she had a lover? But you hear all kinds of things from clients at work. To them, we're both confidants and human data dumps, so I nodded, smiled, worked the blow-dryer and curling iron, and thought about my own problems the whole time.

I couldn't get that apartment out of my head!

When I finally got a five-minute break toward evening, I went back to the "Real Estate in Our City" website and started scrolling through the rental listings.

"Ded Moroz Agency. We'll help you find an apartment for every situation! With us, you'll ring in the New Year warm and cozy!"

That listing had been catching my eye all morning, but I kept ignoring it, making my way through a forest of other offers that looked more respectable to me.

Ded Moroz—now that's a name. What will they think of next? Jokers! They might as well add "…and bunnies."

Would you risk dealing with an outfit like that? Renting a place isn't the same as renting a costume for a masquerade. So I snorted, shook my head, and kept searching.

"Unfortunately, miss, at the moment we can only offer you an apartment by the day…"

"I'm sorry, but there are currently no listings matching your request…"

"Would a cottage outside the city work for you? Only forty kilometers from town…"

"Are you interested exclusively in a furnished place? How about a two-room apartment in an upscale neighborhood, just renovated—but, unfortunately, unfurnished and available only with a minimum two-year lease?…"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Look! This apartment is for you! It's cozy, spacious, and ready for you to move in right now! Ded Moroz Real Estate Agency offers the home of your dreams right now! Don't wait for a miracle—it's already knocking at the door! All that's left is to take the plunge and click the link…"

No way! What a company! The third website—and there they were again! And they weren't sparing any money on advertising—the very first line in the center column.

Fine, I'd click the link, just this once. I was curious, after all. And when I did… I gasped at the pictures of my dream apartment. A bright bedroom, a spacious pastel-colored living room, and sunny peach-colored tulle draped over a wall-sized panoramic window.

Oh! Somebody hold me back! A huge plasma TV on the wall, and beneath it—  a white rug!

This was it! Exactly what I wanted—the sultana's kingdom! And the price was listed… How much?! Holy… crap! E-expensive. It was being rented for three months—no more, no less. Judging by the information provided, I could move in right now.

"Hello! Good evening! Is this Ded Moroz Agency? Did I get the right place?"

"Good evening! Yes, you did, but Ded Moroz Ivanovich isn't here right now."

"Where is he?" I was in such a hurry to call that the unexpected answer left me flustered.

"Busy. He's in the courtyard loading presents into the sleigh. He's checking the lists with the Snowman and Mikhail Potapych."

 "Um, and who is available?"

"I'm Snow Maiden. We also have Leshy and Cat Bayun."

"No Leshy, thanks. And I don't really get along with cats."

"Then I'm all ears!"

It was December 29, early evening. Garlands were already glowing everywhere—in the streets and in people's homes—and New Year's trees stood in every window. The holiday pageants at the preschools had already taken place. I knew that for sure, because I'd done the hair of my godchildren—Masha Malinkina's kids. So maybe I wasn't the one losing my mind. Maybe everyone else had gotten into character after a serious round of drinking?