by Dan Thompson
DEMON’S DELIGHT
An Urban Fantasy Christmas Collection
Dan Thompson
Kate Baray
Linda L. Davis
Copyright
Yes, Virginia, There’s a Satan Claws, © 2015, Dan Thompson, all rights reserved.
Krampus Gone Wild, © 2015, Kate Baray, all rights reserved.
The Goblin Influence, © 2015, Linda L. Davis, all rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, including, but not limited to, any electronic forms, and information or storage systems without the explicit written permission from the authors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is completely coincidental.
YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SATAN CLAWS
Dan Thompson
More than anything, I wanted to spend Christmas in Hell, far away from my mother. That’s not as far-fetched as you might think because in Pittsburgh, we have four easy-access gates into Hell. Mother, on the other hand, was tucked away behind one of the gates into the elfin city of Evanelle. Me, I lived appropriately enough halfway in between here in Pittsburgh.
I work at the Herald, and people call me Al. Well, folks at work do. To most everyone else, I’m Alice Koufax. Of course, Mother still calls me Alyssa, a nod to my elfin heritage on her side, but after the divorce, I took Dad’s side and went to live with him near the steel mills in the demon city of Karthai. I left the name “Alyssa” behind, along with my elfin formal robe and Mother’s tattered copy of Magic and You.
So normally, Mother’s invitation would be easy to dodge. The two of us hadn’t exchanged a civil word in a few years, so the invitations hadn’t even been coming for quite a while. This time was different, though. This year, Christmas Eve had lined up with Evanelle’s Winter Festival of the New Moon, and with the vagaries of human and elfin calendars, this wouldn’t happen again for another two hundred and thirty-nine years, well within her lifespan but not mine. Still, the real issue was my brother, Paul.
Paul took Mother’s side in the divorce, though less out of any love for her than because of the feud he started with Dad over some suitably trivial teenage act of rebellion. But he wasn’t just acting as Mother’s proxy here. No. He was engaged now and had to make everything perfect for his girl.
“Come on, Alice,” he pleaded on the phone. “It’ll be our first real Christmas together, and I want to make it special for Margie. You know, see the magical lights of a big Winter Festival, let Mom teach her how to make Grandma’s mist cups, all the family stuff that makes it important.”
“Family stuff, eh?” I glanced around my little office cubicle, but no one seemed to be prairie-dogging to listen in. “So I suppose I can bring Dad as my plus one?”
The phone was quiet for a moment. “I’m being serious, Alice. I want this to work. Drop Dad in, and all we’re going to get is a shouting match. That is not the family tradition I want to introduce Margie to.”
“Well, I won’t be one of the ones shouting, so that’s not my problem.”
He must have pulled the handset away on his end, but I could still hear him grumble out a few curses. “Look, at least think about it. You don’t have to stay long, and I’ll do what I can to keep Mom at bay.”
I snorted. “No, not on her turf. You know what I’m talking about.” He did. The last time I had visited Mother’s was for Paul’s college graduation party, and Mother had lined up six—yes, six!—potential suitors for me to meet, all from what she called “good families with a solid elfin bloodline.”
“I’ll ask Grandma Vanessa to come run interference for you.”
I knew that Vanessa would get a kick out of foiling any of Mother’s schemes, but it still wasn’t enough for me. “Nice try, but if you put the two of them together, you’ll get more shouting than if I bring Dad.” I paused long enough to let him think of a reply but not long enough to say it. “Look, it’s nice of you to ask, and I’m sure the Festival lights will be even more magical than ever, but I think you and Margie are going to have to do this one without me.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to go spend Christmas with Dad again?”
“Maybe. I have invitations from friends as well.”
“But you’ll be in Hell?”
“Yes. Besides, I’ve got a story to track down there.”
He snorted. “Oooh, a big story?”
“Big enough to stay away from Mother.” I hung up.
It wasn’t a lie. I did have a big story. Well, big for me. It might even make the front page … of the Lifestyle section. Yes, Al Koufax, intrepid reporter of such tales as the Tri-County Garden Expo and the Second Annual Amateur Ice Sculpture Competition. This story, though, was actually pretty crappy.
I was supposed to talk to some guy calling himself Satan Claws.
I met up with Nigel Davis downstairs. He’s the paper’s assistant photographer. Our chief photographer spends most of his time at a desk handling color balancing or something like that for the rest of us who were catching snapshots on our phones. Nigel is the only one we ever sent out specifically to get a photograph, and he was the lucky bastard who was being sent to Hell with me on Christmas Eve.
“Where are we meeting this guy?” he asked, patting down the pockets in his vest, presumably confirming the exact contents of each one with a simple touch.
“In Karthai,” I answered, heading toward the door. Karthai was the demon city connected to Pittsburgh. It was Hell, but high-rent Hell.
Nigel caught up with me and got his hand on the door before I did. “Where, exactly, in Karthai?”
“That’s where things get fuzzy.” I shifted to the next door over and pushed it open. “I’ll explain on the train.”
The Steel Plaza station was only four blocks from the Herald’s offices, but the words “Pittsburgh,” “mild,” and “winter” should never be used in the same sentence. I was hoping to grab a cab, but even at noon they were already getting scarce for the holiday. The wet drizzle told me it was still above freezing, but I pulled my jacket close and hurried along. Nigel had no trouble keeping up, and he seemed warm enough with just his vest. My elfin heritage did me no favors here, and having spent my teen years in Upper Karthai with Dad had only spoiled me for cold weather.
At least the lower-level station was warm, and an Orange Line train was waiting for us when we got there. I settled into a seat while Nigel took one across the aisle. A mix of other humans and demons were on the train, the latter either standing or sitting along the wing-friendly center bench.
“So, fuzzy?” he asked.
“Yeah, Big Jim got a tip about some guy in or near Karthai who was doing the full Santa thing.”
Nigel nodded. “What’s so special about that? I’ve seen dozens of them.”
That was true enough. Demons had strangely latched onto Christmas as the one human holiday to import. They were not all that big on Christianity. Why let all that forgiveness crap get in the way of a good blood feud, after all? But they loved the idea of big meals and an excuse for mass consumerism. Thus, Karthai had almost as many demons dolled up in red velvet and white fur trim as Pittsburgh had humans doing the same in shopping malls and department stores. They have to cut the jackets more like vests to accommodate the wings, but it’s eerie how natural it looks on them. “Yeah, but this one’s unique,” I said. “Apparently he’s doing the whole sleigh and
flying reindeer thing, too.”
“Reindeer? In Hell?”
“Probably not reindeer, but maybe petheks.”
Nigel looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Petheks? You mean dragons?”
I laughed. Yes, petheks had claws and wings, and breathed fire, but they were not dragons. Reykjavík was the only city with a gate to the dragon realm. “No scales and not that smart. More like a scary Pegasus,” I told him.
He shook his head. “I’ve seen the pictures of them breathing fire. I’m not sure I want to get that close.”
I shrugged. I’d seen one once being trained as a war mount, but I’d never interacted with any. “So anyway, this guy is a little off the beaten path.”
“So, no address?”
“No, but Jim set me up with a couple of the more traditional Santas. They might know more, but they might not. If nothing else, we’ll settle for some pictures of them and call it a day.”
“Not that I want the extra work, but is that you trying to get home early, or is that Big Jim letting you off the hook?”
His tone was too casual for me to worry, and we both knew Big Jim would never let anyone off the hook, holiday or not. “He told me it might just be a rumor blown out of proportion, so if we don’t find him, we’re in the clear.”
That satisfied Nigel. This was an express train, so we only made one more stop before crossing through the Perdition Gate into Hell. On the train, the gate interface looks like a wall of fire sweeping through the cars. Whoever establishes a gate has some control over its appearance, and clearly that particular demon had liked fire. I hear that when the Denver trains pass into the frozen city of Auroralein, it looks like an oncoming avalanche. I’ve seen people flinch at the sight of the flames, but no one did on this train.
We got off at the Downtown Station, with Karthai’s stone buildings rising to three or four stories around us. Karthai Castle was even taller, but we were headed to the Paktoo Market downhill from there. It’s about as close to a shopping mall as you’ll find in Karthai. Since it doesn’t rain in Hell, there’s no need for a roof, and despite the heat, there is no air-conditioning. Demons have imported many technologies from Earth, but air-conditioning isn’t one of them.
Nigel spotted the local Santa before I did, but he had the height advantage. Santa and his helpers were set up on the far side next to a statue that was little more than a dozen steel tridents warped and welded into a distinctly hellish tree of barbed points. I think most of the year it commemorates some ancient war, but today it was decorated with balls and tinsel.
This particular Santa was an overweight kagnari, normally the kind of demon that is one giant wall of winged muscles, but this one seemed to have come by his belly honestly. His helpers were a pair of decidedly nonelfin pale succubi dressed in flirty green skirts and vests, revealing more than they concealed. Given the general lack of modesty in Hell, I was surprised they wore even that much, but I supposed this close to the train station, they were showing a modicum of respect for the visiting humans and their pious holiday.
Nigel started measuring the light and took a few test shots of his reference color card. The light in Karthai came from giant bowls of hellfire hanging from the cavern roof far above, and the yellowish hue didn’t make his job any easier. One of the succubi was taking a photo of a young tokkel on Santa’s lap: a lad so young his horns didn’t yet show even a hint of their eventual corkscrew shape. The other swiped the mother’s credit card through the reader, and within moments, the photo had shown up on her cell phone’s email.
Yes, credit cards and email, but no air-conditioning. I didn’t mind. I’d spent my teen years here, so I was used to it. My jacket was tied around my waist by the sleeves, but Nigel was starting to melt under his heavy vest and sweater.
The photographer succubus exchanged a few words with him, and he added an extra filter on his camera lens. By the time the line had dwindled, the introductions had already been made. Nigel got a couple of pictures of Santa on his own, one or two with him flanked by his helpers, and at least one that was far too risqué to grace the pages of the Herald.
“How about one with you, miss?” the Santa called to me.
I figured it was the easiest way to get in a few questions, so I hopped up on his lap. I adjusted my hair to show my Kalxi Axemen tattoo, but not the tips of my ever-so-slightly elfin ears. I’ve spent enough years down here to belong, but the ears never make a good first impression.
He ran a finger over the tattoo and gave a hearty laugh. “So this is not your first time on a demon’s lap?”
“Hardly,” I replied.
“Well, then, have you been naughty or nice this year?”
“Both!” Anyone growing up in Hell knows that’s the only proper answer.
He laughed again, and we both posed for Nigel. He circled around and got us from a couple of different angles. I trust him to compose a good shot, so I tried to look my best. I doubted the photo would be in the paper, but it would probably end up on the bulletin board in the break room at work.
“So, what do you want for Christmas this year?”
“Can I ask for anything?”
“Of course!”
Reporter mode on! “Well, I was hoping to meet another Santa, one with a sleigh and eight petheks. Have you heard of him?”
His laugh faltered, and he shifted a bit beneath me. “I think somebody has been putting a bit too much tarro moss in your eggnog.”
I shrugged. I had known it was a long shot, but it was worth asking. “You’re sure? I’ve heard rumors.”
He gave a snort. “More like exaggerations. I did hear about someone from the other side of Lower Karthai who flew in on a pethek last year. Not a respectable suit, no helpers, and definitely no sleigh.”
Still, it was something. “Thank you,” I said. “Have a very Merry Christmas.”
He nodded. “You, as well, young lass.” And with that, he boosted me off his lap, giving my ass a good squeeze in the process. After years in Hell, I’m used to that, but I have to say that this one was going on my bragging list. I’d been groped by Santa.
Nigel walked over, slipping his gear back into his pockets. “So, did you get what you needed for the story?”
I shook my head. “Not even close, but he told me enough to know that there is at least some truth to the rumor.”
He checked his watch. “What next?”
I sympathized with him. It was already past two in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, and for that matter, we had an early print deadline today. Normally Lifestyle closed at seven with final layout locked down by eight. Today my article was due by four with the final layout being sent to the printer by five. Plus, Nigel had to get back into Pittsburgh, and the trains were due to switch to a holiday schedule at four in the afternoon.
“There’s another Santa I want to check out in Lower Karthai.”
“Another one on Big Jim’s list?”
“No,” I replied. This was one I had heard about during my high school days, and even if Big Jim had known about him, I was pretty sure that as hard-ass as he is, he was never going to send sweet little Alice to see Sexy Santa. “But it sounds like the Santa I’m looking for is well off the shopping mall circuit, and this next Santa is pretty far off it as well.”
He nodded, and we started walking. Travel for humans in Hell can be a little slow. Most of the locals can fly, so while there are a few vehicles on the streets, they are intended for heavy deliveries, not passenger traffic. The train could take us to the other side of the downtown district, but we needed to go in the opposite direction. It was eight blocks to the drop-off, and then, at least, the chairlifts would take us most of the remaining distance.
That’s when my phone rang. I had most of my family programmed in with custom ringtones, but when Mother called, it was always from Evanelle using a magical calling stone. By the time that got routed through Faeburgh where magic could be squeezed into a digital signal, there was no caller ID, but when my Faebur
gh ringtone sounded, I knew it had to be her. Yes, Paul worked in Faeburgh, but he had already called me earlier from home, so this was Mother.
“Hello, Mother,” I answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t play nice unless you mean it,” she replied. “Paul tells me you’re still as obstinate as ever.”
“Something I get from you, Mother.”
Yeah, our relationship is just peachy.
She mumbled something I couldn’t quite catch, but then I could hear her taking a deep breath. It’s weird what sometimes comes through these connections and what gets lost. “Your brother wants to welcome Margaret into the family properly, and that includes you. Will you please join us for the Winter Moon Festival tonight? I understand that the Elders have prepared quite an American theme in recognition of your Christmas Eve.”
Dammit. I hated it when she went all courteous on me. It was harder to blame her when she did that, and I knew very well that was precisely the reason she did it. “I’ll try, but I might not be able to.”
“Why not?”
“I’m working on a story.”
“On Christmas Eve? Come now, Alyssa, you usually put more effort into your excuses.”
“Yes, Mother, on Christmas Eve. It’s a story for the morning edition if I can get it in.”
“Well, where is it? Maybe Paul could come pick you up.”
“I’m in Karthai, about to head down into Lower Karthai.”
The line was quiet for a moment. “Karthai.”
“Yes, Mother. Karthai.”
“When I am doing everything I can to assemble the family in Evanelle to welcome its newest member, you choose that moment to go down into Karthai? That’s incredibly selfish, Alyssa, even for you.”
Ha! So much for her playing nice. “You’re assembling the family? I thought this was supposed to be Paul’s show.”
“That’s immaterial. I’m helping, and you, evidently, are not.”
We had reached the line for the chairlifts, and while there was a fifty-fifty chance I’d lose signal on the ride down, I wanted to end this call on my terms. “Well, you haranguing me on the phone isn’t helping me finish my article, either.”
