by Kristie Cook
I didn’t really like any of them, to be honest, but I couldn’t tell her that. “How come they all take place in the ’30s and ’40s? Not exactly my favorite time of my life.”
Sheree made a face. “Sorry. I didn’t think of that. Here, maybe you’ll like this one.”
When it showed what looked like Victorian England, I growled quietly. Definitely not a happy time of my life. In fact, in my two-hundred-odd years, I didn’t really have any good memories to focus on. At least in the 1930s I was enjoying myself, even if I was being evil.
“Give it a chance. It’s got ghosts and stuff.”
Well, that sounded interesting. But it wasn’t the ghosts that pulled me into the story.
“I really like this Scrooge guy,” I said after a while, before any ghosts had shown up.
Sheree groaned. “You would.”
“Am I not supposed to?”
“Well, at the end you are.”
By the end, though, I’d lost my admiration for him. “What a wuss.”
“No, he’s not! Being kind and generous doesn’t make him a wuss.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“He changed for the better, just like Tristan. Like you.”
I rolled my eyes and stood up. “Not just like Tristan and me. This dork changed overnight because of his dumb dreams. Not exactly realistic.”
“It’s just a story,” Sheree said. “A good Christmas story about a mean old guy who saw his wrongs and became a good person. I thought you’d like it.”
“Yeah, well, I did until it got stupid. Overdone, like all of these movies. In real life, this guy would have gone back to his old stingy self the very next day. That’s how people are, aren’t they? So is that what Christmas is about? Faking generosity for a day so everyone will adore you and forget that you’re an asshole the other 364 days of the year? I don’t get it, Sheree. I don’t think I ever will.”
Sheree stared at me with bewilderment written all over her face. She opened her mouth a couple of times, but apparently didn’t know what to say. I strode for the door. Sheree called after me, but I didn’t go back. I instantly felt bad for leaving her like that, when she’d been trying to help me. She and Blossom thought the movies would do me good, but all they did was prove even more that I sucked at Christmas.
Not wanting to face anyone else in the mansion, I flashed to the village on the other side of the island. You’d think people would be used to my presence by now, but not all were. As I meandered through the crowded main street, people’s expressions ranged from mild shock to total distrust. I tried to ignore them and focused instead on the shops. One particular window display drew me inside, where I might have found vampire heaven.
Packaged in what looked like wine bottles with pretty labels was blood of every type imaginable, including lots of mage blood. A particular bottle with a red label and the Amadis symbol stamped in silver on it grabbed my attention. I picked up the bottle and fingered the symbol’s shape. “Heavy with the essence of regeneration from one of our rarest sources.” Remembering the time I’d tasted such essence myself, my mouth watered at the thought of the bottle’s contents.
“It’s not for sale,” a deep voice from behind the counter said. Once dark-skinned but now that pale-ashy color of vamps of African descent, he leaned casually against the shelves behind him. “It’s reserved for warriors and the severely injured only.”
“Then what’s it doing here?” I asked, curiosity once again getting to me.
“It brings our kind into the shop. Don’t tell me you couldn’t smell it from outside.” He grinned, his teeth brightly white against his darker lips.
I gave a small smile in agreement. I definitely had smelled it from down the street, drawn to it like a bear to honey. That particular bottle had a unique—and delicious—fragrance. One I knew personally. One I’d probably never get to taste again.
After the blood shop, I visited the store next door, which sold what might look like silly little knickknacks to the Normans, but those of us in our world knew they actually served as spell-binders for the mages—objects they could attach spells to for future use. They only worked for certain kinds of spells, but for some of them, the mage didn’t even have to be present for the spell to activate. Of course, I wasn’t a mage and had no use for these things, but since I didn’t have anything else to do, I browsed through the store and admired all of the shiny silver, which at one time had been the bane of my existence. I stopped close to the back and picked up a music box.
“A nifty little thing that is,” said the witch-shopkeeper as she came in from the back room. Her eyes flitted over me, and she pursed her lips as she walked right on past me with her nose lifted. “Our items are only for mages, though.”
“What does this one do?” I asked, partly out of curiosity but mostly to piss her off for wasting her time. If she’d been Daemoni, she would have thrown me out on my ass, but she was Amadis. She’d be as courteous as she could stand.
“When the music plays, a two-way portal will open. Of course, only the most powerful warlocks can make it work.”
“Of course,” I muttered as I put it back. Not too many Amadis warlocks possessed enough powerful magic to create a portal, and a two-way one was almost unheard of.
I took my time studying other objects until I couldn’t stand the weight of her annoyed gaze any longer. After wasting more time in the village, I eventually sucked it up and flashed back to the mansion. Only to land on top of a tree log lying in the foyer.
“What the hell?” I muttered. Annoyed that someone must have left it there and forgotten about it—probably that old witch Ophelia—I picked it up, took it into the parlor and tossed it into the fireplace. The low flames already in the hearth caught it immediately and burst into a giant fire with a whoosh.
“Did you get your shopping done?” Blossom asked as she came into the parlor, a bunch of boxes hovering in the air in front of her. She placed the boxes on the ground and looked around with her brows pinched together as if she’d lost something.
“Shopping?” I asked, as confused as she looked.
“I thought you went to the village to do your Christmas shopping.” She stepped through the doorway to look into the foyer and then turned back to me with her hands on her hips.
Shit. I’d passed through every shop in that village and not once did I think about buying anyone a present.
“Do you know if Ophelia did something with the tree?” Blossom asked, but at the same time realization slammed into me, her gaze slid over to the fireplace. “Oh, my God. Alexis, Tristan, and Dorian searched for that one for hours!”
“Are we ready to decorate?” Sheree asked as she skipped into the parlor. Her mouth fell open when she saw the tree—the mother effin’ Christmas tree!—being devoured by flames. She immediately turned to me, her normally brown eyes glaring at me with the yellow irises of a tiger.
“I’m ... I’m so sorry,” I muttered. “I thought ...”
I couldn’t finish. It didn’t matter what I thought. I’d been too caught up in my own selfishness that I hadn’t stopped to think that the log in the foyer might have been more than just a log. Too self-centered to think about anyone but myself while I was at the village.
Without another word, I bolted upstairs to my suite. Anger consumed me. Anger at myself for even thinking that I could do this Christmas thing. Or even this Amadis thing. I didn’t belong here. I was nothing like them, and I never would be. My door slammed against the wall when I threw it open and slammed again into its jamb when I shut it. I wanted to throw things. To have an all-out Daemoni style tantrum.
Then I saw the black bottle with the red label embossed with silver sitting on my table where the notecard had been this morning.
I fell silent as I stared at it. Then I stomped over to the table and picked up the note accompanying the bottle:
“Use it wisely. There’s more where this came from, if you’re good. Your Secret Santa.”
&nbs
p; I threw my head back and screamed with frustration.
“I don’t know how to be good!” I yelled at the ceiling. I stomped my foot and yanked on my hair as I glared at the bottle as if it had been the one to offend me. “And what am I supposed to do with this? I can’t drink it! I can’t accept it! I can’t even say fucking thank you!”
I grabbed the bottle and threw it. It stopped in mid-air instead of crashing against the wall.
“Sure you can,” said a voice from the doorway, and my mood immediately changed.
Chapter 3
I spun around and couldn’t help the smile on my face when I saw Owen, his tall frame leaning against my doorway. Blossom and Sheree had been nice enough, but I felt like Owen understood me better than anyone. He’d become an outcast, too, and neither of us really knew where we belonged anymore. At least he had some idea about how to live in this strange Amadis world.
I picked up the note and waved it at him. “I have a Secret Santa. How stupid is that? And how, pray tell, do I tell him or her thank you for something I can’t even have?”
His bright blue gaze, the color of the ocean, landed on the bottle, then came back to my face. “I don’t think your Secret Santa would give you something you can’t have.”
“Unless it’s a test,” I said. “You know—see if I can pass the temptation.”
He shrugged. “I guess it could be, but I doubt it. Secret Santas are cool. Not jerks.”
I placed my hands on the table behind me and leaned back. “Okay, let’s say it’s a real gift. I’ll still be good and wait for the perfect time to drink it. But how on Earth do you suggest I return the kindness, since you think you’re so smart?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. My early daydream of mistletoe and kissing popped into my mind. I shoved it out before such thoughts got me into more trouble.
“And while you’re at it,” I said before he could answer, “tell me how to make up for all the problems I caused downstairs. I kind of blew it. Bad.”
He gave me a full smile now. “Ah, I think you’re already forgiven for the tree. Blossom and I took care of it before anyone but Sheree even knew. But I do have an idea.”
I hesitated with the twinkle in his eye.
“What?” I asked, skepticism heavy in my voice.
“You can return the kindness by showing that you’re really appreciative. You do that by doing something for others.”
“Pay it forward. Blossom already said that.”
“Blossom’s a smart witch. And I have a perfect opportunity for you. I need an elf.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “An elf?”
“Yes, an elf. Tristan and Alexis have gone off, starting a few days early on their Random Acts of Kindness thing—”
I couldn’t help the snort because I was trying to suppress a chuckle.
“What?” Owen asked.
I shook my head. “Irony. Ever since Sophia started that tradition with little-girl Alexis, I’d kind of started one on the Daemoni side. Random Acts of Evil. It’s become an anti-Christmas tradition.” I paused then quickly added, “Not that I’m proud of it or anything.”
The warlock stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, now you really need to make up for it by doing something nice and not evil. Like being my elf.”
“Your elf?”
“Yeah. There are some kids who need a visit from Old Saint Nick.”
As ludicrous as his proposal sounded, I couldn’t say no to Owen. I’d probably never win him over, but I couldn’t help trying. An hour later, as we walked through the hospital corridor, I’d already started to regret it. Because of my weakness when it came to him, I looked like a green bean in a dress. While he wore a long robe with scenes beautifully embroidered into it and a hat with a tip that folded over and hung to his shoulder, a flick of his hand put me in dark green tights, a short red dress with fake fur on its hem, and clown shoes with toes that curled over and bells that jangled with every step I took. They matched the absurd hat on my head. To make it all worse, his face was covered with a beautiful beard that reached to his chest and long hair whiter than mine (although I already missed the disheveled straw-colored hair that he normally had), and I had nothing to mask my face. I was exposed to the world in all of my ridiculousness.
“What are you?” a boy demanded of me as soon as we strode into the room where a group of children had been gathered.
Some sat in wheelchairs, others walked around in pajamas, almost all had tubes and wires coming out of their bodies and tying them to machines. The emergency room and surgical wings could have been too much for me with all of the blood that spilled there, but this ward brought no temptation at all. Not when I could smell the cancer and disease running through these children’s veins.
“I’m an elf,” I said, trying to keep the biting sarcasm out of my voice. I didn’t think I succeeded.
“You’re too tall to be an elf,” he said.
“Yeah, elves are short,” said the girl who sat next to him.
I looked over at Owen, at a loss for words. I had no idea what their vision of elves was. Had he set me up to look like a fool? When I tilted my head and the tip of my hat hit me in the cheek with another jangle, I knew that was a stupid question. Of course I looked like a fool.
“I brought my biggest and strongest elf today,” Owen said in explanation, his voice sounding deeper and older than usual.
“She doesn’t look very strong,” said a kid from a wheelchair on the other side of the room.
“She just looks silly,” another girl said.
“I think she’s pretty,” said a tiny bald girl from right next to me. I nearly jerked away when she wrapped her little hand around mine, but I suppressed the impulse and put on a smile. “I want to be like her when I grow up.”
My stomach flipped. Oh, no, she didn’t. She had no idea what she was saying.
“No, she’s silly. This whole thing is silly.” A boy, probably ten or eleven years old and the tallest and oldest in the group, stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. “You really expect us to believe you’re Saint Nick and she’s an elf? We’re all dying in here. We’re not even going to grow up! I think we can handle the truth about Santa.”
“Tim ...” warned an adult who stood by the door. She was dressed in hospital scrubs, so probably an employee.
Owen ignored the boy and already began handing out presents. The smaller children squealed with excitement, but Tim scowled harder.
“What?” he said. “This is bullshit.”
“Tim!” the woman admonished.
“It’s stupid! We’re dying like old people but you treat us like babies.” He stood up straight, his hands balled into fists by his side. “Why can’t you tell them the truth? There’s no such thing as magic. They should know that Santa isn’t—”
I didn’t know what came over me, except that I knew Owen was trying to make these sick children happy, and I wasn’t about to let this brat ruin it. I flew across the room, grabbed the boy by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall several inches off the ground. His brown eyes grew so wide that white showed all around his irises. And that familiar smell of fear that had once made my mouth water poured out of his flesh.
“You’re ... you’re not an elf,” he croaked as his eyes looked into mine. Did mine still glow Daemoni red? I didn’t know, but judging by the way this boy looked at me, I knew they showed something that terrified him.
“You don’t want to know what I really am,” I snarled, and although my voice was nothing more than a whisper, he obviously heard the threat in it.
Several of the children gasped.
“Vanessa,” Owen said calmly, although I knew it was a warning.
“Wow, she really is strong,” said one of the smaller boys who’d made fun of me earlier.
With a low growl, I let Tim go. And when I turned, I found all the faces of the children in the room staring at me. Shock and fear had ma
de them still as stone. My breath caught, and my hand flew to my mouth. My fangs hadn’t let out fully, but my tongue felt the extra sharp tip of one.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered behind my palm, and then I hurried out of the room.
Shit! What had I done now? I strode several paces down the corridor, then pressed my back against the wall and slid to the floor. I yanked the hat off my head and dropped my face into my hands. My eyes burned. Tears! Fucking tears! I. Didn’t. Cry. Not in decades anyway.
“I hate to say it, but it’s kind of comforting to see an elf having a bad day.”
My head snapped up at the Norman’s voice. She stood next to me, a little plump in her yoga pants and t-shirt, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail and her face haggard. Tired. No, utterly exhausted. She was probably only in her thirties, but she looked as though she’d been awake for centuries.
“I ... I’m sorry?” I stammered as I rose to my feet.
“My days have been shit for three years now, since my little Loraleigh was diagnosed with leukemia. The holidays are really hard, seeing everyone else so happy and hopeful. Even the families in here at least get to see each other. Ours is hundreds of miles away, and they have no way of getting here. We won’t even see them for Christmas, and that’s all she wanted.” She sighed and looked away as she swiped the tear under her eye with a thumb. She drew in a shaky breath and blew it out. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be happy for your sorrow. Is there anything I can do for you?”
I jerked back, dumbfounded. I didn’t fully understand love yet, but I had learned enough. Experienced enough. I’d felt a broken heart before, and I knew this Norman woman’s heart was being broken by a disease that was killing her child. And she was asking what she could do for me? Me, a worthless Daemoni vampire who had murdered people who had once been someone’s child! How could she even be thinking about me?!
I shook my head, fighting the urge to run far away and wallow in my shame, but then I paused as an idea occurred to me.
