by Kristie Cook
Claire’s curly brown hair blew around her face as she stood on the balcony, taking in the scene below. Children ran excitedly up and down the sidewalk, laughing or even singing. Normans, loaded down with bags of gifts or food, smiled and tipped their heads at each other, wishing everyone they saw a Merry Christmas.
Claire frowned. Her plan hadn’t worked. The Normans kept their Christmas cheer even as the sun baked down on them.
“It takes more than weather to ruin this holiday,” said Inga, one of her roommates, who’d stepped outside with her. “Watch this.”
Inga’s index finger tapped on the balcony’s railing. Below, a child who’d been sitting on the edge of the sidewalk suddenly kicked out his leg. A woman who could barely see around the stack of boxes she carried tripped over his foot and hurtled into a man hauling a Christmas tree. As the man went to catch the woman, he threw the tree, which flew through the air and crashed into the windshield of a car, setting off its alarm. The woman’s boxes apparently held cakes and pies because she and the man were both covered in whipped cream, various colors of frosting, and fruit filling. Almost everyone nearby started yelling at someone else, pointing fingers and slewing profanities as they blamed each other for the fiasco and demanded remuneration for whatever harm they endured. Even those who’d only been bystanders were forced into the arguments as witnesses.
“Now that ruined a few people’s days,” Inga said, and both girls burst into laughter, their petite bodies doubled over.
“What are you two up to?” asked Kath, their other roommate, as she joined them on the balcony. She glanced to the street below and knew immediately what had happened. She chuckled but rolled her eyes. “That’s just child’s play. We have much bigger problems to cause. Are you two coming?”
Kath referred to the Daemoni celebration of anti-Christmas, as the older generations preferred to call it. Their generation called it Random Acts of Evil—the opposite of how their enemy’s leadership celebrated the holiday. Regardless of their name for it, all Daemoni hated the Norman Christmas more than any other holiday, because it marked the worst day of their lord’s immeasurable life. In reverence to him, they carried on their own traditions of destroying the faith and spirit of as many people as they possibly could. They did things that made Normans hate the holiday as much as they did or forced them to question how their God could allow such things to happen. Things like homes burning down, presents getting stolen, and loved ones being taken away forever.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Inga said, her turquoise eyes practically glowing with anticipation. The warlock descended from a long line of witches on one side and warlocks on the other. Someone had once said she was named after her ancestor who had been Jordan’s mistress, the witch who tried to steal him away from Eris. The original Inga wasn’t exactly revered by the Daemoni because of everything that happened, so this Inga vehemently denied the relation or namesake. Daemoni were known liars, though, and Claire didn’t know whom to believe. She didn’t really care. In fact, she kind of envied all of the scandal surrounding Inga, whether it was true or not, because it seemed to make her even more Daemoni than average, at least in Claire’s eyes.
Kath peered through her own curly brown hair at Claire —the two mages looked so much alike, some people swore they were twins—waiting expectantly for her answer.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a shrug, and she turned away, back toward the street. She stared at the Normans still arguing and cleaning up below as her fingers played out a rhythm on the railing. The clouds she’d been holding at bay suddenly closed in, graying out the sun. The air temperature dropped drastically, and rain began to fall. The humans below cursed some more, making Claire feel a little better. But something bothered her inside.
“What do you mean, you guess?” Kath demanded. Claire didn’t have to look to know her roommate stood with her hands on her hips and one leg jutted out. “We have to. It’s part of our Daemoni duty.”
“Isn’t that kind of ironic?” Claire asked as she turned back to her roommates. “We’re Daemoni. We’re supposed to be able to do whatever we want to. But we’re always doing what they demand.”
Kath’s brows pushed together, and she squinted her eyes. “But ... don’t you want to do all of this?”
“It’s so much fun!” Inga agreed, clapping her hands together.
Claire blinked at them, not knowing how to answer. She’d been having this debate with herself for months now. On the one hand, she did enjoy her “job” of leading Normans to the vamps so they could be turned, or simply be dinner. She had fun with Random Acts of Evil antics and other ways the Daemoni asked her to use her magic to ruin human lives or, better yet, those of the Amadis. So she did kind of do what she wanted. But on the other hand, that made her a perfect little sheep, following orders, doing exactly as the higher-ups commanded. She was tired of doing everything everyone else wanted. What kind of Daemoni did that make her?
She tried to explain this conundrum to her roommates.
As she’d feared, Kath laughed. “There you go again, overanalyzing everything. You are so daft.”
“Mental,” Inga agreed, but then her head tilted as she studied her roommate for a few seconds. “Unless you’re talking about those horrible women you call mother and grandmother. And that dickhead Barry.”
“You mean Dingle-Barry?” Kath said with a laugh.
Claire snorted at their favorite nickname for the warlock her mother and grandmother insisted she marry when the time came. His douche-bagginess out-douched every Daemoni warlock they knew. And that was saying a lot. Claire couldn’t imagine being with him for one night, let alone life, which stretched out longer than normal for them. She’d grown tired of her mother’s comments about him being perfect for her because he was far from it.
“Yeah, they’re definitely not a barrel of laughs,” Kath said. “But don’t worry. We’ll make sure you have to have nothing to do with them tonight. We’ll keep you far away from them.”
“There you go,” Inga said conclusively, glad to have found a solution. “You won’t have to deal with them. We promise. So you’re good, right?”
Claire didn’t answer. Her mother and grandmother weren’t the only ones who tried to control her life, and for once she wanted full control. But her roommates obviously weren’t getting it.
“Of course she is,” Kath said. “They’re the only problem. Because, come on, we have it made. In the end, we always get to do what we want.”
“Always?” Claire countered. “You just said yourself that anti-Christmas is a duty.”
“So sometimes we have to follow commands,” Kath said, throwing her hands up. “So what? It’s fun stuff. That’s all that matters, right?”
Claire pressed her lips together, and blew a huff through her nose. But as always, she acquiesced in the end and nodded. “Yes, of course. I was just being stupid.”
“So you’re coming tonight?” Kath asked, her excitement renewed.
“Of course,” Claire answered with the best smile she could offer.
She went into her room to dress, and the heavy, cold rain pounded against her window. As she pulled on her knee-high, black leather boots over her tight, black jeans, she imagined herself by a lake at night, snow falling around her. She knew exactly where the lake was—far up north where she’d found escape after fighting some Amadis last winter—and the thought of flashing there right this very minute made her stomach tingle with giddiness. The freedom, she thought and wished for, to do something for myself just once.
She’d be violating direct orders, though, and the potential consequences frightened her. What would the Daemoni leaders do if she didn’t show up tonight? If she didn’t participate in the “family” tradition? Would they punish her for doing exactly what they preached—taking control of her own life and doing whatever the hell she wanted? Times were changing, of course, so they might. She chewed on her lip until a banging on her door made her jump.
“Claire, let’s
go!” Kath yelled through the door.
The warlock gathered her black leather trench coat and pulled it on as she followed her roommates out of the apartment. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves quite yet, they walked through the city with umbrellas, although they could have easily manifested bubbles around themselves to stay dry. By the time they reached the city park, a small crowd of other Daemoni had gathered in the dark cover of the trees. Vampires, were-creatures, and other mages milled around, waiting for the leaders to announce what kind of mayhem they would cause tonight.
When the leaders arrived, the Daemoni pushed tighter together, encircling them. Claire stayed back, on the outer edge of the group even as Inga and Kath moved in closer. As she listened to the coven, nest, and pack leaders share their wicked plans that would destroy Norman property and even some lives, the image of the lake once again popped into Claire’s head. Did she dare? Would anyone notice?
She took two steps back, away from the group. Not a single eye seemed to have tracked her. Two more steps brought her into her own space, an obvious distance from the rest of the crowd. Still, no one seemed to notice.
Again she thought about how she’d always followed orders, performed exactly as expected, and did everything she was told to do. Once more, she considered how her perfect service to everyone else felt like it made her less ... bad. How could she terrorize others when she was too terrified herself? Too scared to break the rules, although they weren’t supposed to even have rules. That was the whole point of being Daemoni!
“It’s time to enjoy my so-called freedom,” she muttered to herself. “Time to take what I’ve always been promised.”
And without further thought, she envisioned the lake and flashed away.
Chapter 2
The lake looked like a black hole in the white mounds surrounding it. The water hadn’t frozen completely yet, so the falling snowflakes liquefied as soon as they touched the surface. All around the body of water, however, the snow began accumulating on the hills and evergreens, creating what the Normans would call a perfect Christmas scene.
Although the thought of Christmas usually made Claire cringe, she didn’t mind it at the moment. She could appreciate the beauty around her and even the peacefulness. Was it so wrong to want a break from all the ruckus and chaos the Daemoni loved? If sorcerers could get away with being hermits for centuries, surely she could spend a few hours by herself in this peaceful place. Of course, maybe tonight wasn’t the best night to indulge herself. The guilt of abandoning her friends and people warred with the giddiness of doing her own thing for once. She hated the guilt—she wasn’t supposed to have a conscience, damn it!—and let the giddiness win.
She tied her trench coat tighter around her body and walked along the lake’s shore, her boots sinking into the thick snow. With a flick of her finger, her footprints immediately disappeared, leaving no trace of her path. She practically skipped alongside the water’s edge, and then danced and twirled, holding her arms out to her side, hanging her head back and sticking her tongue out to catch the big flakes. The only sound that could be heard was her own breath. She felt freer than she’d ever had before.
Fuck you, Mother and Grandmother, she thought. And you, too, Lucas. Screw the Amadis and the Normans. Tonight is mine!
She’d barely made it a hundred yards around the lake when the snow began falling faster, sticking to her hair and eyelashes. She enjoyed every bit of it. Even when she reached the far side and found herself in a full-blown blizzard.
The wind howled and blew the snow sideways, and the warlock could barely see more than two feet in front of her. Normans could easily become lost in such a blinding storm, but being a mage had its advantages. Obviously, Claire could flash away and return to the city and the anti-Christmas festivities, but that was too easy and too boring. Instead, she created a bubble around herself so she could at least keep the snow from falling in her eyes. She heated the air within, too, to counter the falling temperatures the storm had brought along with it. Then she continued her stroll around the lake as she considered what to do next.
A yellowish glow in the distance provided her answer. A light that came in and out of sight as the snow fell heavily and gusts of wind stirred up more from the ground. Claire headed for the light, but even with her protective bubble, she found it more and more difficult to walk as she leaned against the wind. Finally, the cabin with the glow in its windows came into view, and Claire made her way around a large truck and found the cabin’s back entrance.
She paused on the porch and used a spell to listen through the door. She wanted to stay here for the night, so the people inside had to go. Four Normans—two adults and two young children—talked about drinking hot cocoa, making popcorn, and singing carols by the fire. Claire nearly gagged on the saccharine sweetness of their conversation, but when the youngest child, a small girl, started asking about opening presents, a smile grew on the warlock’s lips. A perfect opportunity for a Random Act of Evil had presented itself.
Claire considered a variety of spells she could perform to cause the cabin to be hers for the night. The most obvious was to kill them all, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She always had trouble going to such extremes, especially when young children were involved. She justified her softness by saying that those children could become Daemoni in the future, but it was really her conscience acting up again. She needed to do something about that. Although, by not killing them, she was doing things the way she wanted to. Rebelling in her own way.
Rebelling against the rebels? What side does that even put me on? She blew out a sigh. This is all so confusing.
She wanted to be bad in her own way, so she mentally flipped through her other options until she found one that was her own flavor of fun: she would scare the Normans out by making them think the cabin was haunted. With a twist of her hands, a cabinet door in the empty kitchen swung open and banged shut, and her work began. She started by creating noises in the kitchen, bathroom, and upstairs loft while the Normans sat in the main room of the small cabin. The children squealed with each bang of a door or drawer at first, but as their fear rose, they began to cry. The parents tried to remain cool as they scurried around the cabin searching for a source of the noises, but Claire could sense their anxiety building when they couldn’t find the cause. They didn’t start talking about leaving, though, until the warlock became more persistent.
She caused the lights to blink on and off by themselves, then moved objects right in front of their eyes. The mother yelled at the father, accusing him of ruining Christmas because he’d brought them to this haunted cabin in the middle of nowhere, and she begged him to take them home. He argued back that the snowstorm made the roads too treacherous to drive on, and she countered that the four-wheel-drive had been his reason for buying the late model truck that sat outside. Their argument exploded, punctuated by the children’s sobs and screams.
Claire realized she needed to make the decision for them. With a flick of a finger, she magically tossed the biggest present under the tree through the front window. The shattering glass silenced the parents’ fight. Claire sent more presents outside, then made them pile into the bed of the pickup.
“See! Even the presents want to get the hell out of here,” the mother exclaimed, and Claire nearly burst into laughter at the ridiculous statement.
“Let’s go, Daddy. Please,” the little girl begged, and she ran outside.
The rest of the family followed at the same time Claire caused the falling snow to slow. She couldn’t hold the spell for long—this storm was too strong for her powers—but hopefully long enough to convince the father it was safe. He glanced up at the sky.
“The blizzard has slowed,” the mother said as she scooped up the little girl into her arms. “Let’s go while we can!”
“I don’t know,” the man said as he contemplated the heavy clouds in the dark sky above.
Claire had the interior of the house banging and clattering as thoug
h it belonged in a B-rated horror movie, but she thought she might have to go to her last resort—throw embers out of the fireplace, lighting the cabin up. She’d rather not, though, because she couldn’t magically fix the destruction a fire would cause, not when the only remains would be ashes. And if the flames grew out of control, her whole purpose for driving the family away would be for nothing.
The family, clad only in pajamas and robes, huddled in the space between the cabin’s front door and their truck while the father still stared at the sky. The boy, about seven years old, tugged on his dad’s sleeve and pointed toward the woods behind the cabin. The air in Claire’s lungs became trapped as she thought she’d been caught. But all eight eyeballs stared beyond her, doubled in size. Their mouths fell open, and their fragile bodies quaked.
Claire spun around, ready to fight whatever had them more frightened than the inexplicable happenings inside their cabin.
A monster bounded out of the trees and down the hill, all teeth, claws, and glowing red eyes. No, not really a monster. Claire let out a bit of air. Just a grizzly bear that roared at the family as it barreled toward them. The father wrapped an arm around the boy and lifted him off the ground. Without any more debate, the parents ran for the truck and practically threw their children in the backseat before jumping inside the front. The engine cranked over, and the truck’s back tires threw snow ten feet into the air as the father tried to get them out of there as fast as possible. With a fishtail of its back end, the truck disappeared around the corner, and the cabin fell silent as Claire stood completely still.
