So it’s always a rare delight when I have an opportunity to correct the narrative, even if only a little.
I can see by the look on Lyla’s face my words have rearranged her perceived understanding of my nature—and what’s more, there’s no resistance. It is so effortless for her to see me as I am and not as I have been portrayed in nearly every form of story and art since the beginning.
She doesn’t look away as I study her. Nor does she look away as Mandy digs through Santa’s bag.
She looks into me. Deeply. And I feel—I feel something I haven’t ever felt before. I know it only from the taste of it on others.
I feel vulnerable.
To be seen is to be laid bare. Defenseless. At the mercy of another.
What does she think of what she sees?
If only I could read her mind as easily as I can read her soul.
Mandy’s squeals steal both of our attention, and the moment dissipates like smoke. But I cling to what it felt like. What it could mean, and I feel Lyla’s proximity to me like a magnet even as I look at what Mandy is showing us.
“It just keeps going and going,” she says.
“Like Mary Poppins’ bag,” Lyla says with a smile.
Mandy frowns. “Who?”
Lyla laughs. “Never mind. I’m clearly dating myself.”
I snort at that. “I’ve been around since the dawn of time. If anyone is dated it’s me. A rare antique.”
She just shakes her head with a small smile that feels like a secret between us.
“I think I found the list!” Mandy says, relief heavy in her small voice.
“At least the cookie sniffing elf didn’t leave us totally up shit’s creek,” I say.
Lyla shoots me the evil eye, presumably for swearing in front of her daughter, but she’s also trying to hide her laugh so I don’t feel terribly bad over my language choices.
This is hell after all. If you can’t be at least a little naughty here, then what’s the point?
Mandy brings the list to her mother, and Lyla takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and studies it carefully. It’s one single sheet of cream parchment, a scroll bound by a red ribbon. Lyla unties the ribbon and spreads the paper flat as I sit in the chair next to her and Mandy props herself on the foot rest.
“What’s it say?” the child asks, full of excitement and wonder.
It’s been a long time since hell had so much hopeful energy. I feel the shift Mandy and her mother are causing and I breathe it in deeply, gratefully, knowing that when this night is over, I will revisit this moment, this feeling, time and again to try to capture what they’ve shared with me. The fact that they have given me this moment without even knowing it, makes it all the more special.
“It’s magic,” Lyla says softly, her words breathless with each new discovery of this world she never could have imagined existed.
But even I, as jaded as I am, glance over to see what she means. I have a passing curiosity about the list, the elf, the toy shop, Santa’s whole job. It always seemed like an easy job for a lazy immortal. I guess I’m about to find out if that’s true.
The list glows with names written in gold, and as Lyla touches it, the letters rearrange themselves, forming new names with new notes about their deepest wishes.
“What language is this?” Mandy asks. “‘Cuz I can only read the names. That other stuff is all gibberish.”
Lyla hands me the list so I can study it more closely. “Elvish,” I say with a sigh.
“And I assume you can read Elvish?” Lyla asks. “Since you’re older than dirt.”
I cut a sharp glance at her but she just smirks. And oh that smirk, those lips, those sky blue eyes… I feel a jolt in my chest just looking at this woman. “My Elvish is rusty. The only place it’s still spoken is the North Pole. Not a place I frequent.”
Lyla exhales sharply. “Okay, then. How do we do this? Santa has a workshop and elves and reindeer and a sled and some kind of magic that makes it possible to visit all these houses in just one night. What do we have?”
I pause, considering. “I don’t have reindeer, but I do have a litter of Hellhounds that can fly when necessary.”
“Hellhounds.” Lyla’s tone speaks volumes about her thoughts on that, but I just shrug.
“We must work with what we have, my dear. Unless you have a better idea?” I lean toward her curious to see what she might suggest.
She purses her lips then nods. “Okay, Hellhounds. What about elves?”
“I’m sure my demons would love a change of pace. They can help orchestrate this.”
She nods again. “Sled?”
I pretend to frown. “Will a coffin be sufficient? They’re quite comfortable.”
“Why do you have coffins here?” she asks, incredulous.
I chuckle. “You likely don’t want to know.”
“Right,” she says. “I don’t think we’ll fit in a coffin.”
I lean back again and smile. “We could go try, if you’d like.”
“In your dreams, Lucie.” This time a hint of a smile accompanies the tinge of red in her cheeks and I don’t cringe at the nickname.
“Shame. I would have enjoyed that.” I arch an eyebrow and lean forward again, encroaching on her personal space.
“Yes, you would have.” She reaches out a hand and just when I think she’s going to caress my cheek she uses the tip of her pointer finger to push my face away. “But it’s not going to happen.”
I let her push me away, enjoying just that simple touch. There’s something in her scent that lets me know while she is telling me no, there is also a hint of ‘not yet’ too. Plus I have the benefit of being on the receiving end of her sexy smirk, so I have no immediate complaints.
“Just as well. A coffin won’t have the magic we need to do this right. I’m afraid we have no other choice but to take drastic action.” I steeple my fingers and smile. I knew this was our only real option from the beginning. “We need to put together an extraction team.”
“Extraction team? What on Earth are you talking about?” She looks at me with an expression that clearly says she thinks I’m crazy.
“Ah. You forget. We’re not on Earth right now.” I stand up and stroll to a long golden chord hanging next to the wall. Gently I pull it and the sound of a deep bell peels through the corridors. “And we need an extraction team to steal a sleigh.”
“You want to steal Santa’s sleigh?” She shivers, obviously remembering the elf’s anger. “That seems…”
“Naughty?” I smile. “Well, he did tell us to do his job and a sleigh is a basic requirement, is it not? Besides, we’re not stealing. We’re… borrowing it for the night.”
“Riiiight.” She stands up and crosses her arms. “And what if borrowing Santa’s sleigh lands Mandy on the Naughty List for the rest of her life?”
“Not possible. It’s my plan, my minions, and my pleasure. Nothing will taint your sweet daughter.” I look over at the small form in front of my fireplace, one of her hands clutching the velvet bag. “Trust me on this, Lyla. I know enough about that elf's magic to be certain it will not taint Mandy in any way. And I haven’t been on the Good List… ever. So, no harm done.”
Instead of laughing like I expect, she gives me a long searching look. “That’s the real shame,” she says quietly.
For the first time in centuries I feel… flustered. Her scent isn’t the cloying smell of carnations that I associate with pity. In fact, I’m not sure how to label her scent. A hint of displeasure and… that same smell she emitted when guarding her daughter. Again I wish I had the power to read minds, not just souls. This woman is frustratingly complex; but in a very good way. She wasn’t worried about herself being on the Naughty List, but the thought of me being on it...
I clasp my hands behind my back and look toward Mandy’s tiny form. There is much to ponder when it comes to Lyla and not nearly enough time in which to do it.
Finally she speaks again. �
�So. We’re going to jack Santa’s sleigh.”
“Yes.” My voice sounds rough, so I clear my throat. “Our help should be here soon.”
“Well, if this is what we have to do, then it’ll have to work. But I have a lot of questions.”
“What a shock,” I deadpan, clutching my heart dramatically.
She narrows her eyes at me then glances over to Mandy, who has finally given in to her exhaustion and has fallen asleep on the thick rug in front of the fire. Lyla's expression shifts from reprimanding to peaceful as she smiles, the love for her child lighting up her face with such beauty it nearly steals my breath.
I reach for the throw blanket hanging on the back of my chair and gently place it over the small girl, though she hardly needs it with all the layers she’s wearing.
“ What would you like to know?” I ask, reclaiming my seat and turning to face her.
“How does all this work?” she asks. “How do we get all the presents delivered? Why do some kids not get presents? Why is it so imbalanced and unfair if Santa is real? What about families who don’t celebrate, or honor other religions and traditions?”
I frown. These are good questions with no easy answer. At least none that she will appreciate. “You’ve heard me mention magic, and how it’s fading in your realm. This is affecting everything. Even Santa’s magic. Parents of course no longer believe in any of us anymore. So we have relied on the belief of children to survive… to have an impact on earth. But that too is fading. If a child doesn’t believe, doesn’t have at least a seed of magic within them, then they won’t be able to see the gifts left. The magic around them. The truth. As for other beliefs and religions, it is belief that gives us life, just as it gives life to the others. I am but one manifestation of belief, but I am not the only one. Nor is Santa. Every culture and tradition brings with it its own set of beings that share the immortal realm.”
I pause, frowning. “It’s an incomplete answer, I know. But it’s the best I can offer. The truth is, at our last Summit we talked about what’s been happening on Earth and none of us have any real solutions.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Summit? Who’s we? What else is real that I always thought was myth?”
I shrug. “All of it. All of it is real, or has been at one time or another. Where do you think the myths and stories come from? They were cobbled together from the scraps of truth that remained in the minds of the few who still remembered. But the further into despair humanity falls, the less potent is our collective magic. A few of us have already disappeared entirely, never to be thought of again.”
The taste of her swirling emotions permeates the air around us, and I inhale deeply. There’s sadness, shock, confusion, but also… underneath it all, delight.
“It’s real.” She looks at me with shining eyes. “It’s really real.”
7
Lyla
It seems impossible to believe, and yet how can I not? I’m sitting next to Lucifer in Hell. There was a showdown with Santa Claus and now we’re about to steal his sleigh. Cleansed souls float along tree branches waiting to be reborn. A Hellhound tried to sniff my crotch.
And the Devil himself signed a contract in blood promising to tell me the truth.
The laugh bubbles out of my throat before I can stop it. I raise a hand to try and stifle it, but it feels as if something inside of me has been unlocked. My laughter feels lighter, brighter, and I barely notice the tears running down my cheeks until Lucifer offers a hanky embroidered with a large elaborate L.
“The Easter Bunny?” I wipe at my cheeks and look up at him.
“Pardon?” His eyebrows scrunch together forming delicate lines along his forehead.
“The Easter Bunny is real too?” I ask.
“Yes. He is certainly real. Very vocal on the council.” Lucifer looks relieved. Had I worried him? “And don’t get him started about eggs. If I have to hear him complain that rabbits do not lay eggs one more time, I might feed him to my demons.”
I laugh. “What about the Tooth Fairy?”
“She’s very much real. Though she has a nasty habit of trailing glitter everywhere she goes. It gets into everything, you know.”
“What about… the Sandman? Is he real? Surely there isn’t a being that goes around sprinkling magical sand in people's eyes.” I lean forward.
“There is a Sandman, though sadly, he is one of the immortals not powerful enough to enter the Earthen realm any longer. I’m sure you’ve experienced insomnia yourself. It’s a common plague amongst humans now.” He’s watching me with open curiosity. As if my response is unexpected or maybe amusing.
“That makes sense. Too much sense.” I frown and try to think of something else. “What about Father Time? Is he real?”
“Hm. Father Time is a tricky one, but as real as the rest.”
“Why is he tricky?” I’m leaning toward him, hanging on his every word.
“Well, Father Time exists, but on so many planes and at many different times, we don’t really interact with him.” He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “Though I have him to thank for the time in Hell.”
“What does that mean?” I frown.
“How long do you think we’ve been here? In Hell,” he clarifies.
I think back and frown. “An hour? Maybe two? That’s not good. We’re going to run out of time to deliver the presents.”
“Ah, but that’s where Father Times’ gift is a true blessing. Time does not pass in Hell the way it passes on Earth.”
“What does that mean?” I inch a little closer and he matches my movement until our knees are nearly touching. I’m suddenly keenly aware of his nearness to me, his scent--smoky with a hint of leather. Everything about him is so intoxicating it’s hard to keep a clear head, but I am determined to remember everything I can about this night.
“For you, for Mandy, no time has passed on Earth since you walked through my portal.” His eyes twinkle, but it’s from the flickering flames of the fireplace rather than magic this time. The fire seems to caress him, to move in tandem with him. “Here on this level, time stands still.”
“How is that possible?” I know my eyes are wide at this point. “No time has passed since we left Earth?”
“Not a second.” Lucifer flashes a conspiratorial smile. “And as to the how of it, you’d need to ask Father Time. It’s his gift, not mine.”
“That’s…” I search my mind for the right word and come up blank. I’m basically a dictionary on a normal day, but this is no normal day.
Lucifer’s smile grows and he shakes his head in amusement. “I can see the gears turning behind your eyes, but have no idea what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not sure I’m actually forming full thoughts at the moment. It’s all so much, so amazing… so wonderful.”
“I’ve lived it all my life, but watching you right now, I’m reminded too, of just how magical it all can be.” He reaches forward and gently cradles one of my hands in his, sending a jolt of electric energy through my arm. “This is what we need, Lyla. You, here, right now. This is what makes magic possible. Just these past few moments with you have revitalized the magic on this level.”
I squeeze his hand, inching even closer. “Then this is what you all need. You say that magic is dying, that even children are losing their ability to believe. You need to show them again that you exist. Find other humans that still have a little magic and give them a glimpse of the impossible. Revive their magic and you’ll revive the next generations' magic.”
His mouth opens and closes, his eyes glued to mine, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “Give them a glimpse.”
“Yes!” I cover the hands cradling mine with my free hand. “Show them you’re real. That you’re still here watching over them. And honestly, it doesn’t have to be big. Just little things, like the glimpse of the Easter Bunny’s ears as he leaves, or a jolly ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ heard from the living room.”
“We’ve spent so many years hidden…
It would have to be small things like you say. Because it’s the belief without proof that creates the magic.” He doesn’t move, but his eyes are no longer seeing me. They’re running through a thousand possible scenarios. “The small things. Little traces that even leave the parents surprised.”
“You know, that gives me another question. How do the parents not notice an extra present under the tree?”
He pulls one hand away and waves it in the air. “Oh, that’s easy. Sometimes the kid takes it before the parents see it. Or they assume the other parent got it or that they forgot they’d gotten it.”
“That makes entirely too much sense.” I shake my head. Had I done that? Just given it no thought?
“Oh, humans are very good at explaining the unexplainable. Don’t misunderstand. Science is sound and shouldn’t be dismissed. But things like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, me… we don’t exactly consist of quantitative data.”
“The Greek gods? Zeus? Poseidon? Athena and Artemis?”
“Well, my Hounds are named Aphrodite and Mars.” He smiles and gives an easy shrug. “They’re around. Somewhere. Like the rest of us, their power is dependent on magic--on belief. Gods rise and fall all the time. But the Greek gods, the Roman gods, some of the Celtic gods, Egyptian gods, and Asian gods have hung around for a long time. Some of them are still worshipped. Some have seen a re-emergence with the New Age trends.”
I bite my lip and he seems to understand. It’s natural. How could I not ask after what he’d just explained.
“Go ahead.” He nods. “I’ve been waiting for you to get to this.”
I worry my lip with my teeth. Do I even really want to know? Do I already know? Is the answer to confirm my suspicion sitting right in front of me?
“God. Is God real?” My words are so quiet I’m not sure he’s able to hear me. My shoulders tense as if I’m going to be struck down any second.
Unholy Night: A Paranormal Holiday Romance Page 6
