Lucifer is laughing quietly. “Santa Claus might have a bag like Mary Poppins but Satan Claus has a barfing demon.”
I look at him and know there is no way I’m keeping even a quarter of the disgust off my face. “I didn’t realize that’s how we were transporting the stocking stuffers. We just discussed what was appropriate.”
“Well, he got that part mostly right.” Lucifer hands the last present to Mandy before standing up and holding a hand out to me.
I take it and smile. One house down… who knows how many more to go?
“Don’t forget the milk and cookies!” Mandy lifts the glass and thrust it at Lucifer.
He takes the proffered beverage and sniffs delicately before sliding his mask to the side to take a minuscule sip.
“The cookies too!”
“I’m not really a cookie kind of person.” He frowns at the plate but picks up a very fancy chocolate chip cookie. If I had to guess, these are from one of the upscale bakeries in the neighborhood. A far cry from the burnt offering we left out.
“You liked the one at our house,” I remember.
“True. Yours were special.” He sniffs the cookie and sighs. “I also usually don’t have to eat as many. There’s a reason Santa wears pants with an adjustable waist.”
“I’d offer to help, but global pandemic, ya know?” I smile behind my mask and raise my shoulders, fully aware that he’ll be able to scent my amusement.
The sound of porcelain shattering causes us all to whip in the direction of the small table. Gurch holds the plate, now missing a large mouth shaped piece. His mask hangs from one side of his face as he continues to chew. When he notices us all looking he shrugs.
“I help.”
The sound of footsteps scrambling above us are quickly growing closer.
“Do something!” I hiss.
“What?” Lucifer swoops Gurch up to his shoulder.
“Laugh!” Mandy runs over and grabs my hand. “Hurry!”
“You can’t be serious.” He looks at my daughter, eyes wide.
“Do it!” I wrap an arm around his waist. “You need to build the magic anyway!”
“I am not using that man’s ridiculous trademark.” His tone is slightly pretentious. “Think of something else.”
Steps sound on the stairs and I hear the voice of a man warning a child to stay back.
“There’s no time! Be a good boy!” I press my body against his, undoubtedly--and okay, intentionally--inspiring more the naughty than the nice in the Ruler of Demons himself.
“Only if I’m allowed to be naughty later.” He whispers in my ear, reflecting my own thoughts back to me. This is exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Standing on my tiptoes I pull down my mask and press my lips to his in a quick kiss.
“I’m counting on it.” I smile and pull my mask back up.
He looks at me with an amused expression, obviously aware of what I am doing, and enjoying it anyway. But just as we swirl into smoke, he lets out a booming laugh.
“Ho, Ho, Ho!” His voice echoes and I smile.
Perfect. Even if it does sound slightly on the evil side.
12
Lucifer
I can still taste her mouth on my lips as we fly through the sky, the bitingly cold night air warmed magically by the sleigh--and my own hellion powers. Mandy has been a chatterbox this whole night, alternating between singing every Christmas song she can recall--none of which feature me--to occasionally bursting into loud Ho Ho Hos, mimicking my sinister version of the elf’s obnoxious cawing. As annoyed as listening to songs about my nemesis for hours on end makes me, I can’t help but notice the smile that keeps creeping onto my face. The joy that I feel is...buoyant. Unparalleled.
And temporary.
We have been flying all night, though the magic of the sleigh warps time, turning hours into seconds, even within our bodies. Lyla and Mandy will not remember every single house we have gone to. Their minds will not be able to contain the paradox of their experience tonight. It would drive them mad. But they will--if they choose--remember the highlights. The rest will be like a dream they once had. They will hold onto the feelings. The warmth of good will and joy.
But their minds will never comprehend the magnitude of what they’ve done tonight.
Only mine does.
The immortality of my consciousness is expansiveness itself. My mind grows with the ages, creating tunnels and pathways and labyrinths of memories I can pull forth at any moment.
I will remember every detail of my time with Lyla and Mandy, and when this night is over and I lose them to the living, I will replay these memories over and over. Will that be my personal heaven? Or personal hell? I don’t know.
Maybe both.
It is one of my gifts. Memory can be its own kind of torture.
I know I will never forget that kiss for as long as I exist and I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.
I lose my smile, and my gaze cuts to Lyla, who is staring into the sky, watching the lights of the houses as they loom larger the closer we get.
Our contract is for one night.
She has a life. A child. A place in her world that I do not.
I dropped hints… their own rooms, the invitation for Mandy to come again, in order to gauge her reaction, to scent her needs. But she remained aloof, guarded.
And I realized...
There is no path forward that is good for her, if I lay claim to what I want more than anything.
Which means I cannot. I refuse to ask more of her.
When this night is over, when our mission is complete and our contract fulfilled, I will leave her with everything she needs to live any kind of life she wants without having to work another day in her life, and then I will walk away forever.
My chest burns with frustration.
This decision brings me no comfort.
It flies in the face of every self-instinct.
I am not used to being denied anything.
I am certainly not used to denying myself anything.
And yet.
I know I must.
I know I cannot ask Lyla to choose me, when she and Mandy have their whole lives ahead of them.
Human lives.
Mortal lives.
The thought of it makes my heart burn like a million suns.
“Where are you?” Lyla says, curling into my arm as she pulls it around her shoulders. “You look far away.”
“I”m thinking we are nearly through our list,” I say, glancing back at Mandy, who’s sound asleep and curled up with Gurch. “This is the last house.”
My words serve as a reminder to her that the night we are having is just a fantasy, not the reality for either of us.
“That’s great,” she says, but her voice carries a heavy wave of sadness that I can taste in the air. It rivals my own.
“Yes,” I say. “Great. We showed that bloated elf what’s what.” I try for my old bluster, but it falls flat. And when Lyla turns her head to hide the tears I know are welling in her eyes, my heart breaks again.
I take her hand in mine, holding it tightly as I guide the Hellhounds with my free hand. We haven’t spoken about our kiss. Our growing intimacy. The feelings we’re developing for each other. We seem to have an unspoken agreement that we will not commit these things to words. That what we have must live outside the limitations of language.
To speak of it is to doom it prematurely.
The night isn’t over yet.
Not quite.
“I don’t understand how we did this,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. I inhale the strawberry scent of her shampoo, setting it--like everything else about her--to memory. “It feels… strange. Surreal. How did we physically do all these houses in one night? I mean, I’ve been here the whole time and I still don’t believe it.”
“It’s part of the magic,” I say, a bit lamely. But what other explanation can I offer?
She looks up at me, her blue eyes spark
ling with wonder. “We will remember this, right? All of it?”
“You’ll remember what your mind can handle,” I say.
She frowns at that. “That better be all of it. I don’t want to forget…” she tightens her hand in mine. “Anything.”
“Do you have any more questions?” I ask, shifting the subject. “I want to make sure our contract is complete to your satisfaction.”
The mention of the contract sours the mood and I internally kick myself for ruining the moment.
“Do you think tonight helped? That we made a difference in inspiring more magic?” she asks.
I look at her, at the desperate longing in her eyes that reflects the intensity in my own heart. “You certainly brought magic back to my life,” I say, my voice huskier with more emotion than I intend.
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears but she swallows her feelings and clears her throat, pulling away from me a bit as she does. “I hope it helped. That we… helped.”
“What about you?” I ask her. “Has tonight brought the magic back to your life?”
She averts her gaze, staring into the distance instead. “You know it has.”
Her voice is soft as she speaks, as she deepens the open wound that hasn’t healed. “I didn’t think I would ever feel safe again,” she says. “I… I never thought I would be in a position to be hurt like he hurt me. And… I feel so stupid. Stupid for staying. Stupid for trusting.”
I temper my reaction, knowing that if I blow up--quite literally--the way that I want to, it will hurt her. She won’t feel safe anymore. I will have broken her trust. So I stay calm. And I listen.
When she realizes I’m not going to interrupt, she visibly relaxes, sinking into me as she continues baring her soul. “I was scared to leave. Scared I couldn’t make it as a mother on my own. Scared I wouldn’t be able to provide for Mandy. Scared he might come after us and…”
And get violent. I can taste her unspoken words on the air and I vow to pay a visit to this man who tried to break the woman I…
Shit.
“Tonight was a reminder that not all guys are like that,” she says, oblivious to the dangerous road my thoughts are traveling. “That… well, you’re not exactly a typical guy, but still. That I deserve to be treated well. You told me the truth. You were kind and considerate with me and my daughter. You helped heal my heart tonight, Lucifer. That is your special brand of magic. You are a healer.”
Her words slice through me like daggers, though I know that isn’t her intention. She believes her words a balm to cover my wounds, but she doesn’t understand how her words make my heart ache for her even more.
Because she is saying the thing that I have always wished were true, but it’s delusional thinking to imagine Satan could ever be anything but the antagonist in the narrative. There is no room for a version of Lucifer that heals. There is only Satan.
Still, even as her words strike their death blows, I crave more of it. I cup her face, trusting my hounds to guide the sleigh just fine on their own, and I lean toward her, desperate to taste that mouth again, to feel the fiery passion burning hot and fierce within her.
I was gentle last time, but now… now I just want to ravage her, holding nothing back. Of course this is not the time or the place, so I will use just my lips to communicate my desires.
I claim her mouth deeply, with abandon, pulling her against my chest as I do. She sucks in her breath, and I still, waiting for any sign that she doesn’t want this.
With her exhale, she scoots her body closer to mine. Winding her hand around my neck, her fingers digging into my hair, Lyla explores my mouth with her tongue. I lose myself in this kiss, in her, in this moment.
And then the elf be damned Nice List starts vibrating.
There’s so much more I want to say, to do, to feel, but we have arrived at the final house on the list. Lyla and I peel ourselves away from each other, adjusting our clothing as we do, and I assess our location. It’s a small cottage on the edge of a quaint town. It could have been charming once, but time and disrepair have given it a rundown, almost abandoned look.
Lyla looks back at Mandy. “Maybe I should stay here with her while you do this one alone. I don’t want to wake her.”
I can’t argue with a mother’s love, but Mandy spares me the need to even try when she jolts awake. “I’m up. I’m up!” she says a bit frantically, looking around and trying to pretend like she’s been awake the whole time.
“Hey, bunny,” Lyla says, leaning over the seat to be closer to her child. “You’re sleepy. Do you want to skip this one and rest?”
“No way!” she shouts, startling Gurch awake, who was slumbering on her shoulder. He’s certainly worming his way into their hearts, I notice. Maybe he’s following my example and making memories of his own to cherish.
Lyla laughs. “Alright then. Let’s go. This is the last one!”
That’s my cue. With a flick of my wrist, I produce the black smoke that will spirit us from the sleigh to the living room in a flash.
It feels much like walking through a gust of warm air and then poof, we are standing in the humble living room of one Chuck Bergstein and Mona Miller-Bergstein, parents to Sara Miller-Bergstein, age eight, precocious but kind, loves science sets--the more explosive the better.
Santa St. Dick’s notes were thorough, I’ll give him that.
The tree is in the north-west corner of the room, strewn with simple, hand-made decorations. No lights. There’s one present under the tree. For Sara, no doubt. Nothing for her parents. The cottage smells of worry and regret. Too little food and too much stress.
Even Lyla and Mandy appear more somber, as if they too can sense what I do. And maybe they can. After all, they know what this feels like better than some.
I set the bag of gifts down, and Mandy opens it, revealing one elegant gift wrapped in shiny ribbon.
She looks under the tree and frowns. “The mommy and daddy need gifts too,” she says softly as she places the gift gently by the other.
I frown. “I don’t think that’s how it works. The bag only gives one gift per child.”
Mandy sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “No wonder grown ups stop believing in magic. Magic stopped believing in them first!”
Lyla shrugs, her gaze locked on mine. “She has a point.”
I know she does. That's what’s so irritating.
“It’s not my magic,” I say. “The Jolly Red Sausage is responsible for this. His magic, his rules. There are no more gifts.”
“What if I give up mine?” Mandy whispers. “For two years, I give up my right to a gift so this little girl’s mommy and daddy can have one too. Wouldn’t that make it fair?”
“Oh Mandy,” Lyla says, kneeling down to face her daughter. “That’s so kind and generous of you, bunny. You have such a big heart. I’m very proud of you. Even if we can’t change the magical rules, what you just did was brave and good.”
Mandy smiles sadly and hugs Lyla around the neck.
But of course, I can’t tell this little girl no, when she’s willing to give up her own gifts for others. Plus, she has a valid point. Why shouldn't the adults still have some magic in their lives? No wonder the magic of this world is dying. We’ve been stealing it from them all along.
The Council will be very interested to hear this.
I snap my finger and a contract appears in my hands. I hold out a pen to Mandy, but Lyla grabs my arm. “She is not using that pen!” Her voice is stern, alarmed.
“It is not the same pen. It has perfectly normal ink.”
“You cannot legally enforce a contract with a child,” she hisses, eyes wild.
I chuckle. “Quite right, quite right.” Another snap and the contract disappears. “How about this?” I say. “I will cover the extra gifts, if you do me two favors?”
Mandy’s eyes widen. “What favors?”
“Clever girl,” I say with a smile and ruffle her hair. “Just like your mother. Always ask for the fine pri
nt.”
She giggles at the compliment.
“Favor one: be extra helpful with chores at home.”
She nods solemnly. “I promise. I’ll even clean my closet out.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust and Lyla laughs.
“Favor two: never stop believing in magic.”
I hear Lyla draw in her breath, and Mandy frowns, chewing on her lower lip. “I could never stop believing. Not now that I know.” Her voice is soft, but determined.
Lyla steps forward and wraps her arms around her daughter, but she looks over to me. “We will never stop believing. You’ve made sure of that.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so as Gurch fills the stockings, I open a portal of fire and stick my arm through it, pulling out two more gifts, wrapped in black shiny paper with a silver bow.
My trademark colors. Let them wonder over this surprise.
I place them under the tree and then I pull Mandy and Lyla toward me and use my black smoke to transport us back to the sleigh.
The next stop… is home.
Their home.
I let myself take the scenic route, unwilling to rush our eventual goodbyes, but I can’t avoid it forever.
We finally arrive at their apartment, and I magic us all into the living room.
Mandy is about to fall asleep on her feet, so I say goodbye to her first. I pick her up and she smiles sleepily at me. “I can’t wait to see you again, Mr. Lucifer.” She kisses my cheek, then promptly falls asleep on my chest, giving me no chance to tell her I won’t be seeing her again.
It’s for her own good.
Isn’t it?
But she won’t understand that. How can she when even I can’t?
Lyla comes over and is about to take her from me, but I shake my head and carry the child to the couch, laying her down while Lyla grabs a thick blanket. Then I open a portal to the sleigh and reach in, bringing back with me Rudolph. He gets very excited when he sees Mandy, but I quiet him before laying him next to her.
Unholy Night: A Paranormal Holiday Romance Page 11
