The Saint

by Melanie Jackson

  Kris leaned toward her. “Now, how about something to drink? Iced tea perhaps? Or coffee?”

  “I’m fine, really. I . . .” Adora stopped speaking and stared into Kris’s eyes, lost for a time and rescued only when another man appeared and laid a set of contracts and a thick file folder in front of her. The spell broken, she looked down and tried to make sense of the documents before her.

  It was difficult, because what she really wanted to do was open the file beneath and find out some details about Mr. Bishop S. Nicholas, aka Kris Kringle of the stunning eyes.

  “I’ll leave you to read over the contracts,” her employer said, rising. “Please feel free to request anything you need or want from Pennywyse. There’s a fax machine on the desk, and a computer.”

  Adora forced herself to look up and focus on the dark, slender man who stood in the shadows of the room and looked quite content there. He smiled slightly.

  “I’ll be back this afternoon,” Kris said, drawing her attention. “We can have dinner and talk about the material in the folder then. I’m certain you’ll have questions.”

  “Without a doubt,” Adora agreed. Briskly, she began searching under the desk for her sandals, her sore toes questing after the runaway shoes. She looked slightly to the left of Kris, not wanting to get lost in his gaze again.

  “That’s all right—don’t get up,” he said, as though guessing what she was doing. “Please be comfortable. I want you to be happy here. That’s very important to me.”

  And Adora was certain that he meant it.

  Santa Claus, she thought as he left the room, taking the warmth with him. . . . Well, she’d researched more obscure beings. And since he claimed to be Saint Nicholas himself, she wouldn’t have to worry about him calling in psychics to raise ghosts. That was a relief. She didn’t like psychics and didn’t need them to tell her about the dead. She had books should Kris’s memory—or imagination—fail them when it came to period details.

  Books. She was glad he had a library here. Looking at titles was her favorite way to know the minds of others.

  Then Adora had a minor revelation. Those odd books she had seen—they must be written in lutin. Of course! But they probably belonged to the hotel instead of Kris. It would have occurred to her sooner, but she’d never been inside a hotel with an actual library before. Still, the books could likely tell her about goblins. Which would be a less scary way to find things out. She loved books. They were how she would talk to future generations, since having children now seemed unlikely.

  Some Men traveled to foreign lands and, seeing many treasures there, opened their hearts to envy. They knew discontent and wandered even farther from their homes, and soon they became truly separated from Gaia. Thus the Sons of Man became two tribes and were divided on Earth, some as Celebrants who were with Gaia; and some as Worshippers, who gathered in groups and made images of other gods who looked like Man and bore weapons. The Worshippers feared and were jealous of the Celebrants, who could see Gaia’s love everywhere and carried it with them in their hearts. And though the shaman was with them still, bearing Light in the dark of every year, the Worshippers turned from him and his teachings. The shaman did not the same, for he loved them still and would not forsake the Worshippers. Instead, he walked among them doing good deeds, and in time the Worshippers forgot that he was a Celebrant shaman and fey, and they called him Saint Niklas and sometimes Christkind. And the daughters of Man came especially to ask for his aid in finding husbands—and to fill their barren wombs.

  —Niklas 4:6

  Petyr stared at the dice and then, in anger, beat all four fists on the table.

  “The Goddessss alwaysss did love you bessst,” he hissed.

  “True. I don’t know why you insist upon gambling with me,” Niklas agreed, grinning.

  The goblin, though angered at losing, found himself smiling back. One couldn’t stay angry at this fey. “What do you demand of me thisss time?” he asked.

  Niklas’s smile grew wider, and Petyr knew a moment of alarm. “You know that I sometimes go out on Saint Nicholas’s Day to bring gifts to human children?” the fey asked.

  “Yesss,” the goblin answered warily.

  “Well, there are more children than ever, and this year I need an assistant. You’ll enjoy it—truly.”

  Petyr’s mouth fell open. “You want me to go among the humansss?”

  “Yes. There is one town in particular I need to visit. They have been struck with plague, and many of the children have been orphaned. They need food and clothing as well as toys, and the other humans are too afraid to go there.”

  “But I can’t—I daren’t.” Petyr tugged nervously on his ears and nose. They stretched comically.

  “Don’t worry. Neither of us can catch this disease. It only affects humans.”

  “It’sss not that. You know it isss forbidden for lutinsss to go among humansss. Gofimbel hasss outlawed it.”

  “We shan’t let on that you’re a goblin,” Niklas said. “We’ll dress you in a black cloak that will hide your arms, and we’ll rub ash on your face and say it is from the chimneys you and I have been down. We’ll call you Black Peter, the gnome.”

  Petyr snorted, but he was resigned.

  “They’ll think me a demon,” he warned. “Or their Satan-devil.”

  “Just so long as they don’t think you are a goblin,” Niklas answered.

  Petyr sighed and picked up his dice. He hesitated before dropping them back into his pouch. Normally he was very lucky, but he could never win against Niklas.

  “I’m getting new dice before we play again,” he warned.

  “Certainly,” Niklas answered. “It won’t make any difference, though. The Goddess always wins.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Did Hell freeze over while I was sleeping?” Adora asked the Satanic instrument in her hand, knowing it would relay her question to Ben. Glancing over at Kris, she lowered her voice. “I haven’t a clue. And even if I did, that is confidential material beyond the scope of the book and I won’t discuss it. Ever. So don’t ask again. . . . Did the contracts arrive?”

  The phone squawked, and she held it away from her ear. She grimaced when Kris looked up from his ledger. Ben’s favorite tool of information procurement was a shaming tongue that he used to cut people to the quick. But saws and knives, useful as they were, didn’t work when a lockpick was needed. Adora figured that he would eventually figure that out and leave her alone.

  Ha! You’ve heard about old dogs and new tricks? He’ll never change. What an asshole, Joy commented.

  Now, now. Don’t insult the rectum. At least it does something for me, Adora thought back. She focused on getting off the phone with her agent. Kris was sitting here patiently in the hotel suite, waiting for her to begin her interview.

  “Soooo that’s everything. I have to go now. I’ll call if anything comes up. Good-bye.” She put the phone down, cutting off shrieks and stutters. Adora reached for the ringer, planning to shut it off,then realized that it was Kris’s phone and that he might want to use it.

  “Your agent?” Kris asked politely, sipping his after-dinner coffee. Outside, on the deck, bees droned lazily, happy in their early evening bacchanalia, drunk on foxglove and columbine nectar.

  “How did you guess?” Adora asked, forcing her scowl to disappear. She’d have to get plastic surgery for the frown lines if she didn’t stop letting Ben get to her.

  “Pennywyse mentioned that he is . . . forceful. And very concerned about you. He has been calling hourly since seven a.m.”

  It figured that Ben had somehow found the right number. Where there was a will and all that.

  “Concerned? Not exactly. Ben has barbed wire where his heart should be, and a two-inch thick skull. He also has a conversational style a bit like death by a thousand paper cuts.” Adora sighed and then admitted: “That isn’t true. Well, not all the time. Just when he’s been drinking. But he’s very nosy even when he’s sober. Once in a while you have
to post giant No Trespassing signs. And sometimes—when he’s being selectively illiterate about the signs—you have to pepper him with buckshot to get him to pay attention. Still, I want you to know that nothing private will be passed along. I can be discreet.”

  Hearing what she had just said, Adora frowned. What was she doing, mentioning something so personal about her agent to a client? How unlike her! But there was something about Kris that made her spill her guts even when she knew better.

  Pennywyse stuck his head in the door. He didn’t say anything but somehow still managed to convey a message to Kris. He walked with catlike stealth to the French doors, closed them and twitched the drapes into place. He didn’t seem to like light or fresh air.

  “Your luggage has arrived. It’s in the second bedroom,” Kris said suddenly. He had sent someone to retrieve her clothes, sparing her the necessity of another trip in the plane. Ah—to be so wealthy! The idea that someone else might go to her home and pack for her had been a little shocking, but Adora had looked deep into Kris’s eyes and then surrendered her house keys without protest—or even any real worry.

  There isn’t anything there worth stealing anyway, she’d explained to a sputtering Joy, who was less happy with her acquiescence.

  “Thank you. I appreciate everyone’s kindness,” Adora said to Kris. She wasn’t sure if she felt guilty for being the recipient of so much effort from his staff, but she was definitely delighted that she hadn’t had to fly home again. Instead, she had stayed at the hotel, skimming the rather amazing and impossible file Kris supplied, and had enjoyed a fabulous late lunch of roasted eggplant soup and steak au poivre with her new employer, who’d managed to squeeze in a meal with her between meetings.

  Over the repast, Adora finally decided she had an angle on what Kris was doing. He was constructing a new identity. For some reason, he wanted the world to believe that he was Santa Claus, but not the commercial Santa they all thought they knew. It was a crazy thing to do, beyond all normal eccentricity. And it would be expensive too. She cringed just thinking of the cost of free toys for the world. But philanthropists were notoriously eccentric.

  Joy had argued with her assumptions, naturally.

  Even now, Adora admitted that there were some problems with her theory—angles she hadn’t entirely worked out—but she liked it better than believing this man really was . . .

  A fruitcake with a double helping of nuts? her inner voice asked.

  No—but confused. Maybe on medication.

  Why don’t you ask him, and find out what he thinks about your theory? Joy suggested. I bet he’ll tell you the truth. As he knows it.

  Fine. I will. Right now, Adora vowed. It’s time for the interviews to begin.

  But first she had to decide where to sit. The sofa looked inviting, but she already knew it was too soft. She couldn’t stay perched on the edge, and that was the only place she liked. It was silly, her requirement, but she always felt smothered and vulnerable on sofas because there was a chance that someone might join her. She liked chairs. Chairs were solitary. And while they weren’t always comfortable, they were usually solid and you could get up from them quickly.

  So sit in a chair already. Or walk around. Just get on with it.

  “Okay, enough shilly-shallying. Let’s get to it,” she said aloud. “What about the whole going-down-chimneys thing?” she asked. Kris blinked slowly as she demanded: “Can you really do that? Or was it just another exaggeration?”

  Kris set his coffee aside and answered readily enough. “In Saint Nicholas’s day, many homes didn’t have chimneys per se. There were simply smoke holes in the roof. But where there’s smoke—”

  “There’s fire?” she guessed.

  He smiled. “Yes. But there is also a path. I learned the trick of traveling on smoke from my days with Freya. I can be very, very quiet.”

  “Uh-huh. That would be the Norwegian goddess Freya?” Adora asked. She congratulated herself on getting very good at keeping her tone even. In her notebook she wrote Freya, and underlined it. She wasn’t sure why. There was no way she was bringing this subject up in her book.

  “Yes. Though ‘goddess’ is not really the word for her. She was an aspect of divinity, a being who carried an usually large slice of Gaia’s power.” Kris studied Adora. He was smiling slightly, as though aware of and amused by her skepticism.

  “And Gaia is The Goddess?” Adora asked, unearthing her limited store of pagan mythology.

  “Gaia is everything—God, Goddess, Allfather, Allmother. Everything that is life and light and love.”

  New Age religion. Swell. For half the U.S. population that meant devil worship. There went all the royalties from sales in the Bible Belt. She probably wouldn’t be talking about this part, either.

  “Oooookay,” she said. “Maybe we can go over this part later. Though I am curious about whether you’re a Christian or not. Being a saint would rather suggest leanings in that direction.”

  She tried to smile, but Kris made a tsking noise and wagged a finger at her. “You’re jumping to conclusions again. I followed Christ, but I am not a Christian in the modern sense of the word—and the whole saint thing was never my idea.”

  “Hm.” Adora made a note and followed it up with three question marks. They’d have to do something about that. There was no way that anyone was going to want to hear that Saint Nicholas wasn’t a Christian and hadn’t wanted the job. That dog just wouldn’t hunt, even among New-Agers. She could help Kris construct a fantasy, but it had to be consistent and logical and not offend potential readers.

  “You know, the legend I can’t believe people fell for was that I moved my operations north because I loved the snow. Sheesh! If I loved the cold so much, why were my first American headquarters outside of New Orleans?” Kris added: “The only reason I was ever at the North Pole was because the goblins drugged me and left me there to feed the polar bears. Santa’s toy factory at the Pole—ha! That’ll be the day.”

  “You had headquarters near New Orleans?” Adora asked, somehow finding it more diverting than Kris’s comment about being drugged by the goblins. The file had several references to goblin leaders that Adora had never heard of. She was probably going to need a crash course in goblin history if she was going to fit this stuff into the book. Of course, the question of whether she would fit it in was another matter. The equation might look too much like demons + Saint Nick = goblins. Santa Claus couldn’t be associated with demons.

  “You didn’t know that? It isn’t common knowledge among humans?” Kris asked. He suddenly looked more cheerful. “Well, well. I’ll have to get Thomas to look into it for me. I mean, if the property outside the city is still undeveloped, there’s a chance some of my belongings are still there. . . .”

  She wondered if she should mention the devastating hurricane that had happened last year and decided against it. “You’d never be able to stand that velvet and fur suit down south,” she warned. “And what about the reindeer? They’d croak in the heat. Also, I’m betting that the elves would have to unionize. It would drive the cost of toy construction right through the roof—not good if you’re planning on keeping up the philanthropic work. You are planning on carrying on, aren’t you?” she asked as she ran out of breath. “I mean, that is the plan, isn’t it?”

  Kris smiled again and shook his head. His pale hair shimmered as it moved, reminding her of moonlight on water. It was distracting.

  “I never wore that red suit but twice—one would be the one time I was seen and reported in the newspapers. And frankly, I don’t want to use reindeer anymore. Most are mule stubborn and none-too-bright. Horses are much better. Besides, I need to update my image. Just so you know, I don’t actually use animals to pull my sleigh—no point in being accused of equine cruelty, is there? It’s all public relations these days, I see. And I have other ways to travel when I make my rounds. . . . Maybe manatees would be a good replacement, mascot-wise. Or condors. Or a dragon! Kids would love a dragon, don’t yo
u think?” He sounded enthused.

  A dragon. He said a dragon. Are you listening? This guy is nuts. Joy was sniggering.

  He might mean a dragon from the Muppet people. You know, a puppet.

  Adora said, “If not a sleigh and reindeer, what will you use to get around on Christmas Eve—a jet? A train? The Space Shuttle?” The conversation had entered the realms of silliness, but she persisted valiantly. All this could be possible without making sense right away—like super-string theory.

  Kris shook his head. “Now, now. That sounded very facetious—and we were making such progress.

  Perhaps, if you’re a good girl, I will take you to see my favorite means of travel. It is rather unusual, and has to be experienced to be believed.”

  He steepled his fingers and studied her from the depths of his chair, and Adora fought an urge to squirm as her employer’s gaze probed her. It never failed; her nose began to itch anytime someone stared at her intently. Eyes watering and maddened by the unreachable itch, she almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Of course, this tour will depend upon your heritage being what I think it is. I can’t take the wrong sorts to this place.”

  “What? Are you . . . are you talking about my ethnicity?” she asked, feeling a sudden crushing disappointment. Was this man a bigot? Did he worry that she was a Jew or Hispanic, and he wouldn’t be able to show her off to his WASP friends?

  “No, I’m talking about whether you are descended from a human clan that is part fey.”

  “W-what? Fey?”

  “Yes, fey—elves, faeries, pixies. Don’t look so shocked. Surely you read through the folder.”

  “Yes, and most of it was written in a language I don’t know.”

  “Oh.” He looked surprised, then nodded, as if he should have realized. “Well, fey crossbreeds are quite common these days. And you have to know that many of the Scots and Irish have one foot in the land of the still folk. Personally, I suspect you’re a MacLeod descendant—you have the look of the Viking raiders about you.”