Rock Paper Scissors

by Devon Monk

  “I was invited.”

  Crow looked at me. Really looked. I braced myself for a scolding. I knew he could see that Bathin had stolen my soul. I knew he wouldn’t like it.

  Surprisingly, he just winked.

  “Negotiation is not the same as invitation, Black Heart,” Crow said. “You of all people should know that. Have you gotten my gift, Pumpkin?” he asked me.

  “No?”

  “Pink, cute as a baby pig. Looks like a baby pig? It’s a baby pig.”

  “The dragon?” I asked. “You sent me a dragon?”

  “Dragon?” Bathin sounded truly startled. Enough that both Crow and I turned to look at him.

  “Yes, demon,” Crow said with so much smug-and-swagger, I rolled my eyes. “Delaney now has a pet dragon. Your move.”

  Bathin opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled at Crow. Scowled at me. Then stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks feigning indifference. “I don’t see how a dragon makes any difference in anything.”

  “Don’t you?” Crow was grinning now, and it was a lot more god-Raven than Uncle-Crow.

  It made me happy he was on my side. Usually.

  “A dragon is of no concern to me.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Crow agreed. “It would only be a concern to you if you were trying to hide. You’re not trying to hide from anyone or anything are you, Prince?”

  Bathin went hard, all stone and blackness shot by silver light. His demon nature shone through the illusion he presented the world, and burned, burned, burned. He was angry.

  He might even be afraid.

  Of Crow? Or of the thing he was hiding from?

  “No,” Bathin said, the word ground out between teeth locked tight. “There is nothing I hide from.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Crow said. “Delaney, isn’t that wonderful? Bathin here has nothing to fear. Not even your dragon.”

  “Do either of you want to tell me what you’re really talking about?” I asked.

  “No,” they both said at the same time. Typical. The one thing a god and demon could agree upon was keeping me in the dark.

  “Fine. Then move aside so I can buy a Christmas tree.”

  Bathin stepped back toward my Jeep, but Crow just grinned. “What kind of tree are you looking for today?”

  “You aren’t selling these.”

  “Actually, I am. Oh, and unrelated: you might hear about a tarantula infestation, but we both know that would be impossible. These trees were grown in the Northwest.”

  “Spiders? You sold people trees full of spiders?”

  He glanced at the sky. “Maybe?”

  “Maybe?”

  “It might have been scorpions. Scorpions are much more available round these parts.”

  I slugged him in the arm. “Tell me you didn’t sell trees infested with anything.”

  “Or what? You’ll throw me out of town? No, wait. You already did that.”

  “Or I’ll return my gift.”

  “Dragons are non-returnable.”

  “Nope. I am serious. I will find a way to kick the dragon out of town. You know I can.”

  He chuckled. “Fine. The worst anyone will find in the trees are some dead needles. Cross my heart.” He swished his finger over his chest.

  “That’s your stomach.”

  “Or is it?” He waggled his eyes at me and I shook my head.

  “Sell me a tree, Crow.”

  “Call me Uncle Crow and I’ll make you a deal.”

  “Sell me a discount, uninfested tree, Uncle Crow.”

  “Now you’re talking. Let me show you to my noblest of firs.”

  He wrapped his arm over my shoulder and I walked with him through a stand of dried out lopsided trees, and just for a few minutes, everything felt magical and good.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re sure it’s a dragon?” Myra sorted the box of ornaments on the coffee table making sure each one had a good hook attached. “Crow is a trickster.”

  They were brand new red, gold, silver, green, and blue bulbs. They came with hooks. I didn’t know why she was double-checking them.

  “Pretty sure, yes.” I stepped back from the six-foot tree that Myra and I had wrestled into the house a couple hours ago.It was not a prime example of its species.

  It had missing branches down one side. Clumps of brown needles ringed the bottom third of the thing and shed at the slightest touch, like a porcupine had had an unfortunate run-in with a bottle of Nair.

  The whole tree leaned precariously to the left. I’d tried to counter-weight it by adding an extra string of lights on the right, but that made the tree’s deficiencies stand out, like a neon sign with too many blown letters.

  “Think that’s enough lights?”

  Myra glanced up. Her black-lined eyes, page-boy bob, and bright lipstick gave her that sweet-but-tough rockabilly look. “If you put any more lights on that poor tree you’re going to blow a fuse.”

  “The house has breakers, not fuses.” At least I thought it did. Ryder and his dad had pretty much built this house on the lake just east of the main road that ran through town. Since Ryder was an architect, I didn’t think he’d live in a house that was still using fuses.

  “And the tree isn’t poor. It’s…well, I’m not going to lie, it’s way past its sell date. Maybe I’ll just add one more string.”

  “Step away from the twinkle lights, crazy woman,” Myra said without looking at me. “It’s perfect. A couple dozen ornaments, some tinsel, and he’ll never know you installed it all at the last minute.”

  I lifted my hair off the back of my neck, thought about binding it back in a ponytail, then decided it didn’t matter. “Okay, ornament me.” I held out my hand like a TV show doctor demanding a scalpel.

  “You put a star on top,” Myra noted.

  A shiny red five-pointed star crowned the tree. I shrugged.

  “I didn’t think you liked stars on trees,” she said.

  “Seemed like the right thing to do. A tradition.”

  “Why did you even get a tree, Delaney?” Myra walked over with the ornaments and nursed a fragile glass orb into my hand. “You haven’t gotten a tree for years.”

  “It always seemed like a lot of work.” I placed the first bulb. I smiled. The glass orb glittered so prettily, it made me happy. Then it hit me. This would be the first Christmas I’d ever spent with Ryder. This was the first ornament I’d ever hung on our tree.

  Our tree. A warm hum thrilled beneath my skin. I had the sudden urge to put on a Santa hat. To make hot cocoa and stir it with a candy cane.

  It was almost like I was starting to catch the Christmas spirit. I blamed Jean.

  “Delaney?”

  “What?”

  “Why the Christmas cactus?”

  “You mean the tree?”

  “That’s not much of a tree.”

  “Mean.” I turned toward the tree. “Don’t listen to her. You’re beautiful.”

  “Ugly-cute at best.”

  “Just because you and Jean always pick such perfect trees doesn’t mean this one

  should go to waste. At least it doesn’t have tarantulas.”

  Myra frowned. “Crow?”

  “Crow.”

  “And he’s not in Ordinary any more?”

  “He said he had just stopped in to see me. He left town as soon as he sold me the tree.”

  She shook her head and handed me another ornament. “So why now? Why do you want a tree this year?”

  I didn’t say anything as I hung three more bulbs. That was a good question. I had a good answer, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it.

  “It’s Ryder,” she supplied. “You’re doing this because of him, aren’t you?”

  I could argue, but she’d know I was lying. I nodded. “He told me that when he was little, he loved the lights on the Christmas tree. That it’s one of his favorite parts of the holidays. I didn’t want him to come home to a dark living room. And even if it’s only for a
couple days, we—he—should have a tree. That’s not too ridiculous, is it?”

  “No. That’s…” Her voice went soft. “That’s sweet. That’s good. That’s…love.”

  Neither of us said anything, but the dragon by the fireplace snuffled loudly, then squeaked at Spud.

  Spud had been crouched in front of the dragon, ears up, tail wagging. He now crept forward, belly-crawling toward the pig with a small stuffed frog in his mouth.

  The dragon seemed to enjoy watching the ever-cheerful dog cautiously approach. They’d been going at this since I’d driven the dragon around yesterday and it had finally just trotted into the house and straight to the fireplace, as if it were perfectly happy to live here.

  At first Spud had barked. Then, after one deep rumble from the pig, which, yes, it is sort of startling to hear a pig roar, Spud had wagged his tail like it was going to propel him to the moon.

  All of Spud’s running around and barking at the amused but unmoved dragon yesterday had turned into Spud sneakily offering to share his stuffed toy hoard with the pig today.

  This, it appeared, might be a winning tactic. The pig had already been gifted with a stuffed hamburger, a flounder, and a one-legged cow. It looked very, very pleased with its growing stash.

  Myra nodded. “He’ll love it. When is Ryder supposed to be here?”

  I tried not to let my worry show. “A couple hours ago.”

  “That’s not too bad.”

  “More like five hours ago.”

  “Weather?”

  “That’s what I’m guessing.”

  As if to punctuate the point, the wind and rain battered the west facing windows hard enough I could feel the sturdy little cabin take the hit.

  The near-freezing rain had flung onto shore last night with seventy-mile-an-hour gusts. The storm had already galloped east over the Coast Range and dumped five inches of snow there, iced up the valley, and according to weather reports, was in the process of slapping blizzard warnings across the Cascade Range.

  Children from the Coast Range eastward were vibrating in joy over the white Christmas they’d be getting. Travelers were advised to stay home and stay away from the passes. All the stores were out of milk and bread.

  I wondered if Ryder had decided not to chance the trip. He might have turned back or sheltered somewhere along the way. That would have been the smart move. The forecast called for more ice to follow the snow, enough to shut down the passes and much of I-5.

  “Have you called him?” Myra asked.

  “It goes to voice mail.”

  She didn’t say anything while I hung the rest of the ornaments. Whatever Christmas spirit I’d been feeling was getting railroaded by worry.

  “He’ll be okay.” Myra pressed a mug of coffee into my hand, and I realized I’d been standing there for a while, staring at the tree, my mind a million miles away. Or exactly one hundred and ninety-one miles away.

  “I know,” I said. “He’s lived in Oregon and Chicago. He knows how to handle snow. He won’t do anything stupid.”

  But my heart was heavy and my pulse was rapping. Why hadn’t he answered his phone? Maybe he’d been stranded, ran out of battery on his phone. Maybe he was stuck in traffic, moving slowly along.

  Maybe he was just outside of town and almost home.

  “Are you sure it’s a dragon?” She pointed her coffee at the fireplace.

  The dragon-pig had acquired several more stuffed things and had stacked them into a pile. Spud must have offered enough of his toy hoard to have gained the dragon’s favor. The dog was curled up on top of the toys. Dragon was right there with him, sprawled on his mountain of treasure, little piggy head propped on a blissed-out Spud’s back. That dog and that pig could not look more content.

  It was cute. They were cute.

  “I’m sure it’s a dragon,” I said.

  “Isn’t it too small and soft? I know they can be anything, but I’ve never heard of one that turned itself into something so…adorable. Plus, this is Crow we’re talking about. Crow.”

  “You know what?” I said in a loud conversational tone, “you’re right. I should take some of those toys back to Spud’s box. They don’t need that many.”

  The pig opened one eye. It glittered with fire, and a little puff of smoke drifted out its snout. The pig drew the toy hoard in closer, making it clear I touched it at my own peril.

  I raised an eyebrow at Myra.

  “Okay,” she said. “I see it. It’s a dragon. I thought he was joking.”

  “Nope.”

  “Any idea why Crow wants you to have it?”

  “Something to do with it bothers Bathin. He can’t hide from it? They weren’t very clear.”

  We both drank our coffee and stared at the mythical farmyard conundrum.

  “Crow called him Black Heart,” I said.

  “The pig?”

  “The demon.”

  “Huh.”

  “He also called him Prince.”

  Myra sipped her coffee. I knew she was turning those little hints over in her big, beautiful brain, seeing which pieces of her research into all things demon fit with that information.

  “Want me to try and figure the dragon out?” she finally offered.

  “Gods, yes,” I said on an exhale. “I was hoping you’d volunteer. I’ve asked it a hundred yes/no questions but it just ignores me.”

  “I’ll check the books. See if we’ve ever had this dragon out of its cave before and if so, what happened then. See what kind of history it has with demons. And trickster gods.”

  “Perfect. I owe you one.”

  She handed me her empty coffee cup. “You owe me so many more than one. I’m going to check in at the station before I head home. I’ll call if there are any emergencies. Otherwise, try not to worry too much about Ryder.”

  “I won’t.” Lies.

  “He’s okay and he’ll be home soon.”

  “I know.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t sell your soul while I’m gone.”

  “That joke’s getting old.”

  “Not a joke. You promised us you’d make no stupid decision without consulting with at least one of us.”

  “I promise I will make no deal, do no stupid deed without either you or Jean consulted and on board between now and when I see you next.”

  “Good.”

  I followed her to the door so I could lock it behind her.

  “He’s going to love that ugly tree.” She waved one finger up and down at me and smiled. “I like this look on you, Delaney.”

  “What look?”

  “Love.”

  I tried to act annoyed, but couldn’t hold it for very long. She flipped up her coat hood and forged out into the wind and rain.

  I stayed there inside the doorway, needing to see her walk down to the cruiser, needing to see her get in it, start it, and drive away safely.

  Then I went inside and tried to keep my promises.

  Chapter Five

  I’d left the porch light on, and the fireplace still warmed the living room. Myra had left hours ago and I was curled up in a blanket on the couch with the stuffed eyeball Spud had offered me for comfort. It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas eve.

  The storm wasn’t letting up.

  My phone in my hand was fully charged and utterly, exhaustingly silent. So silent I’d turned on Ryder’s sound system and queued up a Christmas music playlist to take my mind off my worry.

  It wasn’t working.

  The song switched to Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto soothing her way through Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. As soon as she reached the troubles being out of sight lyrics, I couldn’t stay still.

  My troubles were right here in front of me. Or, really, that was the trouble. Ryder wasn’t here in front of me.

  I got up and paced. The glittering, twinkling lights of the tree filled the room with a sense of promise, of miracles, of magic.

  Before I c
ould overthink it, I lay on my back and scooted under the tree. I spit a few dead needles off my mouth and wiped my face in case of spiders, then looked up through the branches.

  Bundles of tiny lights spangled the tree in a fairy field of reds, blues, green, yellows, and purples. White twinklers winked like galaxies stirred by a winter wind. Fir needles prickled against the light, shadows coyly curled around curved-mirror ornaments that hung joyful and fat.

  It was beautiful. I could see how this would enchant little Ryder. It felt private, hushed, magical. Here under the tree was a secret moment where all the hopes and wishes of Christmas hung waiting on silvery hooks.

  I’d told Jean I wasn’t going to wish for snow. I’d told her I’d use my wishes for more important things.

  I’ll Be Home For Christmas started, and Ryder’s promise to be here, with me, echoed through me with every note.

  So I made a wish.

  Please let him be all right. Please let him be safe. Please let him call me so we can laugh about this. I need to hear his voice. I need to know he’s okay.

  I repeated those words, over and over until the song ended.

  And then my phone rang.

  I scuttled out from under that tree so fast, I nearly tipped it over.

  “Are you okay?” The words were out of my mouth almost before I’d swiped the screen to accept the call.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Ryder’s words were a little slow, like he’d had one too many drinks. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you drinking? Drinking? You better not be driving.”

  I couldn’t hear any noise in the background, which was a little weird.

  “So, change in plans.” He cleared his throat, which turned into a hard rattling cough. “There’s been. Change.”

  “Where are you?” I jogged over to my laptop, pinging Jean, who was on duty tonight.

  Her face appeared in a little box on my screen. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ryder’s on the line.”

  “Your phone?”

  I nodded. “His speech is slurred.”

  She was already busy typing. “Keep him talking.”

  “In my truck?” Ryder finally answered. “The…I must have blacked out for a minute.” He coughed again and it didn’t sound good.