Her back straightens and I return my attention to the velvet atrocity next to me. He needs to leave. This house is clearly mine and I’m on a schedule.
“Do as the nice woman asked and get out of here.” I drop my smile and glare at the idiot. He is still smiling like the simpleton he is.
“Uh, no. I didn’t ask,” she says. “I told you both to get out.”
I turn back to see the woman standing stiffly, her mouth twisted in anger. That is justified, I suppose. I did just dismiss her as if she wasn’t important.
Santa cackles next to me. This isn’t his friendly Ho, Ho, Ho. No, it’s pure wicked delight. His smug emotions are almost thicker than the woman's fear. Cancel that thought. Her anger is most definitely in the lead now.
“Looks like your little trick didn’t work, Lucie.”
I grind my teeth but don’t respond. I hate that name more than I hate Cupid. But he’s right. Apparently my compulsion doesn’t work on this woman. I look at her with more interest. I used more than enough compulsion to have any human scampering off to do my bidding. Why isn’t she?
“Lucie?” She wrinkles her nose and I hate that I find it adorable even though she repeats that awful nickname. “Look, I don’t give two shits who either of you are. Get. Out. Of. My. House!”
“Mommy,” the little girl whispers. “That’s Santa Claus.”
Mandy. Her name is Mandy and the reason I’m here at all. I received the letter she wrote with her mother a few weeks ago. I remember it clearly because compared to the others it smelled sad but hopeful, like a flower in full bloom nearing the end of its lifespan. There had also been a whiff of desperation that I’m now sure had been the mother’s. I’d marked it as a VIP on my list. This little girl is close to losing her belief in magic and I am going to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Even if she had sent the letter to the wrong place. After all, she's only eight. She had all the letters right, just a little out of order.
“That’s right. I’m Santa Claus and I’m here to bring you a present.”
“No, you are not.” I whirl toward him. “I showed you the letter. She wrote to me.”
“On accident!” The elf rises to his feet entirely too quickly for someone his age. “She meant to write to me. That’s why I’m here. It’s Christmas. This is what I do. You have a job. Leave me to mine and go torture some kittens.”
A tiny gasp reminds me that we are not alone.
“I do not torture kittens!” I raise my hands as if to defend myself. See? No kittens.
“Is this a joke? Are you part of some sick prank?” The little girl's mother raises her shoe higher and gestures in our direction with the pointy heel. “It’s Christmas Eve! This is not funny! I swear if you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to call the police!”
I cock my head at her and frown. Well, she blew her own lie and I’m not sure if I’m amused or disappointed. From the look in her eyes she must’ve realized her mistake too.
“Now, Lyla, we’re not here to hurt you or Mandy. Lucie is just a little confused about his job description.” The idiot smiles in their direction
“My name is Lucifer. Stop using that idiotic nickname, you self-righteous toddler. I’m older than the land your workshop is built on.” I owe Michael more payback than a solid punch or two. I’ve been hearing that stupid Lucie crap for eons. I look at the elf my father chose and anger washes through my body.
“Careful. You’re frightening the little one.” Jolly Old Fat Sack tips his head in the human’s direction.
I take a breath and squeeze my hands into fists, putting out the flames that are gathering in my palms. Fear is quickly filling the tiny living room so thickly I can barely breathe, and I fight to not choke on it. No matter the years I spend as Hell's Keeper, I never get used to that smell. It clings to everything in my domain, and this is supposed to be my chance to escape it for a night, but more and more the human plane smells of fear as much as hell itself.
I close my eyes and breathe through my mouth. I know it’s a flimsy excuse, but I will not have it taken away from me. Besides, I actually enjoy the irony of it all. And I’m not going to let the red Michelin Man ruin it for me.
Slowly, I loosen my fingers and open my eyes. What had he called the mother? She’s not on any lists I have so I had no way of finding out.
“Lyla.” I say her name and meet her gaze. A hint of arousal floats toward me. It’s barely there, but it is there and it is much better than the fear. She likes me saying her name? I will happily indulge her. “Lyla. As you can see, we are not the usual thieves or hooligans. I’m going to reach into my pocket and get something that will make all this clear. Don’t do anything dangerous with your… shoe.”
Red seeps into her cheeks at my words, but she doesn’t lower the shoe. She also doesn’t tell me not to reach into my pocket. Instead she jerks her head yes, very much like her daughter had earlier.
Slowly I slip my fingers into my suit jacket and pull out a folded paper from the interior pocket. She doesn’t need to know it was actually on my desk just a moment before. She just needs to see the writing and understand the mix up. Then I can deliver my present and be done for the night. I have a date with a glass of scotch and a new book I don’t want to miss and this run-in with the blowhard is already messing with my timeline. Though, I might have to find a reason to visit again later. Lyla is an interesting woman. Fierce even when deathly afraid, a devoted mother, cunning, beautiful, a pair of legs that go on forever, and at least somewhat immune to my compulsion. Definitely interesting.
I unfold the envelope and hold it up for her to see, but it’s too dark. I snap the fingers of my free hand and the lights come to life.
“My letter!” Mandy steps around her mother and points at me.
“Mandy!” Lyla pulls the little girl back behind her.
“Mama, that’s my letter! Remember? You helped me write it. We put it in the mailbox on the corner next to the apartments.”
Lyla doesn’t say anything and her eyebrows knit together. She inches closer, probably without realizing.
“It does look like…” She shakes her head and glares at me and then at the fool next to me. “This has to be a joke.”
“It is not a joke. Like I said, I’m simply here to deliver a present.” I pull the letter out and some of the left over glitter falls to the carpet as I unfold it. “The glitter bomb was a nice touch.”
Mandy looks up at her mother. “See, I told you we needed the glitter.”
I laugh at that. “Ask any crafter, glitter is definitely my domain.”
Sadly, no one in the room gets the joke. Jerk Face snorts and goes to sit down on the couch. He wipes at the cushion first and lifts his gloved hands and inspects his fingers as if expecting to find something on them.
“Hey! Watch it!” Lyla pulls Mandy closer to her edging a little towards my direction, as if the elf is the biggest threat in the room.
Good instincts. Another point in her favor.
“Don’t mind me. I’m a very busy man. If I’m going to be here for a bit, I might as well rest my old feet while I can. You don’t mind, do you?” With a flourish of his glaringly red jacket, Saint Crap Head sits down and crosses his arms. “But I do have a schedule to keep. So if we could hurry this along, it would be for the best.”