《Life After Death: the Noctis Short Story Collection》


 To New Things

    Conrad, Kappa, and I were in the washroom. Kappa and I were hovering around the wolfman as he took his boots off. He¡¯d just come in after shoveling the new snow from all the paths and walks around the mansion. I had a hot coffee for him, but I hovered at a respectful distance because I didn¡¯t want to crowd him until he was ready for it.


    Kappa, on the other hand, had no concept of ¡°respectful distance.¡± The pint-sized bog-monster kept bumping into Conrad as he crawled around the wolfman¡¯s tremendous form, over his shoulder, into his lap, and under his legs, trying to get at the elusive boots Conrad was in the middle of taking off. When Conrad put the first one by the door, Kappa flattened himself against the floor as best he could without touching the cold tiles and crept over to sniff it and occasionally poke the thing.


    I wondered what it smelled like.


    Conrad never wore socks. I¡¯d asked him about it once. He said that the claws on his feet tore through them too fast. He wore steel-toed work boots for the same reason; they were the only things that lasted.


    ¡°Besides,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°my fur is thick enough to protect me from blisters.¡±


    Blisters weren¡¯t the first thing I thought about when I considered why people wore socks¡ªbut thinking about that only raised other questions. Do wolfmen sweat? Did their feet ever stink?


    I hadn¡¯t asked. I didn¡¯t think it would be polite.


    Maybe I¡¯d ask Kappa later.


    Conrad removed his second boot, lifted Kappa out of the way, and put it down by the first one while saying, ¡°I thought you would have learned your lesson with Christmas.¡±


    ¡°My lesson?¡± I huffed. ¡°I was teaching all of you about the joys of holiday cheer¡ªGhost of Christmas Are-You-Crazy. I must have missed the part where I was supposed to learn something.¡±


    Conrad put the bog-monster down, and Kappa went right back to snooffling around, inspecting the snow-encrusted leather. When his nose accidently touched some snow, the fins on the sides of his head flitted like bird wings.


    Conrad stood up. ¡°If we never bothered celebrating Christmas, why would we celebrate New Year¡¯s?¡±


    He was close enough, I had to look up to see him. He scratched the back of his left ear, briefly smooshing the triangle down. When he moved his hand, it sprang back up.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I said. ¡°You guys don¡¯t do anything?¡± I handed him the mug of coffee.


    ¡°What¡¯s in here?¡±


    ¡°One cream, one sugar. I know how you take your coffee.¡±


    He dropped his hand on my bald head and rubbed it. ¡°Thank you, Mera.¡±


    The flecks of snow still caught in his fur were cold, but my cheeks felt warm, and I couldn¡¯t stop smiling for some stupid reason. I still tried to play it off like it was nothing. What meager tough-girl credibility I had would vanish if I let Conrad know how much of a sucker I was for praise.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I said. ¡°But more importantly¡­?¡±


    I looked at him meaningfully, to emphasize the question-ness of the unstated question.


    Conrad finished a third of his coffee in one gulp, then lowered the mug and wandered out to the hall. I followed him.


    ¡°For the last few years, Darius, Igor, and I have raised a toast at midnight,¡± Conrad said. ¡°Happy New Year! That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± I wailed. ¡°We can do better than that!¡±


    Without stopping, he turned and said over his shoulder, ¡°Then what do you want to do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But I know we can do better.¡±


    Conrad let out one of his chuff laughs and shook his head.


    As we passed the kitchen, he called, ¡°Good morning, Igor.¡±


    Igor looked up with the smaller of his two eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve already put breakfast away, but I managed to defend your portion from her.¡±


    Conrad glanced over at the ¡°her.¡±


    ¡°It was coffee cake,¡± I said. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m made of stone or something?¡±


    The wolfman turned back to Igor. ¡°Thank you, Igor. I¡¯ll come in and grab it later. I need to sit down for a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°You know where the refrigerator is,¡± Igor grumbled. He went on grumbling, but we didn¡¯t hear anymore because we turned down the main hall.


    Conrad was saying, ¡°If you don¡¯t know what you want to do for New Year¡¯s, I¡¯m not sure you get to criticize our plans.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a plan,¡± I said.


    ¡°Neither do you.¡±


    Dang it. The wolfman had a point. My stomach sank, and I glowered at some harmless corner of the front hall so I wouldn''t have to look at Conrad.


    He put his hand around my head and pulled me to his side in that rough, friendly way of his. He¡¯d been doing it more often, and it always reminded me of how big dogs bump into each other while play fighting¡ªnot that I would ever tell him that.


    I didn¡¯t mind. He knew his own strength. He was careful not to hurt me, and it made me feel like I was a part of his pack.


    ¡°Come on, zombie-girl,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s go sit down. We¡¯ll figure something out so you don¡¯t have to pout all day.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to pout all day,¡± I said. ¡°It gets boring after the first hour.¡±


    We went into the sitting room. A fire was already blazing in the fireplace. Back in late November, when it had started to get really cold, Conrad had helped me move the couch and the armchairs closer to the hearth so we could use the fire to augment the pitiful efforts of the mansion¡¯s ancient radiator system,


    Conrad sat down in the corner of the couch, saving the side closer to the fire for the girl without a fur coat.


    As I sat down, I asked, ¡°How did you used to celebrate New Year¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡± was his blunt reply.


    ¡°I meant before you came here.¡±


    He glanced at me, then returned his eyes to the fire. ¡°There was always a big party at the bar in town. I didn¡¯t go.¡±


    I grimaced. There I was, being the world¡¯s most sensitive soul.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Conrad asked.


    Ah-ha. Yeah. And that was probably some kind of karma. If I thoughtlessly pried into why Conrad hadn¡¯t been going out to parties, it was only fair he¡¯d ask me the same question. I didn¡¯t even have the excuse of being a six-foot-nine wolfman.


    ¡°I never really celebrated it either,¡± I admitted. ¡°Most people I knew watched the ball drop on TV.¡±


    Conrad shrugged. ¡°Okay. Why don¡¯t we do that?¡±


    I dropped my head onto the back of the sofa so I could roll my eyes even further. The ceiling would know exactly how lame I thought that was. ¡°But it¡¯s so boring. Maybe it¡¯d be different if we were there or something, but even then¡­¡±


    I had learned through experience that sometimes the thought of the party is more fun than the party itself.


    Conrad said, ¡°Mera, if we¡¯re going to try to celebrate this holiday, we¡¯re going to have to think of something you¡¯ll enjoy. Reward¡¯s important when you¡¯re trying to establish a habit.¡±


    ¡°Ms. Elstein told me that when she was young they used to dress up to go out ballroom dancing. There would be this big count-down with confetti and champagne.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s supposed to be fun?¡±


    ¡°Of course it is!¡± I added in a grumble, ¡°But I don¡¯t know any ballroom dancing. And I don¡¯t have a guy I can drag along.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even bother looking this way.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t know if anyone out there still does that kind of thing. At this point I think the Japanese do a better job celebrating New Year¡¯s than we do.¡±


    ¡°Is this something you picked up from anime?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Conrad scratched the fur at his neck. ¡°Isn¡¯t that kind of like trying to gauge how Americans celebrate New Year¡¯s by watching our movies? If you did that, you¡¯d think everyone in the country went to Time¡¯s Square.¡±


    There was a big, fat, blank moment, then my mouth dropped open. No words came out. My body had blue-screened thanks to an unexpected brain-crash.


    Of course that¡¯s what it¡¯d be like. Only an idiot would be surprised by that.


    I, an idiot, blinked and cleared my throat. ¡°Well, then, I think the anime characters do a better job celebrating New Year¡¯s than we do.¡±


    ¡°And what do they do?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A lot of them stay at home.¡±


    ¡°Good so far.¡±


    ¡°They sit under the kotatsu, eating tangerines and drinking beer.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a kotatsu?¡±


    ¡°You take a big coffee table, and you add a blanket and an electric heater to create this perfect bubble of warm.¡±


    Conrad hummed.


    I probably didn¡¯t have much chance of selling the fur-covered wolfman on the idea that warmth was somehow magical and important.


    I hurried on. ¡°On New Year¡¯s Day, they go out to a shrine to ring the bell and pray for a good year. You can see shrine maidens, buy some charms¡ªoh! And get your fortune.¡±


    ¡°This would be a Shinto shrine?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°That might be difficult.¡±


    An evil grin crept onto my face. ¡°Hey, Conrad, have I ever told you about Gingitsune?¡±


    He looked over, saw the grin, and his eyes narrowed. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an anime that has this giant fox spirit that protects a shrine.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°All we need is some white wash-out hair color¡ªor, in this case, fur color¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not a chance.¡±


    No hesitation! No mercy! Only the brutal murder of a new-found dream.


    I put my hands on the couch between us and leaned toward him, ¡°But it¡¯d be the perfect cosplay!¡±


    ¡°Not in a million years.¡±


    I sat back, crossed my arms, and huffed. ¡°Oh, fine. It¡¯s not like there¡¯s a shrine around here anyway.¡±


    ¡°What else have you got?¡±


    I gazed into the fire and cast my mind over all the anime I¡¯d seen. Conrad let me think in silence.


    After a minute, I said, ¡°There was one where they climbed up somewhere high to watch the first sunrise.¡±


    Conrad didn¡¯t say anything. When I looked at him, his fuzzy brow was crinkled in thought and, once in a while, one of his ears would twitch.


    Darius Vasil wandered into the kitchen for a refill on his coffee. As he approached the doorway, he realized that there was a minor commotion coming from the room. He had to tune into it before he remembered why he¡¯d tuned it out in the first place.


    ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t know how to read a map!¡± Conrad demanded.


    ¡°Look,¡± Emerra said, ¡°I can read any bus or subway map you hand me!¡±


    Ah. It was Emerra being Emerra. Darius had worked with her enough he could differentiate between the panicked noises that meant he needed to pay attention and her general state of loudness. She and Conrad were standing over the dining table at the end of the room.


    Emerra pointed to the map on the table beside them. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like this in my life. Either of them! What¡¯s with these lines, anyway? It makes it look like some kind of weird fingerprint.¡±


    Darius refilled his mug from the urn and walked over to Igor. The chef was grumbling as he prepared for lunch, but it was his standard low-level grumble. The count had learned to tune it out the same way he¡¯d tuned out Emerra.


    Conrad rubbed his eyebrow ridge. ¡°Mera, do you have any sense of direction at all?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Away from home and back to home!¡±


    The count leaned on the counter beside Igor, sipped his coffee, and said, ¡°What are they doing?¡±


    ¡°Enjoying a childish argument,¡± Igor said.


    Darius quelled his smile. ¡°Yes, I can hear that. Is there a greater purpose behind it?¡±


    ¡°I doubt it, but they claim they¡¯re planning a sunrise hike for tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow is New Year¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°I gather that¡¯s the point.¡±


    ¡°Darius!¡± Emerra called.


    The count looked up. She was smiling at him.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Do you want to come with us?¡± she asked. ¡°We¡¯ve got three pairs of snowshoes, and I¡¯ve already checked the weather. It¡¯s going to be clear and sunny.¡± She raised one shoulder in a shrug. ¡°Cold, but clear.¡±


    Darius pushed himself away from the counter. ¡°Thank you for the invitation, Emerra, but I think I¡¯ll sit this one out.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Igor¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Igor said.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Before you make me repeat myself, consider who it is who decides if dessert is served in this house.¡±


    Emerra tilted her head to the side to gaze up at Conrad. At the exact same time, Conrad tilted his head to the side to gaze down at her. They shared a wry look out of the corners of their eyes.


    Darius made no attempt to hide his smile this time. It would have been impossible.


    Vasil had met Conrad Bauer under difficult circumstances. The vampire had lived a long time, and he¡¯d known many shy people; he knew the difference between their innate quietude and the dimness of someone whose heart was hurting. There was no shortage of excuses for bringing the wolfman back to the mansion, but the primary reason Darius had done it was to give Conrad a chance to heal.


    He hadn¡¯t. For five years, the lycanthrope had stayed dim.


    What a difference two and a half months could make.


    Emerra put her hands on her hips. ¡°Well, that just leaves Olivia. I¡¯ll go invite her.¡±


    ¡°You think she¡¯s going to say yes?¡± Conrad asked.


    ¡°Nope! But she¡¯s getting the invitation whether she likes it or not!¡± Emerra whirled and went up the back stairs.


    When she was gone, Conrad leaned over the table. He used his compass to orient the map, then scowled down at it as his eyes slowly moved over the paper, searching for something.


    Darius wandered over. He looked at the map for a second, then reached out and put his finger down.


    ¡°There,¡± he said.


    Conrad looked up at him.


    ¡°That place has the best view.¡± The count moved his finger and took a sip of coffee. As he walked back toward the doorway, he said, ¡°I doubt she¡¯s ever been snowshoeing before. Plan on taking some extra time to get there.¡±


    I was bouncing through the front hall toward the sweep of the grand staircase when I heard someone call out to me.


    ¡°Good evening, Emerra.¡±


    I swung myself around the banister and up the first few steps. ¡°Good evening, Iset! And good night!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to bed?¡± the mummy asked.


    I stopped to call over my shoulder, ¡°It¡¯s New Year¡¯s Eve.¡±


    Iset¡¯s wrapped hand was resting on the spiral end of the banister. ¡°Isn¡¯t that usually when you stay up later?¡±


    ¡°No, no. I have to change it up. New year, new me!¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± She sounded amused.


    ¡°Yup! This year, I¡¯m getting up early.¡±


    At fifteen minutes to midnight, Darius wandered toward the kitchen. He could hear Igor working all the way from the front hall. There was the quiet chink of the glasses, the metallic sound of the drink shaker being laid on the counter, and the soft noises of ice and glass bottles. The sounds betrayed a confidence and skill that assured the count it really was Igor in the kitchen. Notably absent was the sound of any grumbling.


    Conrad was coming down the stairs. He fell in step beside Darius.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know if you¡¯d be joining us this year,¡± Darius observed.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t miss it,¡± Conrad said.


    ¡°Have you figured out what you¡¯re doing for your hike tomorrow morning?¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s planned and packed, and I gave us plenty of time to get there.¡±


    The count nodded with approval.


    The hike was little more than an excursion into their oversized backyard, but Darius had a tendency to worry when it came to Emerra Cole. He wasn¡¯t sure if she was the cause or the victim¡ªall he knew was that there was often trouble when she was around.


    But if Conrad Bauer was along, she would be fine. The vampire knew that he could rely on the boy¡¯s intelligence and strength, even before he considered Conrad¡¯s outdoors experience¡ªan experience that would have rivaled his own if the lycanthrope¡¯s age had been anywhere near comparable.


    As the two men entered the kitchen, Igor glanced at them with the smaller of his eyes. ¡°Good evening,¡± he said.


    ¡°Good evening, Igor,¡± Darius said.


    The vampire sat down on one of the barstools across from the chef. Conrad claimed another.


    ¡°Do we have anything special this evening?¡± Darius asked.


    ¡°A standard bar,¡± Igor said. ¡°I can mix most drinks¡ªnot that either of you will appreciate it. I also have a bottle of what¡¯s supposed to be a fine bourbon. I thought we might open it tonight.¡±


    ¡°That sounds lovely, Igor. On the rocks, please.¡±


    Igor pulled out a short glass and extracted one of the ice balls he kept reserved for nights like these. He flicked a few drops of water onto the ball, rolled it around the glass, and added a measure of whiskey. As he slid it over to Vasil, he raised one of his eyes to the wolfman.


    ¡°Conrad?¡±


    The wolfman hesitated. ¡°What do you recommend?¡± he asked.


    Igor¡¯s eyebrows rose, one after the other, as if they were two independent objects, equally surprised but dissimilarly determined to hide it.


    The hump over Igor¡¯s shoulder shifted in a shrug. ¡°That depends. I don¡¯t think you like your drinks sweet.¡±


    ¡°Not too sweet,¡± Conrad said.


    ¡°Then I¡¯d recommend trying an Old Fashioned. This is supposed to be a damn good bourbon, and we can tell a lot about what you might like from that.¡±


    Conrad dropped his muzzle in a nod. ¡°Let¡¯s try it.¡±


    ¡°At last, a chance to use some skill,¡± Igor grumbled as he pulled over a tall glass.


    Darius idly twisted his drink. ¡°I thought you would die a beer man, Conrad.¡±


    The lycanthrope shrugged.


    ¡°Shall we drink to new things then?¡± Darius suggested.


    Igor scoffed. ¡°Drink to ¡®new things,¡¯ he says while sipping his typical whiskey on the rocks.¡±


    ¡°Igor, I¡¯m an old man of refined tastes.¡±


    ¡°Set in your ways, Vasil. But I¡¯ll grant you old.¡±


    ¡°And what will you be having?¡±


    Igor pulled an orange over to his cutting board, cut out a chunk, and dropped it in the mixing glass. ¡°I thought I¡¯d try a charred chili and orange Aperol spritz.¡±


    The count and Conrad shared a knowing glance.


    ¡°And if you don¡¯t like that one?¡± Conrad asked.


    ¡°I have several other recipes to test out.¡± Igor¡¯s voice became grave. ¡°You have to stay on top of these things. Cocktail fashions change so fast.¡±


    ¡°Some do,¡± Darius muttered over the rim of his glass.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned before one of Mr. Noctis¡¯s guests asks for something that I can¡¯t serve.¡± Igor finished making the Old Fashioned and passed it to Conrad. ¡°It¡¯s meant to be sipped over time.¡±


    Conrad eyed the drink. ¡°Does it hit hard?¡±


    ¡°Nothing you can¡¯t handle.¡± Igor pulled out another glass. ¡°It¡¯s meant to be savored.¡±


    ¡°Are you worried about getting drunk?¡± Darius asked.


    Conrad picked up the glass. ¡°I¡¯m getting up at five in the morning. I don¡¯t want it to be any more difficult than it has to be.¡±


    The lycanthrope took his first sip while Darius and Igor watched.


    ¡°Well?¡± Darius asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s good.¡± Conrad looked at Igor. ¡°That¡¯s really good.¡±


    Igor¡¯s lopsided smile had a strong air of smugness. ¡°It¡¯s my own style. If you order it from a bar, you¡¯ll get something a lot like it, only not as good.¡±


    ¡°Cheers.¡± Conrad tilted his glass toward Igor, then took another sip.


    All three men lapsed into a content silence. Darius and Conrad sipped their drinks while they watched Igor prepare what would most likely be the first of many strange cocktails.


    After a while, Darius asked, ¡°Who¡¯s idea was it to go on a hike?¡±


    ¡°Emerra¡¯s,¡± Conrad said. ¡°She wanted to do something big for the New Year.¡±


    Igor rolled the larger of his eyes. ¡°We have to draw the line somewhere, or there¡¯ll be leprechauns in March.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t mind?¡± Darius asked Conrad.


    The wolfman¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°I liked the idea. I like getting outside, and a sunrise feels more¡­I don¡¯t know. More meaningful.¡±


    ¡°More meaningful than staying up late?¡±


    ¡°We stay up late every night.¡±


    Darius hummed, then said, ¡°Iset told me that Emerra went to bed at nine-thirty.¡±


    ¡°That is a special occasion,¡± Igor muttered.


    Conrad shook his head and took another long sip. When he put the glass down, he said, ¡°She might have gone to bed around then. I doubt she actually slept.¡±


    Darius smiled. ¡°I¡¯m sure she was full of good intentions.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but knowing her, she was probably too excited¡ª¡±


    The wolfman suddenly stopped.


    Igor paused what he was doing and looked up. Conrad had lifted his nose, and his ears rotated toward the backstairs. He and Darius turned on their stools.


    A few seconds later, Emerra poked her head around the break in the wall. The absurdly large shirt she wore with her pajamas wafted into sight.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said.


    ¡°Good evening, Emerra,¡± Darius said. ¡°You couldn¡¯t sleep?¡±


    ¡°I was too excited.¡±


    The edge of Conrad¡¯s lips ticked up.


    Emerra raised her index finger and waved it around to make sure the whole kitchen island was included in the gesture. ¡°Is this, like, a guys-only club, or can I come in?¡±


    Vasil¡¯s gaze wandered from Conrad to Igor. The wolfman still looked amused at his own sagacity. Igor looked indifferent in the odd way that the vampire had learned to associate with the chef¡¯s most positive form of acceptance¡ªa type of pre-tolerance. Neither of them would object.


    The count pulled out the stool between him and Conrad while turning to Igor. ¡°All right, master bartender, do you have anything you can serve to a minor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be a sorry excuse for a bartender if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    Emerra skipped over to the stool and tucked herself in the group. ¡°Am I too late for the midnight toast?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just in time,¡± Darius assured her.


    ¡°What are you making me?¡± she asked Igor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯ll be sugary.¡±


    She grinned. That was all the assurance she needed.


    Igor refused to rush, despite Emerra and Conrad teasing him about the swiftly approaching zero hour. Igor slid it over to Mera with seconds to spare. As soon as it was in her hand, Darius raised his glass to toast.


    ¡°Happy New Year,¡± the count said.


    The others raised their own glasses, echoed his call, and drank.


    When Emerra lowered her glass she said, ¡°Delicious, as always, Igor. Thank you so much.¡±


    His response was a loud harumph.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A mock mojito.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I like that. It sounds punk.¡±


    ¡°I believe the mojito was invented by sailors,¡± Darius said.


    Igor corrected him: ¡°Pirates.¡±


    ¡°Punk sailors,¡± Emerra said. ¡°Even better.¡± She took another drink. ¡°All right, gentlemen, what are your New Year¡¯s resolutions?¡±


    ¡°Our resolutions?¡± Darius grabbed the whiskey to add another measure to his glass.


    ¡°If you tell people, you¡¯re more likely to keep them,¡± Emerra said.


    Igor eyed her with the smaller of his two eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°No! It¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Darius said. ¡°The chance is still infinitesimal, but it does increase.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a resolution?¡± Emerra asked.


    Darius glanced at her, then shook his head. ¡°I have enough going on with my work, I don¡¯t bother. My only goal is to survive from one case to the next.¡±


    Emerra turned to Igor. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Why bother?¡± he said. ¡°You set yourself up with some big expectation only to fail less than a month later.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s the fun of it, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± Conrad asked.


    ¡°Because you get the chance to pick out some wildly stupid dream about changing your life!¡± Emerra said. ¡°It¡¯s fun to think about all the things you¡¯d do if you could.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose setting a realistic goal ever occurred to you?¡± Darius said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not fun at all.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your resolution, Emerra?¡± Conrad asked.


    Emerra stopped dead, her eyes frozen, staring at a random point in space. Her lips twisted into an expression that was half wry smile and half frown¡ªan inverted smirk. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I usually pick them early, but there didn¡¯t seem to be much point this year.¡± She flicked her glass with her fingernail. ¡°I thought about making a goal to live until spring, but I knew I probably wouldn¡¯t reach New Year¡¯s.¡±


    Igor grunted. ¡°So much for your imagination. Why didn¡¯t you decide to take over hell?¡±


    Emerra¡¯s head jerked back, but then she smiled and said, ¡°What makes you think I¡¯d go to hell?¡±


    ¡°How long have I known you, Emerra Cole?¡±


    ¡°A few months!¡±


    ¡°Long enough.¡±


    ¡°Well, it looks like hell is out of reach for a while, so I guess I¡¯ll have to take over the world. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°You might as well. You¡¯re just as likely to achieve that goal as any other.¡±


    Emerra turned to the wolfman. ¡°What¡¯s your resolution, Conrad?¡±


    ¡°To try to ingratiate myself with the new zombie overlord.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not a zombie.¡± Darius insisted.


    Emerra didn¡¯t seem to hear Darius. She was too busy grinning at Conrad.


    She nudged his arm with her elbow. ¡°You can be my first lieutenant.¡±


    The wolfman chuffed. ¡°Look at that. Three minutes past midnight, and I¡¯ve already achieved my goal.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Igor grumbled. ¡°Good for you, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    I would have thought that getting up at five-thirty would be more difficult since I¡¯d only gotten four hours of sleep, but it turns out that excitement doesn¡¯t care how much or how little sleep you¡¯ve had. I was already up and dressed in my base layer when I heard Conrad¡¯s quiet knock on my door.


    It took me a few more minutes to finish getting dressed because the base layer was only one of several layers that Conrad insisted I had to wear. The day before, he¡¯d lectured me about the importance of wearing layers in cold weather. I¡¯d pointed out that he was only going to be wearing a shirt and a fur coat, and he couldn¡¯t even take his coat off, so he didn¡¯t have the right to lecture me. Then he brought up some nonsense about growing up in Alaska and how the girl who didn¡¯t even know what an orienteering compass was didn¡¯t have the right to judge.


    A compromise was reached when I agreed to do everything Conrad told me to.


    ¡°But you¡¯re welcome to be a complete twit about it,¡± he said.


    ¡°Gosh. Thanks.¡±


    We crept downstairs and over to the kitchen where our packs and snowshoes were waiting on the dining table at the end of the room. We took them out to the patio to put them on. As I took my first few steps, Conrad had to shoosh me because I was laughing loud enough to wake up Igor who was asleep in the groundskeeper¡¯s cottage.


    ¡°But look at me!¡± I whispered as loud as I could. ¡°I¡¯m like some kind of a monster! Or a dinosaur!¡±


    I lumbered out to the yard while letting out a ferocious rawr! under my breath.


    Our luck couldn¡¯t have been any better. The full moon shining down on the snow made it so bright that we didn¡¯t need our flashlights. The blue-white light set the whole world sparkling. As we walked, our snowshoes kicked specks of snow into the air where they would glint like tiny diamonds.


    Everything was quiet¡ªexcept me, of course. But even I would stop to listen to the vast, wild silence that seemed to be as far away as the sky, but still, somehow, close enough to wrap me up. The scent of the snow and the woods filled my head, and when I drew in a breath, it filled my whole body.


    It was bitterly cold¡ªstill under zero degrees¡ªand the frozen air numbed my cheeks and nose. During a break, I took off my mittens and prodded them with my fingertips, marveling at how unreal they felt. But Conrad had been right about the clothes. Aside from that bit of exposed skin, I was plenty warm. As time went on, I had to unzip my outer layer to shed some heat.


    Conrad did his best to keep us on track to meet the sunrise at the barren top of a hill overlooking the forest.


    Well, he called it a hill. I think the only reason it didn¡¯t qualify as a mountain was because the man labeling it had grown up in Alaska, which is, apparently, all that¡¯s required to warp a man for life.


    ¡°Come on!¡± he cried from further up the ¡°hill.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to miss it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± I stopped to gasp a few times and give my quivering thighs a second to recover. ¡°We¡¯re not going¡­to miss it!¡±


    ¡°You can see the light along the horizon!¡±


    ¡°Could you¡­please¡­pretend to at least breathe hard?¡±


    He dodged back a few feet and wrapped his massive hand over my mitten. ¡°Nope,¡± he said, turning back around. ¡°Come on.¡±


    He proceeded to drag-slash-pull me up the slope while I laughed and staggered behind him like a drunk dinosaur.


    When we made it to the top and I saw the view, my breath caught in my chest. The blue sky was crisscrossed with wispy white clouds, and yellow light bled over the distant horizon, causing the whole world to glow. The sunlight shining off the sides of the snowy trees made them look like winter sentinels, all facing east to greet the morning.


    For a few seconds, I was unable to do anything but gaze at the scene.


    Then I wiped away the two unexpected tears before they could freeze on my cheeks, stripped off my pack, and dropped it, unceremoniously, on the ground.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Conrad asked.


    ¡°I have to get a picture!¡± I dropped to my butt.


    ¡°Why are you taking off your snowshoes?¡±


    ¡°My legs are tired! I don¡¯t know. Dinosaurs can¡¯t take pictures.¡± Once my snowshoes were off, I forced myself onto my wobbly feet and promptly sank into the drift. ¡°Huh,¡± I said. ¡°It was not this deep back at the mansion.¡±


    ¡°You better get out your phone, Mera.¡±


    I used my armpits to help haul off my mittens, then dug under all those layers to get to my pocket. I took my phone out and got a few shots, but the composition wasn¡¯t right.


    ¡°Conrad, can you take it?¡± I held my phone up to him.


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re taller. You have a better view. I¡¯m, like, two feet shorter all of a sudden.¡± I wiggled my phone at him. ¡°Hurry! We don¡¯t want to miss the sunrise!¡±


    He held up both hands to absolve himself of all artistic responsibility. ¡°Not happening. I¡¯ve watched you take photos. There¡¯s no way you¡¯re going to be happy with my point and click.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Come here,¡± he said.


    He didn¡¯t bother waiting for me to slog toward him. He walked over, reached down, and pulled me out of the snow. I tried to say something, but all I could manage was a few inarticulate yells. Conrad hoisted me onto his shoulders, like I was a five-foot-five toddler.


    ¡°Stop laughing!¡± Conrad said. ¡°Get the picture.¡±


    Still giggling, I held out my phone, adjusted the camera settings, and snapped all the pictures I could. If I took a few dozen, I knew at least one of them would turn out. It had to. The moment was so perfect, even Conrad¡¯s point-and-click method would have been good enough.


    I lowered my arms, letting my hands and my phone rest between Conrad¡¯s ears. ¡°Look at that! Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡±


    Conrad hummed his agreement. ¡°Did you get the shot?¡±


    ¡°Oodles of them.¡± I put one hand between his ears and wiggled it back and forth, ruffling his ears. ¡°You¡¯re amazing, Conrad.¡± I sat up as tall as possible. ¡°Is this what it¡¯s like to be a giant? I could get use to this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Conrad said.


    He reached up to grab me, but I leaned out of the way.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to carry me home?¡±


    ¡°Watch it, zombie-girl. All I have to do to dump you in the snow is shrug.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fine.¡±


    When he reached up for me again, I let him grab me without a struggle.


    My heart flew when he pulled me off his shoulders, just like it had when he¡¯d lifted me off the ground. Maybe it was the split-second of weightlessness. Or maybe there¡¯s a childish delight when you combine trust with momentary helplessness. The next second I was back on the ground, sinking into the snow.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± I said, looking up at him.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Now let¡¯s take a break, drink some cocoa, and head home.¡±


    That sounded like a perfect plan to me.


    Darius and Iset were in the long gallery, on the third floor of the mansion. The vampire had turned one of the couches around so they could watch as the sun rose over the trees.


    ¡°Happy New Year, Iset,¡± Darius said.


    ¡°Happy New Year, Darius. We¡¯ve seen a lot of them, haven¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°We have. More than our share.¡±


    ¡°But this feels special,¡± Iset noted. ¡°A sunrise, rather than midnight. I like it.¡±


    ¡°As do I.¡±


    ¡°If all of the younger ones move out, you know we¡¯ll have to find more to bring in.¡±


    Darius raised an eyebrow. ¡°To keep us from getting too set in our ways?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    The vampire¡¯s subtle smile pulled up only one of his cheeks..


    ¡°Darius?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Do you have any New Year¡¯s resolutions?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I have to stop Emerra from taking over the world.¡±


    It was after ten-thirty before Count Vasil was ready to go to bed for the day. He checked for any urgent messages, then stopped by Big Jacky¡¯s study to wish him a happy New Year. As Darius left the study, his attention was drawn to the room across the hall.


    He could hear a fire going in the sitting room, and two people were there. He thought he knew which two, but it wasn¡¯t normal for them to be so quiet.


    He went over to the opening and peered inside.


    Conrad and Emerra were asleep on the couch. She was curled up with her head on his shoulder. He was sprawled out in the corner of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The arm closest to Emerra was thrown over the back of the couch, while the other was tucked up under his head as a make-shift pillow.


    The vampire smiled, shook his head, and turned to the grand staircase.


    He hoped that they enjoyed their nap. They¡¯d earned it, and falling asleep in front of a fire on a cold winter day sounded like a good start to any year.

 Stubborn

    The damn kids were at it again. I chased them off. I always do. It riles me, the way some of them laugh. It¡¯s a mean laugh. They¡¯re scared. I know they are. I can see it in their eyes when they glance back at me, but they keep doing it. And they laugh because they know how mad it makes me, to have to chase them off my property like that. They enjoy tormenting an old man.


    I used to wonder what I¡¯d do if I ever caught one. Not likely. Not at my age. They¡¯re little whips. I wonder if I was ever young enough to move that fast. I¡¯m sure as hell too slow now. I used to grumble to myself after I¡¯d chased them away, taking grim satisfaction from my fantasy about one of them tripping so I could finally get my hands on them. I never bothered planning it out. I¡¯d just wallow in that dark, murky idea of what I could do. Something mean. Something that would teach them. Something that would teach all the parents and police that did nothing to stop them from throwing rocks at my house and treating my yard like some kind of carnival freak show.


    Not my yard. Me. I know it¡¯s me they¡¯re all gathered to stare at. They¡¯re waiting, barely breathing, for yours truly to show up. If it¡¯s a show to them, then I¡¯m the freak.


    One day it happened. I wasn¡¯t ready for it. I came roaring out of my house to chase away the trespassers, and one of the little boys, probably no older than nine or ten, tripped on a thick clod of grass sticking up higher than anything else. How his foot managed to find that one clump of crab grass in a field full of nothing but dirt and dust is one of the wonders of the world. But it did find it, and the boy tumbled like I¡¯d never seen.


    I stopped when I saw it, suddenly cold to my core¡ªonly getting colder when I saw the expression on his face. He was white with terror. His cheeks were blotches of bright red against white, white skin. His eyes were wide like circles. He looked like an animal. And he didn¡¯t stop for it. He got up and kept running, blood streaming off his torn-up arm like red raindrops, his fingers leaning at angles so extreme they had to have been broken, but that didn¡¯t matter none to him. I think he would¡¯ve run on a broken leg, he was so terrified.


    When they¡¯d cleared away from the hill that hid my house from the rest of town, I was left alone. I shook myself and headed back to my house, getting madder at every step. What was he so scared of? I never liked children, but after that I hated them clear to the spot in my core that had gone cold, and I ran faster when I had to chase them off. I still never caught them.


    I hate them, and I wish they¡¯d stop coming¡ªbut a part of me is glad that no more of them have tripped.


    It¡¯s usually boys that crawl over the last of my fence to come into my yard.


    The girls only come to the edge of the road to stare. They usually come in groups, either all girls around the same age or with a mix of boys. Whenever I hear their whiny tones, begging the boys to come back, I stop whatever I¡¯m doing and go outside. The boys¡¯ll break my windows if I let them. I don¡¯t have the money to fix them, and god knows, their parents will never pay for it.


    A boy in the yard is trouble.


    There¡¯s only been one girl that ever crossed that fence. She was an odd one.


    First she came, like they all do, in a group. The others tittered and yelped a bit. I ignored them. I don¡¯t like to be stared at, but it¡¯s more than my energy¡¯s worth to try to chase them off if all they do is stay on the road and act like vultures.


    But one of the little girls didn¡¯t laugh or talk to the others. She just stared. My rising temper faded under her gaze. I tried to figure out why. She was scared¡ªlike the rest of them¡ªbut she looked troubled too, as if there was something sad and puzzling about the whole situation. I think it was that puzzlement that calmed me down. Not because of any sympathy, but because I couldn¡¯t understand it. It left me puzzled too. Puzzled cancels out anger, I guess.


    She came back alone. Several times. She¡¯d stand at the edge of the road and gaze at my house with that same puzzled, troubled, scared expression. I chased her off once, even though she wasn¡¯t doing any harm. I must have given up on learning what she was so damn confused about.


    That was the night she came back alone and crept over the broken beams that were all that was left of my fence. Most of them were lying along the ground. A few were propped up on their old posts. There was no point in putting them up again. I¡¯d watched the boys kick them down. They wouldn¡¯t stay up for a day.


    She crept toward my house. When I came out onto the porch, I expected her to break and run like the others, but she didn¡¯t. She stood there, staring at me. And I stared at her, my arms crossed. She¡¯d leave. She had to. I¡¯d seen her. There¡¯d be no sneaking up to the windows to get a peek at the crazy old man the whole town hates.


    Try again another night, Missy, I thought, but you don¡¯t know how light I sleep. If I sleep.


    It took her forever to turn around. The minutes stretched out to something like years. I didn¡¯t bother talking, and neither did she. A real odd one, for a girl.


    Then, at last, she left. At first she walked away, but each step was faster than the last, and by the time she hit the road, she was running.


    She never tried again, although, through the years, I¡¯d see her pause at the edge of the road and glance toward my house. She only did it when she was alone, and I always knew it was her. The other brats were nothing but interchangeable parcels of belligerence, but I knew her face, and I could pick her out, even from a distance. It must have been that night-time staring contest.


    I saw her walking with her boy when she got older. Wouldn¡¯t have known him from any other, but from the way she smiled, I guess she thought there was something special about him.


    For some reason, I felt a dim sense of rough approval. I don¡¯t know why.


    After a miserable life, that house was all I had. I owned it outright. Not a penny owed to any man. A long time ago¡ªso long ago the fence was still in decent repair¡ªtwo men came to try to talk me into selling. There was good land by the road, and they wanted to build some more houses. I told them to build if they liked it. They said my house was a problem. It took them a while to get to the point, but, eventually, I understood; it was too ugly for them. They wanted everything to look right and pretty so they could charge more for their houses. My unpainted boards and sagging roof would cost them money. I told them that if it was worth all that, they should pay for some paint and a new roof. They didn¡¯t like that idea. It would still be too ugly. I told them to go to hell.


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay you a fair price for it!¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I yelled. ¡°You know of any other places as ugly as mine? With a fair price, that¡¯d be all I could afford!¡±


    They didn¡¯t. I still don¡¯t believe such a place exists. Not around here, and I didn¡¯t see a point in moving. Maybe all the townspeople hated me, but I had my peace, and I owned my home, and people left me alone.


    Time went on, and I was too old and too poor to repair the fence. When the kids started coming around, I might have sold my house to get away from them, but it¡¯d been years since those two men stopped trying to convince me. After the fifth or sixth visit, they cursed me out as the most stubborn man alive and never came back.


    My house is still ugly. It¡¯s still unpainted. None of those other houses got built. I guess that¡¯s the power of being stubborn.


    As ugly as the house is, it¡¯s still mine. That means something.


    Your self-respect ages with you, so slowly that you don¡¯t even notice how everything looks worn and stooped. Things break, and you promise yourself you¡¯ll fix them, but it¡¯s not important because no one comes around and you don¡¯t think to impress yourself because you know who you are anyway. But it still matters. If it didn¡¯t, you¡¯d have nothing at all.


    That¡¯s why I get so mad about the rocks and the windows. And when the man came¡ªa man, not a child¡ªwhen he came, I was so angry the edges of my vision started to blur and I could smell sulfur.


    I didn¡¯t notice him for a long time. Afterward I wondered¡ªwas I sleeping harder than normal? Had the lethargy finally seeped into me deep enough to dull my hearing? Or was there something about him that made me miss him, but not the kids?


    He hadn¡¯t laughed like a kid would. Or raised his voice with bravado. He was silent. The only thing that had roused me was the sound of his shovel. That sharp shhhink, followed by the gravely crack!¡ªthe sound of the earth quietly clearing its throat from the rubble. I wouldn¡¯t have known he was there if it wasn¡¯t for the sound of my own yard trying to raise its silent voice.


    I went to the back¡ªhow had he gotten all the way to the back?¡ªand looked out the corner of the window not covered by cardboard. The crack in the glass severed the man¡¯s image across his torso. I watched his upper body rise through the crack, distorting him, then dip again as he tossed another shovelful of dirt in front of him.


    I was too angry to wonder what he was doing. There wasn¡¯t even a thought. There was only the blaze of possessiveness driving out everything else. If anyone had seen me then, I think I would have looked like an animal.


    I might have murdered him if I¡¯d caught him¡ªstraight up murdered him. This went beyond rocks and the fence and the windows. He was doing something to my home, to my yard, as if I wasn¡¯t even there. As if I didn¡¯t matter.


    I¡¯d calloused myself to the idea of hatred, but not to that kind of disrespect.


    He¡¯d barely finished whatever he was doing when I came out. He was patting down the last bit of dirt. The gravel he¡¯d turned over made a quiet chink, chink when it hit the back of his shovel. When he saw me, he dropped his shovel and ran like all hell was after him. I chased him up the side of my house and all the way to the fence, but he could run faster than any child.


    After his escape, I stood at the edge of my property, huffing with indignation and rage, pacing every now and then, restless and senseless. It was stupid. Why was a standing around? Did I think he¡¯d come back?


    I asked myself that, and a hallow chuckle made my chest jerk. I don¡¯t have much of a sense of humor, but I could always laugh at my own stupidity.


    The chuckle broke my rage, scattering it. I could think again, and the first thing I thought was what the hell was he doing to my yard?


    I went to the back of my property to find out.


    A week later, I met her. Not her, her. A different her. Someone new. A stranger.


    I heard noises out toward the road, but I didn¡¯t act at first. There¡¯d been more noises, and it wasn¡¯t always the children. I waited and listened hard for the sound of laughter.


    I was listening so hard, I jumped when I heard the knocking. Crack, crack, crack. Loud and fast. The wood on my door moved enough to unsettle some of the dust.


    And for a few seconds, I didn¡¯t know what to do. I couldn¡¯t remember the last time someone had knocked on my door.


    My mind was empty, but my body knew that when someone knocked, you opened the door, so my body took me over and pulled it back so I could see who was there.


    She was a young woman, maybe as old as twenty, but she looked younger. She had a bald head¡ªcompletely bald, like she shaved it¡ªand she dressed like a boy. The clothes hid a lot, but there was enough shape there to hint she was a girl, and her features were feminine. When she spoke her voice was high and bright.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± she said.


    I was a hypocrite through and through. I stared at her the way I hated to be stared at, but I couldn¡¯t help it. The whole situation was surreal, but she felt like the opposite of an apparition¡ªshe was so solid that she made everything around her seem fake. Her shirt was brighter and bluer than any sky, and it stood out against the gray of the house.


    ¡°Are you Mr. Caydan by any chance?¡± she asked.


    I nodded. It was nothing more than me jerking my head down once.


    She smiled, and her shirt looked dim by comparison.


    ¡°May I come in?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I croaked.


    She bounced her meager weight between her feet. There was no purpose to it. Maybe she just liked moving. ¡°Geez¡ªlike, right now? To sit down. I¡¯ve been on my feet for hours. Getting out of the sun would be good too. Do you have a chair?¡±


    My stalled brained tripped over the question. I didn¡¯t know her, I didn¡¯t know what was happening, but I did know that I had a chair. It was about all I had. I liked the certainty.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°So¡­may I come in?¡± Her hands went behind her back, and this time she bounced on her toes. Her eyes looked right at me.


    The last time someone had looked at me like that had been when the little girl crossed my fence.


    I turned away from the door and motioned to the chair. It was sitting at a cock-eyed angle away from the table. It was covered in dust, like everything else in my house, and, like everything else, it was old.


    ¡°There,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s the only one. If you don¡¯t like it, you can leave.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Caydan, I¡¯m not picky.¡±


    She sat down in the chair as if she was diving into a plush armchair, not perching herself on a rickety mess of wood. She grunted with pleasure as the weight left her feet, and she pulled one of her ankles up to her other knee to give it even more of a rest.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The way she said it, I thought she meant it. I didn¡¯t know how to feel about that, but an old ash of anger bloomed into an ember. That made no sense, so I ignored it.


    I tried to go back to what I was doing before she came, but I hadn¡¯t been doing anything. That made it hard. I¡¯d gotten so used to doing nothing, I¡¯d forgotten how to look busy.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, Missy?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Right!¡± she chirped. ¡°Sorry about that. Rude of me. I¡¯m Emerra Cole.¡±


    ¡°Do you have business with me, Missy Cole?¡±


    She smiled again. ¡°Missy¡¯s cute. I like that.¡±


    That ember of anger flared along with all my other emotions. How many years before you forget how to be around people? What was the right way to feel?


    I was getting more and more uncomfortable with having her in my house¡ªand she should¡¯ve been uncomfortable being there! But you¡¯d never know by looking at her.


    She went on, ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what?¡± I said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have business with you. Have you heard what¡¯s been going on?¡±


    She must have been from a long way away if she was ignorant enough to ask a question that stupid. The townsmen never told me anything.


    I shook my head.


    Cole¡¯s smile faded. ¡°A man¡¯s missing. His name was Timothy Masterson. We think he¡¯s been murdered, but we don¡¯t know. We¡¯re out here searching the woods for his body.¡±


    I liked how she said it. Quiet. Respectful.


    ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got the local law enforcement helping, and a bunch of people from town. My friend is kind of in charge, but that¡¯s just because he¡¯ll organize anything if it holds still long enough.¡±


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you out there?¡± I jerked my head toward the road.


    ¡°Oh, I never hold still. He has a harder time organizing me.¡±


    My cheeks ached for a second. They must have been trying to move in a way unfamiliar to them.


    ¡°Why do you think that missing man is out here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He was last seen coming down the road, toward the woods.¡±


    ¡°But why would he be out this way?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know. I wondered if he was coming out to meet someone. Someone who didn¡¯t want the whole town knowing about the meeting.¡±


    I glanced at her, but she didn¡¯t seem to mean anything by it. She was sitting there, tracing the edge of her shoe with a finger, a thoughtful, earnest look on her face.


    I grunted. ¡°They chose a good place for it.¡±


    When she heard that, she seemed to come back to herself. She looked at me again. ¡°It¡¯s pretty isolated out here isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Do you ever get lonely?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What the hell are you in all this?¡± I demanded. ¡°You don¡¯t look like you have anything to do with the law. And you¡¯re not from town.¡±


    ¡°How do you know I¡¯m not from town?¡± she said. ¡°I thought you never went into town.¡±


    ¡°No one in that damn town would ever come knock on my door. Who are you then?¡±


    Her shoulders wiggled through a lopsided, helpless shrug. ¡°I¡¯m me. That¡¯s all.¡±


    That sense of bewildered helplessness¡ªI could understand that. My temper mellowed. ¡°And someone like you gets mixed up in murders?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because I like to help people. That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing now.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t help a murdered man.¡±


    One edge of her lips moved back and up by maybe a sixteenth of an inch. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know.¡± Then she got serious again. ¡°But I¡¯m not here to help him. I¡¯m here to help his fianc¨¦e. She¡¯s a sweetheart. And she¡¯s devastated.¡±


    Without thinking, I frowned and shook my head. That was more reaction than I should¡¯ve showed a stranger. I turned away so she wouldn¡¯t see my face.


    ¡°No point,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Cole said.


    I raised my voice. ¡°There¡¯s no point. You¡¯re wasting your time. If that man¡ªMasterson¡ªis murdered, you can¡¯t give his girl a happy ending. You¡¯ll end up handing her a rag to cry in. Is that what you want?¡±


    My emotions had been riding higher to match my voice, but the way Emerra Cole watched me shut it all down; the wind became a breeze, that dwindled to a breath, then stopped. I was left watching her, feeling wide-open, waiting for something I couldn¡¯t imagine.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Her lips tightened for less than a second, then they parted so she could speak: ¡°I think it¡¯s better than letting her cry alone. I can¡¯t give her a happy ending¡±¡ªher head briefly canted to the side in a gesture I couldn¡¯t understand¡ª¡°but maybe I can help her find an ending. That¡¯s something. It¡¯s better than not knowing.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± I sneered.


    ¡°I know so.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t meet her eyes a second longer. I looked away. At the same time, a strange chime filled my house. I didn¡¯t know what to make of it, but Cole pulled something out of her pocket, glanced at it, and put it back.


    She groaned as she forced herself to her feet. ¡°I have to go. My friend is looking for me.¡± She paused. ¡°Thank you for letting me in, Mr. Caydan. I appreciate your hospitality.¡±


    ¡°I trust you can find your way to the door.¡±


    I¡¯d meant it to be a barb. The whole house was only two rooms. She hadn¡¯t come more than six feet in.


    But she smiled and even winked at me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Caydan. My sense of direction isn¡¯t that bad.¡±


    She waved before she disappeared through the door.


    When her footsteps faded, the whole house was quiet again. The dust floating through the blocks of sunlight was the only movement.


    ¡°My hospitality?¡± I growled to the silence. ¡°Hell.¡±


    She came back the next day. This time her shirt was a green you can only find on the leaves in early summer.


    Through the front window, I watched her come up to my porch, so I wasn¡¯t startled when I heard her knock. I didn¡¯t answer immediately. I watched her some more. She twiddled her fingers behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels, but for all her fidgeting, her expression told me she had patience. Enough patience to wait however long it took¡ªand sure as hell more patience than I had.


    I walked over and opened the door a crack.


    She smiled when she saw the two-inch line of my face. ¡°Good afternoon, Mr. Caydan.¡±


    ¡°Who told you about me?¡± I demanded.


    Her eyebrows pulled together. ¡°Um¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday you said that you knew I didn¡¯t go into town. You wouldn¡¯t know that unless someone told you. They¡¯ve been telling you about me, haven¡¯t they?¡±


    Cole¡¯s face twisted up to one side as she thought. It relaxed when she let out a sigh.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, once again looking me right in the eyes. ¡°They have.¡±


    I cussed, and I wasn¡¯t sorry for it either.


    ¡°Who?¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Do you mind if I come in while we talk?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That friend of yours have you walking all day again?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re really big woods, Mr. Caydan. It¡¯s a lot of ground to cover.¡±


    I did mind her coming in¡ªI hadn¡¯t forgotten how uncomfortable she made me¡ªbut I¡¯d be lying if I didn¡¯t admit there was a part of me that was fascinated by her. That¡¯s no compliment. People are fascinated by all kinds of things. Ugly insects. Gruesome wounds. Death.


    Gossip.


    I wouldn¡¯t open the door, but I stepped away so I wasn¡¯t blocking it. It swung wide enough she could come in. She did, then shut the door behind her.


    ¡°May I?¡± she motioned to the chair.


    I grunted. It wasn¡¯t a no or a yes. She chose to take it as a yes and sat down.


    ¡°I should bring my own next time,¡± she said, ¡°then we could sit down and talk together.¡±


    She said it cheerfully and matter-of-fact. I don¡¯t know what bothered me most: her tone, the fact that she wanted to sit down with me, or her thoughtless and confident assumption that there would be a next time.


    I crossed my arms. ¡°Who¡¯s been telling you about me?¡±


    ¡°A lot of people.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Most of the town. When the search turned this way, they all mentioned your house.¡±


    ¡°You mean they warned you about me.¡±


    I thought I saw a sparkle in her dark eyes. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    I grunted. Louder this time.


    ¡°Does it bother you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That depends. What did they tell you?¡±


    ¡°Mostly that you don¡¯t like people coming onto your property, and that you¡¯re the angry type.¡±


    I uncrossed my arms, leaned over so our faces would be closer, and locked eyes with her. ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± I turned and wandered a few steps away. ¡°Knowing all that, you still came?¡±


    ¡°My feet were really tired.¡±


    There was a restrained smile on her face when she said that, and she gazed at me through her lashes. Either that girly had the gall to lie to me, or she was teasing me. I found both options offensive.


    Maybe she saw my expression. She certainly hurried to change the subject.


    ¡°Is it true that you never went into town?¡± she asked.


    I gave an abrupt shrug, moving only one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll go in whenever I have something to buy or something to sell. It¡¯s not often.¡±


    ¡°Did something happen between you and the townspeople?¡±


    ¡°Not for my part. If some of them took offense at my manners, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll remember the instance.¡±


    ¡°So there wasn¡¯t anything specific they did to make you stay away?¡±


    ¡°Something they did? No. But they hate me, so I hate them. That seems like justice to me.¡±


    ¡°You think they hate you?¡±


    I pointed at her face. ¡°Missy, you want to play stupid, go play with a dog. Games like that don¡¯t interest me. You want to pretend that it¡¯s all an innocent misunderstanding? Come on. Look me in the eyes, and tell me that they didn¡¯t say I was a bad man.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t do it. She frowned when she looked away.


    A sharp, quick breath hissed out of my teeth, making a hffff sound. ¡°What was it this time? That I¡¯m some kind of criminal? That I¡¯m evil? Have you met Mrs. Rudslow?¡±


    Cole shook her head.


    ¡°She¡¯s a damned old bat.¡± I circled my finger around my ear. ¡°Crazy. She¡¯ll tell you that I make sacrifices to the devil, and that¡¯s why my home is way out here¡ªso people won¡¯t see me doing my ¡®dark rituals.¡¯¡±


    I couldn¡¯t have poured more contempt into those two words if I¡¯d had a pitcher and a funnel.


    I went on, ¡°It never occurs to her I might have done it to get away from people like her.¡±


    ¡°I think Mrs. Rudslow¡¯s dead,¡± Cole said.


    ¡°Good. The world¡¯s a better place for her passing.¡±


    And Miss Cole¡ªMiss Emerra Cole, who I was beginning to think was at least as mad as Mrs. Rudslow¡ªgiggled like I¡¯d told a joke. My stomach leapt when I saw her nose wrinkle and her shoulders shake, and it landed back in a mess of emotions I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of.


    She put her elbow on her knee, curled her hand into a fist, and rested her chin on it. She looked like a rough draft of Rodin¡¯s The Thinker.


    ¡°So how many of the vicious rumors are true?¡± she asked.


    ¡°None of them.¡±


    ¡°None?¡±


    ¡°Let me ask you something, Missy¡ªdoes it make you a bad person just because you don¡¯t go to church on Sunday? Or maybe that you don¡¯t think that everything written in the Bible is God¡¯s own word?¡±


    ¡°I sure hope not.¡±


    I raised my hand in a there-you-have-it gesture. ¡°Then I¡¯m clear of all charges.¡± I lowered my arm. ¡°People will lie when the truth isn¡¯t exciting enough. And they can¡¯t forgive me for refusing to waste my time with their inane conversation.¡±


    She was watching me, still stuck in her Rodin pose and moving almost as much as a statue. I didn¡¯t know she could sit so still. The change was almost as unnerving as the gentle smile on her face.


    I looked away, but the roiling unease in my stomach didn¡¯t mellow.


    I rubbed my nose twice before grumbling, ¡°This murder¡ªare they saying I killed Masterson?¡±


    ¡°Some of them,¡± Cole said. ¡°Not all of them. There was one woman who took me aside and told me that she was sure it wasn¡¯t you. She said you weren¡¯t like that.¡±


    I stared at her, struck dumb by the idea that there was anyone in town that would say something¡ªanything¡ªeven something as meager as that¡ªon my behalf.


    Cole stood up and walked toward me while pulling something from her pocket. She fidgeted with it a moment, then held it up for me to see.


    ¡°Her name is Rebecca Barr,¡± Miss Cole said. The dullness in my ears made her voice sound like it came from a thousand miles away. ¡°Do you know her?¡±


    And I stared at the picture. It was her. Sure as anything. The little girl who crossed my fence that night. She was all grown up, standing arm in arm with a man her age.


    ¡°No,¡± I lied. ¡°Who¡¯s the fellow?¡±


    ¡°That was her fianc¨¦, Timothy Masterson.¡±


    The next day, when I caught myself checking the front window for the fifth time in an hour, I knew I was waiting for her, and I cussed myself out.


    ¡°She can¡¯t be late if she didn¡¯t set an appointment, you stupid old man. Besides¡ª¡±


    I shut my mouth, cutting off my own sentence, as if my audience, me, wouldn¡¯t know what I¡¯d been about to say. That was stupid enough, I let out one-breath laugh.


    I¡¯d been about to ask why I even wanted to see her. But I didn¡¯t want to know the answer. There was too much mixed up in it. Three figures haunted my head: Emerra Cole, Timothy Masterson, and Rebecca Barr.


    That was three more people than I ever wanted in my life¡ªlet alone my head.


    I was at the window again ten minutes later. I saw her coming down the road. I knew it was her because no damn flower was that big, and nothing else on the planet had the hubris to wear that shade of yellow on a shirt. There was someone with her. A fancy-looking fellow. He was carrying a broken-down wooden chair with one hand. They made it to the place where my walk met my fence and stopped.


    I have no excuse. It was prying. But I didn¡¯t even think to look away. I was too curious to feel ashamed.


    The man was frowning as he talked to her. His face looked stern. Cole was frowning too, but not in the same way. She looked too tired to smile. She stood with her arms folded, but she could have been cradling her own limbs as much as taking a firm stance. Their conversation went on for a minute, then the man shook his head and his frown deepened as he glanced towards my house.


    When his eyes passed over the window, I realized how fixated I¡¯d been. I almost jerked back. That¡¯s when I felt a blush of shame, but coming up behind it, clawing over its back, came the anger.


    Maybe it was my business. After all, I had good reason to think I knew what they were talking about. And he was like all the rest of them¡ªnever looked straight at me. If he didn¡¯t like me, then he could go to hell.


    Cole held out her arms, and the man passed her the chair he¡¯d been carrying. She wrapped both arms around the back and hugged it to her chest. They only exchanged another sentence each, then the man went back down the road toward town, and Cole crossed the open gap in my fence and came up the walk toward my house.


    I opened the door and came out when she reached the porch. When she saw me, she tried to force a smile.


    ¡°Good evening, Mr. Caydan.¡±


    I jerked my head toward the spot where the man had been. Where¡¯d he gone so fast? I should¡¯ve still been able to see him. ¡°Was that your friend?¡±


    Cole climbed the last step onto my porch. ¡°Yup. That was him.¡±


    ¡°Does he think I murdered that boy too?¡±


    Cole¡¯s smile became real. The difference was a candle to the sun. ¡°Trust me. If Darius thought you were the murderer, he never would¡¯ve let me come here alone.¡±


    I believed her. It would¡¯ve been hard not to believe her when she said something so obvious in that kind of voice. My anger mellowed.


    She hefted her arms a bit, raising her awkward burden all of one inch. ¡°I brought a chair!¡±


    I glared at her for a while, but I couldn¡¯t stand the sight of her arms slowly drooping, then regripping the chair.


    I went in first and held open the door so she could get in without hitting it. She put her chair by front window, then, before I could stop her, she swung around and moved my chair so it was by the other corner of the window. The two chairs faced each other, but they were both angled toward the window as well.


    ¡°What did you do that for!¡± I demanded.


    Cole stopped and looked up. She was startled and wary, but not¡­quite¡­scared.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I like to look at the sky during sunsets.¡± She squirmed her way through a shrug. ¡°I thought everyone did.¡±


    She¡¯d done it again. Emptied me.


    Look at the sky during a sunset? Hell! I couldn¡¯t remember if I¡¯d ever stopped to do that. If I had, it¡¯d been years. Long before the last time I¡¯d moved that stupid chair.


    ¡°Do you want me to move it back?¡± she asked.


    I grunted. ¡°I don¡¯t see why I should care.¡±


    That was the truth. I did care, but I didn¡¯t see a reason for it. That bothered me. If I couldn¡¯t come up with a good reason, then I¡¯d be damned if I¡¯d ask her to move it back.


    She collapsed onto my chair, leaving the new one¡ª¡°new,¡± being a comparative word here¡ªfor me. I sat down, and for a minute, all we did was gaze out the window.


    The sky was beautiful. It made me angry how something so normal could be so lovely, but my irritation was swallowed up by the sheer size of the thing. Its colors stretched on and on, as wide as the world, floating over the distant tips of the trees that acted as warders to my tiny house.


    My eyes slid down their long trunks to rest on the dusty road that led to town.


    ¡°How¡¯s that girl doing?¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Rebecca?¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer¡ªnot even to nod¡ªbut Cole took my silence as assent.


    ¡°She¡¯s tired,¡± Cole whispered. ¡°We all are.¡± She doodled in the dust of my windowsill. ¡°They called off the search today.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll be leaving soon?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. There was one other thing we were supposed to do¡ªsomething we were supposed to handle.¡± She suddenly turned to me. ¡°Why did you choose to stay here, Mr. Caydan?¡±


    I stiffened. ¡°This is my house, Missy.¡±


    ¡°You said that the whole town hated you, but you chose to stay?¡±


    My voice rose with every word. ¡°This is my house!¡± I flicked my hand in the direction of town. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m going to let a bunch of hateful asses drive me from the place I own just because they¡¯re small-minded and bitter?¡±


    ¡°Do you like it here?¡±


    She might as well have slapped every thought from my head.


    Like it?


    I said, ¡°It¡¯s my home,¡± then my tongue got heavy, and my jaw clenched shut. It clenched so hard my neck tightened. My gaze dropped to the floor, and I couldn¡¯t look up because I knew that Cole would be looking right at me.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she said.


    She didn¡¯t say it with pity. Pity, I could have gotten mad about. She said it like she meant it¡ªthat we were the same. I shifted in my chair and cast around for something to say.


    ¡°You own a house?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Oh, geez. No. Big Jacky owns the house. I just live there with seven other people. Those people¡ª¡± She smiled. ¡°Those people make it my home. It means everything to me.¡± She looked out my window again. ¡°Sometimes all I can think about is how scared I am I¡¯ll lose it.¡±


    It was eerie how close we were, but still a world apart. She was right. We were the same. I was scared to lose my house. It meant everything to me.


    But her everything¡ªit was different from mine. Bigger.


    She took a deep breath before looking back at me. ¡°Tell me about your home.¡±


    I glared. ¡°What¡¯s there to tell? You¡¯re looking at it.¡±


    ¡°Tell me how you got it.¡±


    Never was there a girl for asking so many questions. At her prompting, I talked about how I found it, how I earned the money to buy it, how I built it up, added the second room, and worked the yard as my garden.


    ¡°I don¡¯t garden anymore,¡± I grumbled. ¡°I got too old and tired to keep it, and foraging in the woods gets more food than you¡¯d think. The plants that survived are wild now.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Sometimes I¡¯d forage from them.¡±


    When she smiled that time, her nose wrinkled up like she¡¯d giggled. The joke¡ªif it was a joke¡ªwasn¡¯t worth even the smile.


    ¡°What do you do now?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You said you don¡¯t hunt anymore, and you don¡¯t garden. Do you go out in the woods?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Mostly I watch. You can lose a lot of time that way. I watch the road. My house. Not much goes on around here that I don¡¯t see.¡±


    All the humor was gone from Cole¡¯s face. Her expression was the most sober thing I¡¯d ever seen.


    ¡°Caydan,¡± she said, ¡°do you know what happened to Masterson?¡±


    I went cold.


    She said, ¡°He was supposed to be coming up this road. Did he get as far as your house?¡±


    I pressed my lips together and shook my head.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Why should I help?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying I have! But if I have, why would I help? Tell me that! Those townspeople¡ªthey never helped me!¡±


    ¡°Did you ever ask them to?¡±


    Her quiet question broke my rant to pieces. I had to think.


    ¡°No,¡± I admitted. I scraped together some ego and raised my voice a bit. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have mattered if I had.¡±


    ¡°But if you never asked¡ª¡±


    I said over her, ¡°You think they ever would have helped me?¡±


    ¡°Did you help them?¡±


    ¡°They never asked me too!¡±


    ¡°Just like you never asked them.¡±


    The cold was gone. Everything was red-hot now. My nostrils flared. I had to pry my jaw loose to speak.


    ¡°Get out,¡± I said.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get out!¡± I roared.


    Her eyes stayed on my face as she slowly rose to her feet. Those dark eyes were hard and narrow. My stomach sank when I saw it. She walked over to the door.


    ¡°Take your chair!¡± I yelled at her back.


    She rounded on me while leaving her hand on the doorknob. She didn¡¯t yell, but her voice was as hard as her eyes. ¡°If you hate the idea of having it there so much, you can move it yourself.¡±


    She left. I watched her walk to the road and turn toward town. When the anger faded, I felt sick.


    I¡¯d spent hours sitting there. Still in the chair Miss Cole had left me. Facing my own empty chair. Facing the window. It wasn¡¯t the lethargy that kept me there. I was thinking. When the sky turned to stars, I watched them for a while. When it got to be too much, I glared at the dirt in front of my house or at the broken-down fence.


    Someone came up the road toward my house. It wasn¡¯t hard to recognize her. She had the same expression on her face as the first time I saw her. Scared. Troubled. This time she didn¡¯t look so much puzzled as lost.


    ¡°Rebecca.¡±


    I didn¡¯t notice when I got to my feet, but I found myself there with my hand resting against the window.


    What¡¯s she doing out here at this time of night?


    But I knew what she was doing. The search might¡¯ve been called off, but she was still looking for him.


    My heart clenched around the sadness that filled it, and two-voiced argument rushed through my head.


    You can¡¯t give her a happy ending.


    But I can give her an ending.


    She¡¯s nothing to you. Some little brat.


    She looked at me when no one else did.


    She¡¯s never helped you.


    She stood up for me. It¡¯s more than I ever did for her.


    You don¡¯t have to help her. You don¡¯t have to help any of them.


    Anger drove me toward my door. Anger at Emerra Cole. Anger at myself.


    I knew the truth. It didn¡¯t take me hours to figure it out. It took me hours to swallow it. I had no right to be mad at them for not helping me when I didn¡¯t ask for it, then turn around and say that I didn¡¯t have to help them because they didn¡¯t ask for it.


    I grabbed the door handle.


    They¡¯ll think you did it.


    I froze.


    They¡¯ll run you out. You know they will. They hate you, and this¡¯ll be all they need to find a way to take everything from you.


    My trembling hand tightened on the knob.


    I¡¯d be damned before I¡¯d let a bunch of hateful asses turn me into a two-faced hypocrite just because I was afraid of what they¡¯d do.


    I thew open my door and stepped out on the porch.


    She looked up when she heard the door open.


    The whole scene could have been a repeat of that night all those years ago. The quiet calls from the nocturnal animals and insects. The light from the stars and half a moon. The way she stared right at me. Hell!¡ªshe still looked like a little girl to me. Never mind that she was a grown woman. The only difference was that this time, she was on the other side of the fence.


    My throat was too tight for me to speak, but I managed to raise my hand. The movement was slow; I had to fight against the weight of the d¨¦j¨¤ vu. I motioned for her to follow me.


    She crept over the fence and into my yard.


    I walked down my porch and over to the side of my house. She followed me without saying a word.


    I led her back to where my garden used to be. Weeds choked off the last of the straggling plants. There, in the middle of it, was the mound of fresh turned dirt and the shovel, right where the man had dropped it. I pointed.


    She fell to her knees. Both hands went to her mouth. Her fingers fluttered there as a staggered series of gasps and quiet cries escaped. My heart broke when I heard them. I looked away.


    Now even she¡¯ll think you did it, you old fool.


    So what? I was used to being hated, and it wasn¡¯t like I could¡¯ve stayed there anyway.


    Her gasping stopped, and she raised her head. When I glanced over, I could see the tear tracks running down her cheeks and neck, even in the moonlight. Her throat heaved as she swallowed.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said.


    It took me a second to understand. Then some emotion¡ªsome kind of rough approval¡ªsparked, and lit an ember. All the regret and the grief that had pooled inside me wasn¡¯t enough to drowned it.


    I nodded to her, then turned for one last look at everything I¡¯d given up.


    God, it was an ugly house. Covered windows. Splitting boards. The back door, hanging by its hinges. Even when it had been in good repair, it¡¯d barely done its job keeping out the elements. Now it was nothing but a rotting pile of wood held together out of spite. That thing had never made me happy.


    And I could have left it at any time.


    The thought felt like a touch of light in the darkness.


    I could have left at any time, and I had stayed because I was too stubborn to realize it.


    I opened my arms wide and started laughing.


    ¡°Emerra? Emerra, it¡¯s me.¡±


    Emerra groaned into her phone, ¡°Rebecca?¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve found him.¡±


    ¡°Found who?¡±


    ¡°Timothy.¡±


    Emerra sat bolt upright in bed. Her head swam from the sudden movement. ¡°Where are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m at the old Caydan place, in the back yard.¡±


    Emerra threw off her blankets and stumbled toward the door that led to the front room she was sharing with Darius Vasil. She could see the light on under the door. Good. He was there.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Emerra fumbled with the knob before she could get it open. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hurt. But, oh god, I¡¯m scared! Please!¡±


    Darius was already on his feet. He was watching the door when Emerra emerged.


    ¡°Did you touch anything?¡± Emerra asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good. Don¡¯t touch anything. I¡¯m on my way right now, but I¡¯m going to send someone out to meet you.¡± Emerra nodded to Darius. He disappeared. ¡°He¡¯ll be there before you know it.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Can you hang on for a minute or two?¡± Emerra walked back into her bedroom.


    ¡°I saw him.¡±


    Emerra barely heard the statement. The phone had migrated an inch away from her ear as she struggled to get dressed while holding the phone with her shoulder. ¡°Saw who?¡±


    ¡°I saw Caydan.¡±


    Emerra paused, pants half on. ¡°You saw him?¡±


    ¡°He showed me where Timothy was. When I thanked him, he turned around, laughed, and disappeared.¡±


    Emerra realized her pants were still only partly on and finished pulling them up. ¡°Why would he laugh?¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m crazy.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Emerra grunted, then grabbed her phone with her hand so she could hold it to her ear. ¡°Listen to me, Rebecca. I do not think you¡¯re crazy. I just¡­¡± Emerra¡¯s eyes wandered to the ceiling. ¡°I wish I knew what he was thinking.¡±


    Three days later, the back door of the Caydan place let out a creak, then a groan, as the door leaned back on its hinges. There was a crack of splitting wood, accompanied by a quiet, ¡°Geez.¡± The door sagged to one side and fell open. It trembled when its knob hit the back wall.


    Emerra Cole tried to wipe some of the dust off on her jeans. It would have been more effective if they hadn¡¯t already been coated in the stuff. She walked back into the main room of the house.


    Darius Vasil stood in the center of it, looking around at streams of light coming in from the outside. There was enough dust in the air to give them shapes that stood up from the floor.


    Emerra looked around with approval. Every window, broken or intact, was uncovered. Both doors were wide open.


    ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s better.¡±


    ¡°Better than what?¡± Darius asked.


    ¡°You were saying?¡±


    The vampire sighed through his nose and went on. ¡°When we told Beck that we¡¯d found the shovel, still covered in his fingerprints, he confessed to everything.¡±


    ¡°Did he say why he killed Masterson?¡±


    ¡°Jealousy.¡± The word came out flat and dead. ¡°Beck was in love with Miss Barr. He says that they got into a mutual fight that escalated, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But who brings a shovel to a fight.¡± Emerra said.


    ¡°Miss Bar must be a special girl.¡±


    Emerra twisted her head so she could give Darius a look from the corner of her eye. ¡°I told you that already.¡± She walked over to the two chairs. They were still facing each other and tilted toward the front window. Her hand hesitated over the back of the older chair, but then she lowered it, allowing her fingers to rest on the wood.


    ¡°Why did he bury him in Mr. Caydan¡¯s yard?¡± Emerra asked.


    Darius put his hands in the pockets of his suit coat and turned to face her. ¡°He thought no one would look there. He knew that the other locals were terrified of this place.¡±


    Emerra looked up. ¡°And he wasn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t believe in ghosts.¡±


    A wry smile appeared on Emerra¡¯s face. ¡°Is that why he threw his shovel and ran?¡±


    The vampire hummed. ¡°I never met Mr. Caydan¡¯s ghost, but I¡¯ve heard he could have an intimidating presence sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Only sometimes. Did Beck realize people would blame Caydan?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Emerra let her eyes fall to the chair. ¡°At least they know the truth now.¡±


    Darius walked over to the other chair and tapped on the back in short, lively rhythm. ¡°I wonder how Mr. Caydan died.¡±


    ¡°No one knows,¡± Emerra said, ¡°but it was presumably old age. There was no sign of foul play.¡±


    She glanced up when the silence stretched on. Darius was watching her.


    ¡°Did he tell you that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure Mr. Caydan always remembered he was dead,¡± Emerra said. ¡°Rebecca told me about it. She did a report on his life and the legend of his haunted house when she was in eighth grade. She interviewed believers and non-believers. Very thorough.¡±


    ¡°Did she include her experience?¡±


    ¡°She kept that to herself. Lots of kids claimed to see the door opening, but she¡¯d never heard of anyone else that had seen him. And it was only that one time. She¡¯d almost convinced herself she¡¯d been dreaming.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll have a harder time with that now. Poor girl.¡±


    Emerra ran her finger over the back of the chair. In a quiet voice, she said, ¡°She¡¯ll be all right.¡±


    Darius tucked his hand back in his pocket. ¡°What I don¡¯t understand is how Caydan became a ghost. There¡¯s none of the usual signs. No magic. No murder. No obsession.¡±


    Emerra shrugged. ¡°I guess some people are just that stubborn.¡±


    The vampire was eyeing her again. ¡°But he¡¯s gone now?¡±


    Emerra gazed around the empty house. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then our job is done,¡± Darius said. ¡°We should go too.¡±


    Emerra nodded.


    As they turned toward the door, Darius grabbed the back of the new chair. Its foot scrapped along the wooden floor. Emerra turned around.


    ¡°You¡¯re taking it with us?¡± she asked.


    The vampire paused. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to return it?¡±


    Emerra scowled and kicked at a spot on the floor. ¡°They¡¯re not expecting it back.¡±


    ¡°Do you think that Caydan might return?¡±


    ¡°No¡ªwell¡­no, I don¡¯t¡­think so.¡±


    Vasil raised an eyebrow.


    Emerra huffed. ¡°Look, I¡¯m more comfortable if there are two chairs, okay? There should always be two chairs.¡±


    Darius watched her face for a second, then nodded and released the chair. He put his hand on Emerra¡¯s arm when he came up to her side, and together they turned toward the front door.


    ¡°Darius, do you think Igor will turn into a ghost when he dies?¡±


    ¡°Emerra, that is a very interesting question.¡±


    They closed the door behind them.

 Santas Minion

    The first hint we had that something was wrong was when Kappa and I discovered a pair of the black tights that Olivia wore in winter nailed up¡ªyes, nailed up, with an actual nail¡ªto the mantel piece above the sitting room fireplace.


    I had Kappa on my hip, and was giving him a stern talking-to about how he was not going to go around kidnapping the Christmas ornaments this year, and he was giving me half-hearted, dismissive promises that I didn¡¯t buy for a second¡ªwhen he suddenly stopped, mid-protest, and stared.


    I followed the line of his gaze over to the fireplace, and there were the tights, looking grim and resentful about their new role as a Christmas decoration. They ended a good two feet lower than the dark red stockings surrounding them, and while the Christmas stockings hung at a jolly angle, looking right and proper, the tights dangled¡ªlimply and without honor.


    When I recovered from my mute surprise, I looked at Kappa. At the same moment, Kappa looked at me.


    ¡°More candy?¡± he asked. The smooth brow between his black eyes was faintly wrinkled with confusion.


    I mirrored the expression¡ªsame black eyes, but there was nothing faint about the wrinkles between my eyebrows. ¡°Kappa, did you put those up?¡±


    He shook his head.


    I walked over to get a better look. The glutton who had tried to con more candy out of the Big Man in Red had done a terrible job hanging them up. The nail came in at an angle and was bent halfway down. I winced when I saw the faint marks of a hammer bashed into the mantel¡¯s wood. The nail had also skewered both the front and the back of the tights, leaving Santa with only two small holes on either side of the nail to stuff the tights with.


    On the other hand, if you were hoping for quantity¡­tights stretched an awful lot.


    I shook my head to reboot it out of Christmas-calculation mode and back into sanity.


    ¡°Kappa, you promise, promise, me that you didn¡¯t do this?¡±


    He bounced in my arms, his little face screwed up with indignation. ¡°Promise!¡±


    I hesitated.


    I wanted to believe Kappa (especially when he was scowling like that), but there were no other real possibilities. It shamed me to admit it, but if you lined up everyone in the Noctis mansion from least mature to most mature, there would be a huge crowd around the ¡°most mature¡± section, Olivia would be hanging out somewhere in the middle, and Kappa and I would be down at the other end with tons of room to play around in.


    And not even I would do something that stupid.


    And if I had, I would¡¯ve done a better job nailing it up.


    That left only Kappa. But he was sure doing an outstanding job of feigning ignorance.


    ¡°I think we should take it down,¡± I said.


    I waited to see if he would object to the idea, but all he said was ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It clashes with the rest of the decorations. Poor Count Vasil would be most distressed if he knew.¡±


    ¡°Darius and Conrad are coming home?¡± Kappa asked with a whine in his voice.


    I felt my own heart whine with sympathy.


    They¡¯d been called away on a mission two days ago. There was some hope that they¡¯d be back before Christmas, but there was no guarantee.


    ¡°Not too long,¡± I assured Kappa, ¡°but not today.¡± I put him down on the floor. He let out a screech when his feet touched the cold wood, so I swung him around and put him on the couch instead. ¡°Let¡¯s get this down.¡±


    I took the coward¡¯s path and hid the tights in the dryer. With any luck, Olivia would think she¡¯d missed them when she did her last load and blame the holes on the dryer.


    The next morning, there was a strange package under the Christmas tree on the great landing.


    Maybe it was meant to be a present, but those were kept under the tree in the front hall, and, anyway, it didn¡¯t¡­look¡­like a present. There were four sheets of printer paper wadded around it, and instead of using ribbon and tape, our secret Santa had tried to secure the papers by nailing them together.


    Inside the mangled papers were two of my homemade ornaments, nailed together to make a chimeric monstrosity of origami crane and cloth-wrapped wire star.


    I was certain that the crane hadn¡¯t done anything to deserve being crucified like that.


    My temper started to rise, but, just as quickly, it faded.


    I¡¯d put Kappa to bed at nine the night before after spending almost all day with him. In the winter he rarely got up before ten. If it was cold enough, we wouldn¡¯t see him until noon. He shouldn¡¯t have had time to put something like that together.


    I threw away the ¡°present¡± and went to search the washroom. Kappa had stolen three ornaments, but there was no sign of a hammer, and he was still curled up in his nest. Igor told me that he hadn¡¯t seen Kappa at all that morning, and he¡¯d been up since five-thirty.


    When I asked Olivia if she¡¯d sensed anything with the ward that surrounded the mansion, she looked at me like I was an idiot.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think I would have mentioned it if I had?¡±


    Of course drawing attention to a possible problem before it got out of hand would be the smart thing to do.


    Later, I would remember that I¡¯d had that thought¡­and curse myself.


    That night, I heard someone singing carols.


    Well, I call them carols, but they were more like a toddler¡¯s imitation of a few Christmas songs they¡¯d heard only once or twice. The melodies were barely recognizable, and most of the words had been replaced with la or da, but they were belted out with cheerful enthusiasm.


    The voice was higher pitched, so I assumed it was Kappa¡ªdespite how unlikely that was¡ªbut as I went downstairs, the voice grew fainter. When I tried to follow the sound upstairs, the singing suddenly stopped as I reached the last flight. I searched the whole third floor before deciding I was crazy and going back to bed.


    At five-forty in the morning, a series of outraged knocks made my old wooden door rattle on its hinges. I was already down one hour of sleep, thanks to my search for the midnight caroler, so it took real effort to drag myself out of bed and stagger over to the door.


    I thought it would be Olivia. She was the only person I managed to outrage on a semi-regular basis.


    By the time I opened the door, she was standing out in the hall¡ªno doubt roused by all the noise¡ªbut she hadn¡¯t been the one knocking.


    I blinked. It was always weird and startling to see Igor somewhere other than the kitchen or the dining room.


    ¡°Igor?¡± I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes.


    He said, ¡°I thought I made it clear that you were not allowed to use the kitchen without my express permission.¡±


    I blinked again.


    ¡°You were up last night?¡± He made it sound more like an accusation than a question.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I ventured.


    ¡°Was hot chocolate not enough for you?¡±


    Olivia rolled her eyes and turned to go back to her bedroom. Kitchen drama didn¡¯t concern her. Igor continued his rant with me as his sole, captive audience.


    ¡°That mess you made is untenable! It¡¯ll take you at least an hour to clean it up. You¡¯d better get dressed and get down there, or there won¡¯t be any breakfast to speak of¡ªnot that you deserve any breakfast. What kind of person decides to make candy in the middle of the night just because they can¡¯t sleep!¡±


    My eyes widened, and all drowsiness disappeared. I blurted out, ¡°You can make candy? Like, in a normal kitchen?¡±


    There was a note of excitement in my voice. I couldn¡¯t help it.


    Olivia stopped.


    Igor paused. First the larger of his two eyes narrowed, then the smaller one. ¡°You didn¡¯t know that?¡±


    ¡°I thought you had to have special tools or something!¡± I threw the door wide. ¡°What kind of candy can you make?¡±


    Igor eyed me through the two mis-sized slits of his eyelids. ¡°Emerra, were you down in the kitchen last night?¡±


    ¡°No, I was upstairs.¡±


    Olivia took a few steps toward us, ¡°What were you doing up there?¡±


    ¡°I thought I heard someone singing, but I couldn¡¯t find anyone.¡±


    Igor turned his head. ¡°Olivia?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me!¡± she said.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t you singing, or wasn¡¯t you in the kitchen?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Either!¡±


    Igor scowled at a spot on the floor. ¡°Kappa¡¯s still asleep, and anyway, he never liked sugar.¡± He raised his larger eye to look at me. ¡°Do you sleepwalk?¡±


    How dare he single me out like that!


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask Olivia?¡± I said.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have trouble sleeping like you do,¡± he said.


    That was both completely unfair and completely accurate. There were few people in the world who had as much trouble sleeping as I did.


    Olivia said, ¡°And if anyone would try to make candy in their sleep, it would be you.¡±


    Also accurate. But I wasn¡¯t ready to accept that I might be a sleepwalker. For one thing, that would mean I¡¯d have to be getting some sleep.


    ¡°Look,¡± I said, ¡°before we go around tying me down for the night, do you think we could rule out the possibility that someone else did it?¡±


    Olivia scoffed, ¡°Like who? Your imaginary singer?¡±


    Realizing exactly how stupid it sounded, I said, ¡°Well¡­yeah.¡±


    Igor and Olivia exchanged glances.


    ¡°I know this is going to sound crazy,¡± I added, ¡°but have either of you seen someone wandering around with a hammer?¡±


    When Olivia and I finished telling Big Jacky and Iset our disjointed stories, they glanced at each other the same way Olivia and Igor had glanced at each other.


    Big Jacky turned his skull to me. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Kappa lives here too, you know!¡±


    ¡°Kappa doesn¡¯t like sugar,¡± Jacky pointed out.


    It was disturbing to realize that none of my friends found it difficult to picture me nailing up tights and making candy in my sleep.


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t me!¡± I insisted.


    Jacky kept his empty eye sockets fixed on me for another second, then looked away. ¡°You sound relatively sure of yourself, and since we have no evidence to the contrary, I think we should dismiss the possibility. For now.¡±


    ¡°You are so getting coal in your stocking.¡±


    ¡°Iset,¡± Jacky said, ¡°did you hear anything?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the mummy said, ¡°but the library is on the other side of the house from the kitchen, and I was listening to music last night.¡±


    Jacky turned to his apprentice. ¡°Olivia?¡±


    ¡°Nothing disturbed the ward, Mr. Noctis. I guarantee it.¡±


    ¡°And yet two strangers have knocked at the door in the last week.¡±


    ¡°Well, sure. But they were delivery men.¡±


    ¡°Correct. For our convenience and the convenience of our visitors, you¡¯re maintaining a malign ward. That means that anything which is not excluded by the parameters of your spell can cross the boundary unnoticed.¡±


    ¡°What about the other precautions?¡± I asked.


    I knew we had them. Jack Noctis tended to attract trouble.


    ¡°They¡¯re meant to help,¡± Iset said, ¡°but it¡¯s impossible to account for everything.¡±


    ¡°Jacky,¡± I said, ¡°can¡¯t you tell if there¡¯s someone in this house who isn¡¯t supposed to be here?¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re death!¡±


    ¡°Yes, and if they should die here, I would know. You haven¡¯t seen anything?¡±


    ¡°Only what I¡¯ve told you about.¡±


    Jacky didn¡¯t have a face to look troubled with, but he still managed to look troubled.


    He tapped his finger bones on the arm of his desk chair. ¡°Olivia, Iset,¡± he said, ¡°I want you to work out a way to find out if we¡¯re harboring a stranger. If we are, I want to know who they are and why they¡¯re here. Emerra, stay with them. They may need your help.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    I was no magician, and Jacky knew that.


    ¡°Because only the very normal and the very abnormal could get through both Olivia¡¯s ward and our other precautions. If it is something abnormal, they may need your eyes. Let me know if you learn anything.¡±


    With that, we were dismissed.


    Olivia and I followed Iset out of Jacky¡¯s study and into the hall. She put a bandaged hand on each of our shoulders.


    ¡°Have either of you had breakfast?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No,¡± I said.


    ¡°Go and get something to eat, then find me in the library. I have a few ideas, but there are some things I need to look up.¡±


    Breakfast was cold cereal. It was accompanied by Igor¡¯s louder-than-normal grumbling as he cleaned up the mess left by whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªhad decided to try some late-night cooking.


    ¡°They ruined my baking sheet,¡± he announced before roughly tossing the abused pan into the sink. ¡°When you find the brat that did this, I¡¯ll serve them up, fricassee.¡±


    Olivia and I bent lower over our bowls.


    Five hours and four spells later, we had learned the following things:


    There was something or someone in the house who wasn¡¯t a member of the household, and they weren¡¯t human.


    Everything else was still a mystery.


    But I had managed to be useful! Not because of my eyes, but because I knew how to help with the massive headache that had descended on Olivia after the fourth spell.


    She was sitting on the couch in the drawing room with her feet in a tub of hot water and a frozen pack on the back of her neck.


    It would have been a frozen bag of peas, but a few months ago, Igor had told me off for ¡°playing with food,¡± so I had sewn my own cold pack and stuffed it with rice and lavender. I made it look like a lounging cat because there was no good reason not to, and it was nice to have something cute around when all I wanted to do was screw my head off and toss it in the nearest garbage can.


    Olivia had frowned when I handed her Nippy, the frozen feline, but I didn¡¯t take it personally. Supernatural headaches could be brutal.


    As I swabbed the chalk off the floor, I asked Iset, ¡°Could it be a ghost?¡±


    I whispered to avoid aggravating Olivia¡¯s headache.


    ¡°No,¡± she murmured back. ¡°Whatever it is, it must have some kind of a body, or Olivia wouldn¡¯t have been able to sense it. Not with those spells.¡±


    ¡°Could it be an animal?¡±


    I looked up when Iset didn¡¯t answer. There was an air of amusement around her.


    ¡°An animal that knows how to sing and use a hammer?¡± she said.


    I blushed. ¡°It could be a really smart monkey!¡±


    ¡°You already said you didn¡¯t do it,¡± Olivia grumbled.


    Ah-ha! A few minutes ago, Olivia never would have managed a quip like that. Nippy must have been working her magic.


    Iset was leaning against a low dresser pushed up against the wall. Her arms were crossed, and her head was turned toward the drawing room window. Beyond the cold glass, the sun made the snow on the yard shine like white fire.


    ¡°It¡¯s curious isn¡¯t it,¡± she mused.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to be more specific,¡± I said.


    ¡°If you consider everything they¡¯ve done¡ªthe stockings, the present¡ªyou¡¯d think they want to be noticed. But when you try to find them, they disappear.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s one of Santa¡¯s elves,¡± Olivia said with grim sarcasm.


    I looked at Iset, ¡°Could that be it?¡±


    Olivia raised her head. ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as elves!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a Santa Claus!¡± I said. ¡°How do you know he doesn¡¯t have elves?¡±


    Olivia rolled her eyes, then winced and went back to scowling at her wet feet.


    I had a photo of a man in a red fur-lined cloak standing with my three favorite ghosts, but the question of whether or not he was actually Santa Claus had inspired a series of spirited debates between me and Olivia. Big Jacky¡ªthe only person who could give us any reliable information¡ªhad refused to say anything, so I stuck by my assertion that, yes, Olivia, there is a Santa Claus.


    I turned to Iset for support, but she was distracted by her own thoughts.


    ¡°Emerra,¡± she said, ¡°why aren¡¯t children allowed to see Santa?¡±


    I stopped scrubbing. ¡°Ah. Yes. Um¡­¡± I stood up and leaned on the Swiffer. ¡°So, here¡¯s the thing¡ª¡±


    Olivia broke in with, ¡°It¡¯s so they don¡¯t find out it¡¯s their parents.¡±


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    ¡°No,¡± Iset waved her hand dismissively, ¡°I know that. But what do the parents tell their children?¡±


    I blinked a few times but couldn¡¯t make any sense of the question.


    Iset elaborated: ¡°When the children ask why they aren¡¯t allowed to see Santa Claus, their parents can¡¯t say it¡¯s because he¡¯s not real. What do they tell them?¡±


    I squirmed my way through a lopsided shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t think they tell them anything. I¡¯m not sure many kids ask. It¡¯s a rule, you know? It¡¯s a part of the magic. You¡¯re not supposed to question it.¡±


    ¡°And the children are satisfied with that?¡±


    ¡°Not really. But it¡¯s that or no toys, so¡­¡± I shrugged again.


    I turned, eyes wide with amazement, when I heard Olivia¡¯s quiet snicker.


    She noticed that Iset and I were watching her, shook her head, then muttered, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    I was not about to let her get away with that. I could count the number of times I¡¯d heard Olivia laugh out loud on one hand, and her shy smile made her cheeks bubble up.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± I demanded, already grinning at I-didn¡¯t-know-what.


    Olivia cleared her throat and pulled Nippy off her neck. ¡°I tried to trap Santa Claus once.¡±


    My grin widened. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I was young, all right!¡±


    Maybe it was my imagination, but her cheeks looked slightly pink.


    ¡°And how did it go?¡± I asked.


    Olivia made a face. ¡°Not well. This was before I had any formal training, so I didn¡¯t really know any magic. The spell was supposed to freeze Santa in place, but I caught Nylah instead. She fell flat on her face, and it felt like she was walking on pins and needles for a week.¡± Olivia briefly put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be laughing, but Nylah¡¯s expression was priceless.¡±


    My heart swelled with holiday cheer. ¡°Now there¡¯s a memory to treasure.¡±


    Iset uncrossed her arms. ¡°Olivia, you know magic now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Olivia said.


    ¡°What do you think about trying to set another trap?¡±


    Since there was a small chance that whatever was sneaking around our place could see or sense magic, Olivia had to set the trap using a dormant spell. Not even I could see magic when it was dormant.


    ¡°But that means whatever it is will have to step right on it!¡± Olivia cried.


    ¡°So we¡¯ll have to use bait,¡± I said.


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°A bunch of nails.¡±


    In return for my brilliant suggestion about the bait, I made Olivia swear on the names of four of her witchy ancestors that she would tell me the moment the trap was sprung.


    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Call it an early Christmas present.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and went to bed after warning me, again, not to step on the trap.


    I gave the conspicuous pile of nails, sitting in the middle of the front hall, one last glance, then turned toward the kitchen. I could use the back stairs to get up to my bedroom. I took the stairs two at a time, and with each hop, I felt a flutter in my stomach.


    My childhood had been¡­rough. I never had the chance to believe in Santa Claus when I was young. But I was more than making up for that now, and this Christmas, I finally got to feel that thrill of anticipation that every child delights in.


    So what if it wasn¡¯t exactly like waiting for Santa Claus? The principle was the same.


    Of course, I was too excited to go to sleep. When Olivia came to get me at three o¡¯clock, she didn¡¯t have to knock. I heard her footsteps.


    As we crept down the back stairs, Olivia said, ¡°Do you think it¡¯ll be dangerous?¡±


    Whoever was currently stuck to the floor of our front hall had tried to make a present and hang up a stocking. That meant they were probably fans of Christmas¡ªa fact that I thought spoke well for them.


    On the other hand, we had successfully baited the trap with nails.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admitted. I stopped and looked over my shoulder at her. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be able to get out of the trap, right?¡±


    ¡°Not unless it¡¯s really powerful,¡± she said.


    ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°And then we¡¯re dead anyway.¡±


    Never go to a witch for comfort.


    We snuck through the butler¡¯s pantry, into the dining room, and over to the arch that opened onto the front hall. From beyond the arch, we could hear faint sounds¡ªtiny huffs of air, whines of effort, and high-pitched grunts. I crouched down so we could both peek our heads around the corner of the arch.


    There was our stranger, standing inside the glowing circle of white runes, beside a pile of scattered nails. Its body was no larger than a kitten. It had long pointed ears, wiry arms and legs only as big around as twigs, a spiked knob on the end of its long tail, and smooth, burgundy-colored skin.


    My hand went over my mouth.


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± Olivia whispered. ¡°What is that thing?¡±


    She¡¯s never seen one before, I remembered.


    I moved my hand and stood up, forcing the witch to take a step back. ¡°Olivia, I need you to listen to me. I am not joking around, and I¡¯m not being stupid. You have to trust me.¡±


    I could see Olivia¡¯s contrarian instinct rearing up, but the look in my eyes was enough to make her hesitate. She nodded.


    ¡°Go get Big Jacky,¡± I whispered. ¡°You can get Iset if you want, but we need Jacky here.¡±


    ¡°Jacky¡¯s study is behind that thing!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay¡ªit¡¯s not powerful. He won¡¯t be able to escape the trap. But whatever you do, don¡¯t talk to him.¡±


    Her eyes widened.


    ¡°Do you understand?¡± I asked.


    She nodded.


    I motioned for her to get going.


    We stepped out of the dining room together. She hurried around the imp, giving him as wide a berth as possible, before cutting over to the door of Jacky¡¯s study. I slowly walked in a straight line toward him.


    At first he split his attention between us, but as I drew closer, he focused on me.


    I was only two feet away from him when Olivia called out, ¡°Jacky¡¯s not in his study.¡±


    I kept my voice calm. ¡°Check the library.¡±


    Olivia ran off without another word.


    As I lowered myself to the floor, only an inch outside the circle of runes, I kept my eyes fixed on the imp¡¯s face, watching for the moment of recognition. There was none. He didn¡¯t know who I was.


    Which was¡­odd.


    I sat down and crossed my legs. After scanning the statement twice for anything that might be unwise to say, I decided to risk saying it.


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    The imp scampered over on all fours, but he stood on two legs to get a better look at me. ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to see me,¡± he whispered.


    Questions were good. Questions were safe.


    ¡°Why not?¡± I asked.


    He looked puzzled. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. She never told me that.¡±


    She?


    ¡°How did you get in here?¡± I asked.


    His miniature grin showed a crowd of needle teeth. ¡°Guess!¡±


    But I knew about imps and their games.


    ¡°No.¡±


    He scampered two inches closer. ¡°Come on! One guess!¡±


    There was something seriously wrong with that imp. He was bouncing around on his legs like a cartoon kangaroo, and I was pretty sure that his expression was a simple, honest, happy smile¡ªbut as far as I could see, no one was getting hurt.


    ¡°You crawled up a drain pipe,¡± I said.


    ¡°I came down the chimney!¡± He threw himself onto his back and rolled around laughing, as if he¡¯d told the greatest joke in the world.


    I caught myself smiling and had to bite it back.


    ¡°Just like Santa Claus?¡± I said.


    He stopped rolling and sat up. His all-white eyes managed a sparkle I had never seen from any other imp.


    Glints, yes. Sparkles, no.


    ¡°Yes!¡± He smiled even wider than before. ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    My hindbrain hoisted a big red flag and waved it. I was the one supposed to be asking questions.


    But that question¡­seemed harmless.


    ¡°I know of him,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve never met him.¡±


    The imp rolled his head back as he cried, ¡°Oh! He¡¯s the greatest thing in the whole world!¡±


    Then he was off, chattering at a million miles an hour, giving me a scattered account of Santa Claus that sounded like it came straight from the mouth of a six-year-old, while I sat there wondering how, in the literal hell, an imp had learned about Christmas.


    After a few seconds, I held up my hand to stop him.


    ¡°Forgive me for saying so,¡± I said, ¡°but you seem unusual¡ªyou know, for¡­someone like you.¡±


    He cocked his head, but didn¡¯t answer.


    I decided to go for the jugular. After all, the worst he could do (while trapped in that circle) was laugh at me.


    ¡°Look,¡± I said, ¡°do you have a name?¡±


    And much to my surprise, he immediately gave me an answer.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°You¡­don¡¯t know?¡±


    He curled into a small red ball and held his head with eight toothpick-tip fingers. ¡°I feel like it¡¯s there. Like it¡¯s¡­important¡­but I can¡¯t remember.¡±


    Iset and Olivia came back up the hall, but they stopped where they were when they saw me shake my head.


    The imp didn¡¯t notice. He was groaning and tapping on his noggin in an effort to remember.


    ¡°Do you remember why you¡¯re here?¡± I asked.


    The imp sprang up so fast, his body must have been spring loaded. ¡°I had to get back to the North Pole before Christmas.¡±


    ¡°The North Pole,¡± I repeated. It still sounded insane.


    ¡°It¡¯s easy!¡± He said in a sing-song voice, dipping his head from side to side as he recited, ¡°Turn your tail south and walk. Look for a big, happy house with lots of snow.¡±


    ¡°Okay. But why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m one of Santa¡¯s elves.¡±


    I stared for a full two seconds. My brain needed that time to accept what my eyes were telling it: the imp meant every word he said.


    Then I snorted with laughter.


    Jacky finally showed up. He must have received Iset¡¯s call while he was somewhere in Australia¡ªbecause, god knew, the moment he heard there was an infernal in his home, he would come running.


    He appeared right beside me, using all six-feet of his height to tower over the imp.


    ¡°You,¡± Jacky said, his voice toning like some abyssal bell.


    I grabbed his pant leg. ¡°Hang on, Jacky!¡±


    Jacky hesitated, then fell silent.


    I turned back to Santa¡¯s lost elf. ¡°Do you know who this is?¡± I pointed to the suit-wearing skeleton beside me.


    The imp¡¯s eyes moved between me and Jacky.


    ¡°Go on.¡± I smiled. ¡°Guess.¡±


    In a hesitant squeak of a voice, he said, ¡°Mrs. Claus?¡±


    I was still laughing when the imp said, ¡°This isn¡¯t the North Pole, is it?¡±


    I bit my lips together to force stop the laughter, then said, ¡°No, my friend. This isn¡¯t the North Pole.¡±


    We left the imp-ish elf in the kitchen after extracting a promise from Igor that he wouldn¡¯t murder him and serve him up for dinner.


    ¡°Anything made out of that¡±¡ªIgor pointed to the imp with his chef¡¯s knife¡ª¡°would be inedible.¡±


    He went back to cooking but kept the smaller of his two eyes locked on the kitchen island. Olivia had drawn a new rune circle there, and Jacky had unceremoniously dropped the imp into it. The imp scuttled from side to side, wringing his red hands.


    Jacky, Olivia, Iset, and I went to the furthest corner of the library to talk.


    ¡°He¡¯s lost his memory,¡± Iset said. She sounded resigned. And exasperated.


    It was hard to blame her. A question-and-answer session with an imp is always bound to be frustrating, if only because they talk like Kappa would if some monster force fed him eight energy drinks¡ªbut we¡¯d spent hours at it and learned nothing.


    Nothing, that is, unless you count the poor thing¡¯s misguided ideas about his role as an elf and how you make candy.


    ¡°That¡¯s what it claims,¡± Jacky said.


    ¡°I believe him, Jacky,¡± I said.


    I stared into the deepest part of Big Jacky¡¯s eye sockets and waited. There was a moment where I wondered if he was going to argue with me, but then he turned his skull to look away.


    Olivia said, making the question clear in her tone, ¡°Then that story about how he¡¯s lost? About how he must have fallen off the sleigh¡­?¡±


    ¡°It must have made that up,¡± unease etched its way across every bone in Jacky¡¯s skull, ¡°for some reason.¡±


    Iset sighed. ¡°All those must-haves. He doesn¡¯t remember, but he must have gotten lost. He must have fallen off the sleigh.¡± She raised her head. ¡°He made it sound as if it was the only logical explanation. But that makes no sense!¡±


    ¡°And what is he doing here?¡± Olivia asked. ¡°How did he get inside?¡±


    Jacky said, ¡°By now the demons know that they can¡¯t get inside without an invitation, but an imp¡ªso long as it means no harm¡ªmight be able to find a way in.¡±


    ¡°But imps always mean harm,¡± Iset said.


    ¡°It seems we¡¯ve found an exception.¡±


    Olivia wondered out loud, ¡°Would memory loss cause a change in intention?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Jacky said. ¡°We¡¯ve never run into a situation like this before.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s an imp?¡± Olivia asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    While trying not to smile, I said, ¡°Are we sure he isn¡¯t one of Santa¡¯s elves?¡±


    ¡°I would hardly think so.¡±


    Olivia gave me a dirty look. ¡°She¡¯s teasing you, Mr. Noctis.¡±


    Iset said, ¡°Then why does he think he is?¡±


    We all fell silent. I turned my head to look out the library window. More clouds were building up on the horizon. We might see another inch of snow before sunset. Perfect Christmas weather.


    ¡°Could he have been sent here?¡± Olivia asked.


    Jacky immediately said, ¡°How? And by whom?¡±


    ¡°A demon?¡± Olivia held up her hands when she saw that Jacky was watching her. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know anything¡ªbut if the demons know they can¡¯t get inside, maybe one of them tried to use the imp to get their foot in the door.¡±


    ¡°Imps and demons don¡¯t usually get along,¡± Iset explained, ¡°and imps aren¡¯t known to be very reliable.¡±


    ¡°But they can be reliable enough,¡± Jacky muttered. ¡°Emerra?¡±


    I blew out my breath and shrugged. ¡°I mean, yes, it¡¯s¡­possible¡ªbut how could a demon expect him to do what the demon wants if he¡¯s lost his memory?¡±


    ¡°We need answers,¡± Jacky said. ¡°If it was sent here, we must know.¡± He stood perfectly still, then turned to me. ¡°Emerra, would you be willing to help?¡±


    There was a blank moment where I had no idea what he was talking about. Then it hit me. My hand went to my forehead.


    Oh, geez.


    It wasn¡¯t that I minded helping Jacky, but trying to use my powers on purpose never led to anything good. Either it didn¡¯t work, and I wound up standing around like an idiot, staring at things until my eyes watered, or it did work, and I walked away with a killer headache.


    I said, ¡°Nippy¡¯s back in the fridge, right?¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Jacky said.


    ¡°You mean that dumb cat?¡± Olivia said. ¡°Yes.¡±


    I let my hand drop back to my side and sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    As I led them out of the library, I heard Jacky say to Olivia, ¡°Is Igor aware that there¡¯s a cat in the refrigerator?¡±


    We returned to the kitchen. When the imp saw me coming, he scampered up to the closest edge of the magic circle. I pulled out one of the stools and sat down. Everyone gathered around me. My face flushed when I felt their collective eyes on me.


    What did they expect to see? Fireworks?


    Even the imp was staring at me expectantly.


    I cleared my throat as I tried to think how to start. The imp took that as a signal that he could speak.


    ¡°You¡¯ll let me go?¡± His tail wrapped around his legs, and he held his hands up, excitedly tapping the tips of his fingers together in a fast, four-point clap.


    ¡°Uh¡­not yet,¡± I said.


    His small brow furrowed, and he let out an angsty hum. ¡°How many days until Christmas?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Three.¡±


    He tilted his head. ¡°How far is the North Pole?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still pretty far away.¡±


    ¡°Then you have to let me go!¡± he wailed.


    ¡°We can¡¯t do that yet.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    I rubbed my forehead. How on earth was I going to get him to hold still?


    Inspiration struck. I was still wondering if the trick would automatically land me on the naughty list as I started talking.


    ¡°Because you haven¡¯t passed inspection yet.¡±


    His head jerked back.


    ¡°You know what inspection is, don¡¯t you?¡± I said. ¡°I mean, if you are one of Santa¡¯s elves¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what inspection is!¡± He grabbed his tail just below the spiked knob and wrung his hands around it. ¡°What¡¯s inspection?¡±


    ¡°All of Santa¡¯s elves who are returning to the North Pole from missions abroad have to be seen by a professional elf inspector. We have to make sure that they really are one of Santa¡¯s elves. There are lots of impostors, you know.¡±


    The imp nodded with whole-hearted agreement.


    Carried away by my bluff, I went on: ¡°They¡¯re also checked for other things¡ª¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Ah. Well. Like any residual magic that might be clinging to them¡ªthat stuff can mess with the sleigh¡ªor¡­¡±¡ªI struggled to come up with something else, and tried to struggle as fast as possible¡ª¡°or fleas that might infect the reindeer. You know,¡± I waved away the question, ¡°that kind of thing.¡±


    ¡°Oooooohhhhh.¡± His eyes were as wide and round as the O his mouth made. ¡°Where can I find one?¡±


    ¡°What? A flea?¡±


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia smack her forehead.


    Iset said, ¡°I think he means ¡®where can I find a professional elf inspector.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I smiled down at the imp. ¡°You¡¯re in luck, sir, because I happen to be one of those professional elf inspectors.¡±


    He bobbed on his legs. ¡°Are you a good one?¡±


    ¡°I can assure you, there are none better.¡±


    ¡°What do I have to do?¡±


    ¡°This is the tricky part.¡± I crossed my arms, rested them on the island¡¯s countertop, and put my chin down on them. ¡°You have to hold still and let me look at you.¡±


    He hemmed and hawed while bobbing from side to side, then he looked at me¡ªbut not directly. He seemed to be studying my pinkie. ¡°For how long?¡±


    ¡°How long have you been away from the North Pole?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    ¡°Then I don¡¯t know how long.¡±


    With my head down on the counter like that, we were almost eye level to each other. That made it easier for me to see the mournful expression steal over his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I whispered. ¡°Just do your best.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    He turned and looked me right in the eyes.


    The white of his eyes washed over me in an instant, and I was gone.


    There was a weight to the torture that made me realize the decades that I had been subjected to it. The shame was a poison that coated me like a sheen of sweat. When I opened my mouth to gag, it dripped from my tongue and teeth. To be an imp rejected by imps was a humiliation worse than having your skin removed and being rubbed down with shit.


    I was baffled. But that was the problem. The other imps had told me¡ªthe fact that I couldn¡¯t understand why they hated me was one of the reasons they hated me. It made my empty head buzz with confusion. It always did. They would see my face, they would sneer, and I would cower and brace myself. Then they would descend on me.


    Emptiness and pain. Confusion and pain.


    Words became noises I couldn¡¯t follow. They grabbed me. Four on each arm and leg. Some part of me knew I was being carried along, but it felt as if I was riding the wave of laughter. Then I saw the gate¡ªnothing more than a small rip¡ªbut I felt the breeze and started to struggle.


    I can¡¯t! Imps aren¡¯t allowed to go! They¡¯re killed if they go and come back!


    The laughter got louder.


    They threw me through the gate. There was a rush of air. I hit a fast-moving¡­something¡ªhard, metal and glass¡ªbounced, hit another something rushing the other way, hit hard and rolled over the ground. Black, yellow, black, yellow¡­black.


    There was a small human. A girl, she said. Her name was Hannah. What was I? she asked. I didn¡¯t know. I couldn¡¯t remember anything. Only black, yellow, black. I asked her what I was. She said that I had pointed ears, and that meant I was an elf. She laughed at me when I asked what an elf was, but it wasn¡¯t a mean laugh. It was something else. It was the nicest sound I had ever heard.


    She kept me hidden. She said that people weren¡¯t supposed to see the elves, and I would¡¯ve known that if I hadn¡¯t forgotten everything.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll protect you until you feel better.¡±


    But I already felt better. Everyday was so light. Hannah laughed all the time. And she sang. She taught me all the Christmas songs because the elves sing while they work and I¡¯d be sad if I couldn¡¯t join in. Elves made toys, they wrapped presents, they made candy¡ªthe list went on and on! My head spun, but when she saw my expression, all she did was laugh again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll teach you.¡±


    It was hard because I couldn¡¯t remember anything. I know I got things wrong. Hannah would often chide me with a mock-serious look on her face. I stood there, letting the wash of her voice roll over me, and tried not to smile too much.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she always said afterward. ¡°You¡¯ll learn.¡±


    At night, she told me all about Santa Claus. I never got tired of the story, and each time I heard it, something inside me glowed brighter.


    I tried to ignore the unease that was growing in me day by day, but over time, its roots reached down far enough to split up the weird glow that seemed to make up most of my innards. When I tried to explain it to Hannah, she said she understood.


    ¡°I knew I couldn¡¯t keep you forever,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s almost Christmas. You have to go back to Santa.¡±


    Did I?


    ¡°Of course! It¡¯s your home. Santa and all the other elves are probably worried about you.¡±


    Was there anyone back home that worried about me? I tried to remember, but my head was nothing but a black hole. Something about home¡­yes. Something about home was making me uneasy.


    ¡°You¡¯ll feel better when you get there,¡± Hannah assured me. ¡°Everyone feels better when they¡¯re where they belong.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure, but I trusted Hannah. Hannah knew everything.


    ¡°Turn your tail south and walk,¡± she said. ¡°Look for a big, happy house with lots of snow.¡±


    The walk had been long. And cold. And dark. There were days and days of it. No more laughter¡ªonly strange noises I couldn¡¯t understand and freezing nights that left me feeling dull and empty.


    I did my best to ignore it, but there was something scary about how familiar the emptiness felt.


    Then, I saw it! A big house! The biggest house in the whole world! It glowed in the darkness. When I finally managed to drag myself onto the porch, I raised my trembling hands to the edge of the window frame and pulled myself up so I could look through the tall, skinny window beside the door.


    Just inside was a Christmas tree a million times bigger¡ªno! A billion times bigger than the one at Hannah¡¯s house.


    I¡¯d arrived.


    I plopped onto the cold wood of the porch and leaned back on the door.


    Now how do I get inside?


    I took a deep breath as I came back to myself, then I pushed away from the counter and rose from the stool in one seamless movement. I didn¡¯t want the imp to see my face.


    I didn¡¯t want anyone to see my face, so I kept my eyes on the spot where the edge of the wall cabinets met the floor, while tucking one hand into the pocket of my pajamas and using the other to brace myself up on the counter.


    ¡°Good news!¡± I said while forcing an equal measure of cheer and nonchalance into my voice at knife point. ¡°Our little friend has passed the inspection. He¡¯s one of Santa¡¯s elves.¡±


    There was a clatter when the pan Igor was holding slipped and hit the counter.


    ¡°Wha¡ª¡± Olivia started.


    ¡°Emerra?¡± Iset said.


    Olivia¡¯s face, creased with irritation and confusion, wasn¡¯t as hard to bear as Iset¡¯s gentle concern.


    I turned away from them, back toward the imp. He was bouncing on his legs again, faster now, in a random pattern that managed to convey his perfect joy.


    ¡°I pass?¡±


    I nodded, then swallowed the lump in my throat so I could talk. ¡°Yup!¡± I forced myself to look at him while avoiding his eyes. ¡°I can get you your certificate before you leave.¡±


    The imp let out a whoop that should have been louder than something his size could produce.


    When Jacky spoke, his voice was low, and it sounded as if it was echoing out from a cave. ¡°Emerra¡ª¡±


    I looked into his eye sockets and raised my voice to talk over death.


    ¡°Jack Noctis¡ª¡±


    The whole room went silent. Even the imp was still.


    ¡°¡ªI have given him an inspection. He is one of Santa¡¯s elves. Do you understand?¡±


    The silence stretched between us, dragging in one second after another, as if it was pulling taffy.


    Jacky sighed. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°But I understand enough.¡±


    I swallowed. Nodded a few times. And started to breathe again.


    ¡°Oh, lord,¡± Igor grumbled. He went on grumbling in an undertone as he picked up the pan and went back to work.


    ¡°Well, great,¡± Olivia said. She motioned to the newest of Santa¡¯s elves. ¡°What are we supposed to do with him now?¡±


    Specks of snow drifted past the sitting room windows. The chill of the snow and the darkness tried to push through the glass, but it could only get an inch or two inside before it was swallowed up by the warmth of the mansion. The only sound in the room was the popping and crack of the fire as it whipped and danced around the fireplace. It would have had a similar monopoly on light, but a smattering of illumination from the Christmas tree out in the front hall fell across a small section of the floor.


    There were other, more substantial, signs of Christmas in the room. A large garland wove its way around a few brass decorations on the mantel, and from the mantel hung five large burgundy velvet stockings.


    The center stocking wiggled. Just a bit.


    A moment before, it would have gone unnoticed¡ªbut now there was someone in the room to see it.


    The ancient floor creaked under the old man¡¯s boots. He pushed aside the edge of his fur-lined cloak and reached out with one of his rough hands.


    Before his hand met the white cuff at the top of the stocking, a small figure, nearly the same color as the sock it emerged from, popped its head out.


    ¡°Surprise!¡±


    The old man¡¯s hand had jerked back involuntarily, but then he drew it back to stroke his shaggy beard.


    ¡°What do we have here?¡± the old man muttered.


    The imp¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°You¡¯re him.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen your picture!¡±


    The old man¡¯s eyebrows jumped. ¡°Have you now?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Oh! I¡¯m supposed to show you this!¡± The imp reached into the stocking with one hand and pulled out his own tail. A thin green ribbon secured a piece of cardstock to the end of his tail, just below the spiked knob.


    The imp passed it reverently, tail and all, to the old man.


    ¡°It¡¯s my certificate,¡± he said in an awe-struck whisper.


    ¡°Hmmm,¡± the old man said. ¡°I¡¯ll have to take a look at that.¡±


    The certificate turned out to be nothing more than a gift tag. It said, To Santa Claus.


    The old man smiled. ¡°Was this your idea, old friend?¡±


    Jack Noctis stepped out of a shadow that was too thin to hide a skeleton.


    ¡°You should flip the card over,¡± he said. ¡°I have cleaned my mitts of this whole debacle.¡±


    The old man read the other side of the card.


    Love, Emerra Cole.


    A deep laugh rolled up from his chest. ¡°So it was her doing?¡±


    Jacky walked over to one of the armchairs in front of the fire and sat down. ¡°For a while, she wanted to keep it¡ªor him. Can you believe it?¡±


    ¡°That would¡¯ve been problematic for you,¡± the old man observed.


    Jacky motioned to him. It was a lazy gesture meant to affirm what his guest had said when the situation had exhausted Jacky beyond words. He leaned back in the armchair.


    ¡°Fortunately,¡± Jacky said, ¡°she capitulated after it broke the fifth ornament. Or was it another one of the dishes?¡± He added in a grumble, ¡°We still haven¡¯t found the hammer.¡±


    ¡°How did it come here?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°Our best guess is that our¡­unfortunate¡­association with other infernals has weakened the space between this town and their realm.¡±


    The imp¡¯s eyes had been moving between the two men as they spoke, but when Jacky swung his finger bones around to point, the imp tucked himself back into the stocking until only his eyes, ears, and the end of his tail could be seen.


    ¡°That one,¡± Jacky said, ¡°came through, and either he was accidentally directed here, or he was drawn here. Possibly both.¡±


    The old man rubbed his beard. ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to take him with me?¡±


    ¡°That is up to you, and I told her that. It¡¯s a gift. Merry Christmas! Accept it, or not, and do with it as you please. Isn¡¯t that the rule for most gifts?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what am I supposed to do with it?¡±


    ¡°You would know better than I would. After all, he¡¯s one of your elves.¡±


    The old man¡¯s smile disappeared. ¡°You¡¯re mad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what she told me.¡±


    The fire popped and spit as the two men stared at each other. The imp cowered and looked on, his tiny fingers digging deeper and deeper into the cuff.


    The old man suddenly turned and raised his hand up to the top of the stocking. ¡°Come on then, friend.¡±


    The imp¡¯s head popped back up. ¡°I can come?¡±


    ¡°You can come.¡± The old man jogged his hand by an inch to draw attention to it. ¡°Hop up. This is my busy night. We have much to do.¡±


    The imp skittered over the man¡¯s hand, up his arm, and climbed the cloak to perch on his shoulder.


    ¡°Mess on the cloak,¡± the old man said, ¡°and I¡¯ll feed you to my ravens.¡±


    ¡°Ravens?¡± the imp said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll learn.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this, you know,¡± Jacky said quietly.


    ¡°Of course I do!¡± the old man said. ¡°Imagine leaving one of my elves behind.¡± He shook his head. ¡°My reputation would be in shambles.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll find a place with you?¡±


    ¡°I think he might. If he doesn¡¯t, I have no doubt that Krampus can make something of him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d foist him off on Krampus?¡± Jacky¡¯s voice was high with disbelief.


    The old man smiled at him. It was a faint thing, almost hidden by the beard, but the wicked twinkle in his eye was obvious.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with a thoughtful re-gifting,¡± he said. ¡°Be sure to tell Emerra thank you for me.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Jacky said.


    ¡°Merry Christmas, old friend.¡±


    ¡°Merry Christmas.¡±


    Then the old man was gone. At last the house was quiet.