“Ordered?”
“The majority of them are gift cards. It’s the quickest way to shop.”
“How … personal. And for your information, my gifts are wrapped and ready to go. I’ve only got one person left on my list.”
“Gee, and I wonder who that could be?” He reached out, crooked a finger under my chin and lifted my face to his. “Well, then, if it’s Slade you’re shopping for, you might enjoy yourself tonight.”
I pulled away from him. “What does that mean?”
“It means ordinarily you couldn’t possibly be interested in the stores Mallory frequents. Not unless you’ve developed a taste for wolfsbane and tarot cards. However, they might be just the place to find the perfect Christmas gift for Slade—unless you want to take the easy way out and just get him a gift certificate for fine bottled blood. It’s what I give Uncle Henry and Brice every year. If you’d like the website add…”
I made a face at him. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather shop around a bit. That’s part of the fun of Christmas shopping, you know. Hunting through stores to find just the right gift.” I gestured toward my computer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Writing a storyline for me that doesn’t involve designer purses, I hope.”
I smiled demurely. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”
He started for the door, and then paused. “You could have written an arc about Bad Santa.”
I fixed him with a puzzled stare. “Bad Santa?”
“Legend has it that a sorceress once tried to clone jolly old Saint Nick.”
“Really? Whatever for?”
He shrugged. “I do believe she thought two Saint Nicks might be better than one—you know, dispatch the Christmas goodies more efficiently. Anyway, the spell didn’t turn out quite as she expected. Instead of an exact clone, the spell merely materialized Santa’s—ah—very rarely seen dark side.”
“Oops.”
“An understatement,” Simon grimaced. “They called him Bad Santa, and that he was. Instead of spreading joy and leaving presents, he cast spells and wreaked havoc wherever he went.”
“And what happened to this ‘Bad Santa’?”
Simon shrugged. “No one’s quite sure. He vanished one day and no one’s seen him since. Legend has it the sorceress managed to capture his spirit and imprison it.”
I let out a breath. “Well, then, it’s a Christmas gift in itself no one’s ever released him, isn’t it?”
“True.” He ran his hand through his hair. “As I said, it’s a legend and only a suggestion. I’m sure you can come up with something FAR more interesting.”
“I’m sure I can,” I said meaningfully, “if I can ever get started on it.”
He laughed. “I can take a hint. Good luck shopping.”
And then he was gone. I sighed and sat back down at my computer. After a few minutes of staring at my blank screen, I pulled up Google and typed in Bad Santa.
Lots of sites on Santa Claus and related Christmas mythology appeared, but nothing about Kris Kringle having an evil twin. I sighed and switched off my monitor. If I hurried, I could run home, take a relaxing bath, and switch into comfy jeans for tonight’s shopping excursion. I put all thoughts of impending storylines, deadlines, Henry’s wrath and Simon’s fairy tale out of my mind.
After all, tonight was all about finding the perfect gift for Logan … and I had a feeling I was going to do just that.
***
December 23, 7:30 p.m.
“I never thought I’d say this, but … can’t we go into Bloomingdale’s? Please? Pretty please?”
Mallory dug her fingers into my arm as she steered me past the department store entrance.
“Bloomie’s isn’t what you need right now, Autumn.”
“If you ask me, what you need right now is a cold shower.” My best friend, Selena McCall, looked me straight in the eyes. “You’ve been jumpy and distracted ever since this started. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I grumbled. “It’s just that if I go into one more of these musty smelling specialty shops, I’ll go out of my mind. I hate to admit it, but Simon was right.”
Mallory made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Now, now. You know better than to listen to Simon. You also knew this wasn’t going to be like a normal shopping expedition.”
“That’s right.” Selena clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re on a quest to find something fabbo for Logan Slade, right? Well, you’re not gonna find it in Macy’s, babe. These types of shops are your best bet, like it or not.”
“You’re right, I know you’re right,” I sighed and shifted my Maxx New York bag to my other shoulder. “I just honestly thought I would have found something by now. Who knew vampires were so hard to shop for?”
“It will be easier next year—it’ll even be easier on Valentine’s Day.” Mallory gave my arm a squeeze. “You’ve only known him a few weeks, after all. You have no idea of his interest, his hobbies. What do you know about him, really, other than he’s a hot vampire detective with a mortal sister?”
I had to admit what Mallory said made perfect sense. She squeezed my arm again. “Don’t give up hope. If you can’t find the perfect gift for him here, I’ll—I’ll eat my new book of spells.”
We paused before a tiny storefront that looked to be little more than a hole in the wall. A dingy sign out front read, “AC Adams—Antiques.”
“Well, I’ll be!” Selena crowed. “This looks like one of those places in Harry Potter.”
“They sell some very cool items that make remarkable gifts.” Mallory was already pushing the door open. “If you’re thinking of getting Logan something special, Autumn, trust me … this is the perfect place.”
Mallory pushed open the door and walked in, Selena right behind her, leaving me no choice but to follow. Almost immediately a beaded curtain at the rear of the shop parted and a man who closely resembled Ichabod Crane came toward us. “Good afternoon, ladies. May I be of assistance?”
Mallory looked around. “Is Aaron here today?”
The man gave an exaggerated bow. “I’m afraid Aaron’s retired, moved back to England. He sold the shop to me.” He clasped Mallory’s hand. “I am Abraham, his cousin.” He peered more closely at Mallory, and then snapped his long brown fingers. “You are the witch, Robin Standish, aren’t you? On my very favorite show, Stormy Seas.”
Mallory smiled. “How flattering. Yes, I play Robin.”
“I knew it.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Ah, the lovely Mallory Mason. My cousin mentioned you as one of his favorite customers. What an honor to have you in my humble shop. I am your show’s biggest fan—I never miss an episode.”
Mallory gave me a little push. “Since you’re such a fan, I’m sure you’ll want to meet my friend, Autumn Hathaway. She’s our Assistant Head Writer.”
He turned toward me. “A pleasure. I do enjoy your stories. Tell me, have you ever considered doing one involving a dragon? Or a rogue leprechaun. Think of the possibilities. It could be both funny and frightening.”
“Can that,” Selena hissed in my ear. “It didn’t work for Jennifer Aniston. Those little guys can get damn nasty when they think someone’s gonna fool with their pot of gold.”
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for your interest,” I said politely. “I’m looking for something special for an Inheritor Vampire. It’s our first holiday together. I wanted to get him something … special. And unique.”
Abraham nodded. “Of course, of course. My cousin left a great deal of stock in the back. Let me take a look. In the meantime,” he waved his arm toward the wide middle aisle, “take a look around. One never knows what treasure might be hidden on these shelves.”
He vanished behind the beaded curtain and I turned to Selena. “For your information, Abraham isn’t the only one today to offer plotline advice. Simon had a suggestion.”
Mallory’s eyes rolled skyward. �
��I’ll bet. Is he pushing that succubus storyline again? I told him no way is Brice doing that.”
“Actually, no. He had another suggestion—one with a holiday theme. Something about a Kris Kringle clone gone bad.”
Mallory almost dropped the tiny figurine she’d picked up and fixed me with a startled gaze. “He told you about Bad Santa?”
It was my turn to stare. “You’ve heard of it too? I tried looking it up on the Internet and got zippo.”
“That’s because it is a well-kept secret.”
“Simon said it was a legend—he wasn’t actually certain it was true.”
“Oh, it’s true.” Mallory’s lips set in a grim line. “I was there.”
My eyes widened. “You were?”
Selena frowned at the two of us. “What are you two talking about? Who’s Bad Santa? Wasn’t that a movie with that chick from Gilmore Girls?”
Mallory choked out a laugh. “Yes … but this Bad Santa is far more frightening than Billy Bob Thornton.”
Selena fisted both hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “That’s where you’re wrong. Ain’t nothing more frightening than Billy Bob Thornton.”
Mallory flashed her a look and then turned back to me. “I was present when the sorceress Diantha conjured him up. It started out as a joke, but when she realized how truly evil he was, well … thank God she was able to capture his essence and imprison him, or who knows what might have happened.”
“How did she imprison him?” I asked, curious.
Mallory shook her head. “To be honest—I am not certain. No one knows, and it’s best that way, trust me. If he were ever to be released …”
Selena had moved away from us and was examining the merchandise on a low shelf. Suddenly she gave a little cry. “Autumn, come here! I think I’ve found something.”
I walked over to where my friend squatted. When she straightened, she held a small, teakwood box in both hands. I leaned forward to examine it. “Good workmanship,” I observed. “It’s made well.” I fumbled with the catch. “This is sticking, though.”
Selena frowned. “Wait—what’s this black bar?” She pressed down on it with her thumb, and the lid fell back. Inside the box was lined with a rich, red satin.
I turned toward my friends. “What do you think?”
Selena bobbed her head up and down. “I think it’s cool. He can keep trinkets in it—maybe even vials of blood.”
Mallory was frowning at the lid cover. “It looks like something is inscribed here,” she said. “It’s hard to read, though.”
“Ooh, maybe a witch or a sorcerer owned this first,” Selena said.
Mallory looked at me. “If you want, I could check into this inscription—make sure it’s safe. Perhaps see if I can find out anything about this box itself.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure Logan isn’t about to want to cast any spells—he’s a vampire, remember?” I tucked the box under one arm and headed straight for the counter. “Sold.”
Abraham emerged from the back just as I pulled my American Express Gold Card from my wallet. His eyes widened as they rested on the box. “What—where did you find that?”
“It was on that last shelf, way in the back,” Selena pointed.
I looked at Abraham. The shopkeeper’s face had gone pasty white. “Is something wrong? Please don’t tell me this isn’t for sale. It will be perfect for my—my boyfriend.”
He licked at his lips nervously and then smiled. “Of course, if you desire it that badly, how can I refuse?” He held his hand out and I placed my gold card in it. As he turned toward the register, he asked over one shoulder, “Do you wish this wrapped?”
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’ll wrap it myself. That’s part of the fun.” As he disappeared once more into the back room, I turned to the others. “I know I didn’t want to come in here, but I’m glad now that I did. I’ve got a feeling this will turn out to be one of the best purchases I ever made.”
Mallory shot me a sobering look. “Let’s hope so.”
It was a little after ten o’clock when I let myself into my office. I’d forgotten I’d brought all my Christmas wrapping paraphernalia there—except for Selena’s, all my gifts had been for coworkers this year. I’d already taken care of sending my mother and sister their annual holiday fruit baskets, and there was no one back in LA I felt particularly close to anymore. I switched on the light and pulled Logan’s present out of my tote bag.
“Well, here’s hoping,” I said. I set the box square in the middle of the desk and walked over to the closet for the big brown bag of wrapping paper. As I turned back toward the desk, I frowned.
The box was way over to the left side. But I could have sworn I’d put it in the middle. How had it gotten over there?
I eyed it cautiously as I approached, and the thought flitted through my mind that perhaps I should have let Mallory delve into the box’s history … but as quickly as the thought entered my head, I pushed it away. “I must have put it near the edge,” I muttered, as I pulled bright red paper dotted with snowflakes out of the bag and laid it across my desk. “Boxes can’t move themselves, right?”
Then again …
If the events of the past few weeks had taught me anything, it was never to assume anything where the supernatural was concerned.
I started to rummage in the bag for a white bow to go with the snowflake paper when I heard it. At first, it was just a hum … then it grew louder, until it seemed to reverberate inside my brain. A voice, low, guttural … hypnotic.
Open the box. You know you want to. Open the box.
My hand moved toward the box. Now why in hell was it doing that? I felt an overwhelming urge to listen to this little voice inside my brain, and I couldn’t for the life of me think why. I paused, fingers poised over the lid. The urge to open it was stronger now, very strong. Why did I feel like it would be a great catastrophe if I didn’t open it?
It made no sense.
My finger swooped down, caressed the lid.
That’s right. You know you want to.
Dammit, I did. I didn’t know why I did, and right at that moment I didn’t care one iota. I grabbed the box, set it square in the middle of the desk, and then pressed down on the black bar. The lid swung back, and I gazed at red velvet lining.
“Okay,” I said to no one in particular. “It’s open. Now what?”
Lift the lining, and you’ll see.
Lift the lining? I peered down and saw, sure enough, there was just about a quarter inch of lining curled at the very top. I slid my nail under it and pulled. The lining slid back, revealing a cavity with a small niche. I slid my nail into the top of that—somewhat like opening the casing on my remote—and pulled up.
Nestled inside the tiny aperture was a small statue, no more than two inches tall. It was wrapped in some sort of silky mesh material. I picked it up and slid the netting off, then turned the piece over in my hand. The figure wore a robe of bright red, and carried something that resembled a shepherd’s staff. A stocking cap of bright red sat askew on its wide forehead, and wisps of iron-gray hair peeped out from beneath.
But it was the expression on the statue’s face that made me gasp. The bushy gray brows were drawn together, cutting a deep v in the middle of the forehead, and the thick lips were twisted in what could best be described as a scowl. The painted eyes, black as midnight, seemed to bore right through me.
I set the tiny statue on the desk next to the box. “Heck, I’m glad I looked inside,” I murmured. “I’d have hated for Logan to have found you first.”
I gave an involuntary shudder. Creepy. But now what to do with it? Somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to chuck him in the garbage.
“Maybe Mallory can offer some advice,” I muttered. I set the statue near my monitor and started measuring the wrapping paper.
Don’t give up so easily. Read the inscription. Then you’ll know.
“Inscription?”
I pulled the box i
n front of me and sure enough, I could see, carved very faintly into the wood, what looked like a few words. I opened my middle desk drawer and pulled out my magnifying glass for a closer look. The carved words were run together and hard to see, but at first glance they seemed to be in ancient Gaelic. I only recognized it because I’d had to research it not long ago with Henry for a story arc involving Kiera, our now deceased voodoo princess.
“It looks like ‘go dri an uaigh.’ Heck, am I even pronouncing that right?” I held the box up to the light. There was another sentence after that, in a different language totally unfamiliar.
Say it all out loud.
“Go dri an uaigh, especta can amasole.”
The box suddenly began to shake in my hand. I dropped it and stood up, startled. Suddenly I realized the statue was no longer standing by my computer monitor.
It had vanished.
Say it again … reverse the words. Twice more.
Why I obeyed, I had no idea. It was as if I had no control over my tongue. I repeated the strange phrase, and then I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a dark form suddenly begin to take shape near the window. As I watched, the shadow stretched and elongated, morphing into the shape of a man … I thought. Actually, he looked more like one of the Seven Dwarfs, with his red robe pulled tight across his rotund belly, and his red stocking cap hanging down over one eye.
Holy Crap! It hit me with the force of a tornado. The little guy standing not ten feet away from me was … the statue!
Only now he was alive, and grinning from ear to ear, and not in a good way. As a matter of fact, if I had to describe him, I’d have to say he looked like something Stephen King might whip up to scare the bejesus out of someone on Halloween, not Christmas.
I swallowed around the giant lump that had risen in my throat and threatened to choke me. “Who—what—are you?”
The rotund figure bowed from the waist, pushing up the edge of his cap back onto his forehead in a quick gesture. “Ah’m sorry. Should have interduced meself, seeing as you were kind enough to follow my instructions to release me from my prison. I’m what’s known as the ‘darker side’ of one of folklore’s most beloved figures. Some know him as Saint Nick, others as Kris Kringle, Sinter Klaus, Pere Noel, but you probably know him best as—”
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