by Mark Teppo
The rain of festive snow drifted toward us. I stepped out of the way, and Mrs. C raised her face as the rain fell upon her pale cheeks. The red and green glistened on her skin as it brought color back to her face. She lifted her hands, cradling the glittering rain. "Come back," she whispered. "Come back to me." Rudolph and I belched in unison, and she smiled again. "Come home, Santa."
She opened her mouth, taking in a long, deep breath, and the rain stopped, the last glittering motes of red and green vanishing into her mouth. She got younger as I watched, the haggard toll of the last few days falling away from her. She leaned over the bed, carefully cradling Santa's head in her hands. She pressed her lips to his, and what passed between them was all that ever mattered.
She sank back into the chair, leaning on the bed, her hands still touching his still face. Behind me, Rudolph kept burping, but I was holding my breath. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a sign . . .
And I got one finally. Santa's left eyelid fluttered, like a butterfly shaking itself off after a cold night. The right followed suit, and after a few moments, he opened them both and stared up at the ceiling. Finally, his lips parted painfully as if he was remembering how to breathe, and then he coughed—violently and suddenly. It was a dry, grinding noise that sounded like someone was dragging heavy furniture across the carpet a floor below. Dust floated up from his mouth. Or maybe it was the last bit of chilly air fleeing the room. I wasn't entirely sure.
"I don't think . . ." he whispered in dry voice more suited to overly dramatic off-Broadway death scenes. "I don't think I've ever heard a Christmas carol so horribly mutilated . . ."
"What do you know, you tone deaf has-been," Rudolph snorted before belching again.
Santa chuckled, a sound like walnuts rattling in a large wooden bowl. "Ah, Rudolph," he sighed. "I missed you." He turned his head slightly and looked at Mrs. C. He wriggled a hand out from beneath the blankets, and he carefully stroked her hair as if he were afraid that it would melt at his touch. "I missed you all."
She stirred at his touch, raising her head and then sliding forward to press her lips against his. Rudolph nudged me out of the way as he stepped up to the bed. "Get a room, you two," he muttered as he nosed them apart.
Santa laughed. "We have a room," he said. "You two are cramping my style." He reached up and grabbed the base of one of Rudolph's antlers, and before the reindeer could pull away, Santa hauled himself up and kissed Rudolph.
Mrs. C kissed me. I, shamelessly, kissed her back.
When else was I going to have the chance?
Santa caught me laying some lip on his wife, and he laughed. His first laugh sounded like an old tire deflating on the shoulder of a hot summer highway. He coughed heavily and tried again. The second sounded like he had just been out of practice. And the third?
Well, it sounded like Santa Claus.
I wandered away from the bedside before Rudolph got all caught up in the moment and tried to kiss me too. "It's not all good news," I said sadly. "We lost a couple bucks. Prancer and Ring didn't make it back."
A dark shadow flickered in Santa's eyes. "The Residence? The elves?"
"They're all gone," Rudolph said. "Run off by a nefarious agency."
"We're under Holy—" The words died in my throat as I looked at Rudolph. "Nefarious?" I repeated, my brain working overtime. "It's not . . . ?"
Rudolph snorted. "God?" He shook his head. "Not His style. This was—"
"Treachery," I finished for him.
"A nasty bit of lying, I was going to say," Rudolph said. "But sure, treachery works too."
"The ninth circle of hell," I breathed. "The last circle. The noose, tightened down so far we can barely breathe."
Santa looked back and forth between us. "Would someone like to tell me what is going on? Are the elves gone or not?"
"Oh, they're gone," I said. "That's for certain. In fact, that might be the only thing that is true . . ." I nodded as I slowly shrugged my way out of the ruined thermal suit. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked Rudolph.
"Blitzen knew," Rudolph said. "But then, he's the one who has not only read Paradise Lost, he's memorized it. It just took him awhile to remember where he'd heard that angel's name before."
XVI
Ramiel was waiting for me. I navigated around the pocked holes that Ring's bombs had left in the thick concrete of the roof. Ramiel's lawn chair sat a little crookedly, one of its legs prematurely shortened, and there was no sign of the little lean-to that had sheltered the angel previously.
Ramiel rose out of the chair as soon as he saw me. "You've transgressed again against the host," he started, waggling a finger at me. A finger on his right hand, the one that had been melted off the last time I had seen him.
I held up a hand of my own in apology. "It was a mistake. We shouldn't have tried to drive you off your post." I took a deep breath. "It was a stupid, immature thing to do. I'm sorry."
My apology caught him off guard, and he stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "Apology accepted," he said finally.
I held out the package I was holding in my other hand. "I brought you something," I said. "I know we're under quarantine and all, but what's a little present between friends, right?" I gave him my best innocent expression. I had scrubbed some of the grime off my face and had thrown a parka over my rather insufficient winter wardrobe.
Ramiel softened. "Of course," he smiled as he took the package. "In fact, I've forgotten all about whatever it was that we were talking about a moment ago."
"I can't remember either," I said.
He raised the package to his ear and shook it gently. "You shouldn't have," he simpered.
I unzipped my parka casually as he tore at the wrapping paper. I had raided Mrs. C's stash, swiping some of the stuff she had been saving for special occasions. This probably qualified. I figured she wouldn't mind.
Ramiel ripped the paper free from the narrow box and tossed it aside. The box was a plain white one, stamped on the bottom with a manufacturer's seal. He checked. Predictably. "Ah," he said. "Hallmark."
"Nothing but the best." I gave him a wide grin.
He popped the box open and took out the smaller cube resting inside. He looked at inquisitively, idly discarding the now empty white box as carelessly as he had the wrapping paper. He found the tiny crank on the side and carefully wound it. I had pre-wound it downstairs. I didn't want his attention wandering while he cranked the box. The crank went around twice before the top popped open and a tiny figure of an angel on a spring danced out. Ramiel gave a little cry of surprise, and then laughed.
I chuckled along with him. My hand rested inside my open coat.
The laugh died in his throat as he looked closely at the figure. I had stuck a sticker on the front of the angel's robe. It read: Satan inside.
"What's this?" the angel growled.
"It's an old joke," I explained. "I'm sorry I couldn't find one of the actual stickers that were all the rage back in the last millennium." I shrugged. "But last millennium, you know. These jokes come and go so fast. I'm not surprised you don't remember it."
"I do not like your jokes, elf," Ramiel snarled.
"Yeah, well, I'm not too fond of yours either," I said. "Game's up, chuckle-head. I know who you're working for."
"I'm one of the heavenly host. I report directly to God."
I shook my head. "You haven't talked to God in a long time. You switched sides, Ramiel. Someone took roll. You were listed as one of Satan's agents a long time ago."
I had checked in the library before I came up. Milton had been quite specific. . . . the violence of Ramiel scorch'd and blasted, overthrew. Good old blind John, taking really good notes when it mattered.
"I've been on a little field-trip, Ramiel. Went down to see your boss." A wry grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. "He's pissed. And not just because we stomped through his daisies." I thought of Prancer's skull and antlers in my hand. The least of Satan's worries was the condition of his flowerbeds.
He was going to remember the consequences of killing a reindeer for a long time.
Ramiel was making a noise like the sound of a hundred lions feeding.
I kept talking. I had thought that my knees would have been quaking with fear. But the memory of busting Satan's face up brought with it a certain amount of starch to my backbone. "I heard you got a little wet," I continued, taunting Ramiel. Wondering how far I could push him. "Must have been miserable for a fire-breathing scorcher like yourself to have been forced to take a swim in the Arctic Ocean."
He was growing already, his shoulders and head elongating as his rage filled his form.
"One little reindeer manages to dunk a Demonic Lieutenant." I voiced a low whistle. "How's that going to look on your yearly review?"
His joints began popping, swelling and splitting as he relinquished his angelic guise. He towered over me—nearly ten meters tall already and festooned with spikes and ridges and bony knobs. His mouth was so enormous, I could easily fit inside and comfortably take stock of all of his teeth. Many of which were longer than my arm. His eyes were pinwheels of fire, and black ichor dripped from his mouth. "It doesn't matter, elf," he hissed. "My master has taken the spirit of this place. Christmas is no more."
He roared at me then, lowering his face and blasting me with the full brunt of his brimstone-reeking breath. His nails clicked like old bones rattling as he reached for me.
I held my ground, exhaling slowly through my nose. I lifted my hand from my coat so that he could see the other thing I had brought up to the roof. I raised the second pistol that Rudolph had given me and sighted carefully up at the demon's face. My hands were warm and dry against the cold grip.
"Consider this the Resurrection," I said as I squeezed the trigger.
XVII
They came in a gentle falling of feathers. One instant, I was all alone on the rooftop with the frozen shape of Ramiel, and the next, I had visitors. I turned casually, tucking the cold pistol back into my coat. There were two of them, and they looked just like I remembered: flowing robes, wings, pearly smiles, and nametags. Michael, one read. The other one said Gabriel.
"Nice to see some real members of the Rank," I said.
Michael hadn't changed, though I would have been surprised if he had. It was the rest of us who lived lifetimes between visits. He came with a nicer disposition this time. And without his flaming sword. "There is no Quarantine," he said in a tone that didn't quite match the jovial coffee shop voice I had heard last year—but it also wasn't the doomier voice he had used on us on our way out of purgatory.
I nodded. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out."
Gabriel floated up to the frozen statue and buried his fist in the creature's chest with a chunking sound like burying an ax in a block of wood. His wings stretched and bunched, and he and the frozen demon glided up into the air. I watched until they were only a tiny dot in the sky. "There's a lesson there," I said to Michael. "You should be able to tell the real thing right away. They aren't much for conversation."
Michael wandered across the rooftop, his slender hand touching the taut wire of the helium angel balloon. "There are a number of lessons," he said. A line of fire ran from his fingers. It streaked up the line, and the floating angel exploded in a rush of light.
My face was still turned towards the sky, and the retinal burn of the exploding balloon faded slowly from my field of vision. "Yeah," I murmured, "There's been a couple."
"You understand now, don't you?"
I nodded. "Satan tried to capitalize on our weakness, on our lack of faith. He set us up from the beginning, didn't he? I should have known it was too easy to hack in to purgatory from the coffee shop. You had a security leak, didn't you? But you couldn't do anything about it until he used it. Only then could you seal up your network. Only then could you lock him out, once and for all."
Michael might have shrugged. It was hard to tell. Damn angelic inscrutability. "And afterward, Satan knew what would happen. He knew we'd be vulnerable. He knew we would be wondering what would happen after we had gone to purgatory. It was just like the firewall, wasn't it? We gave him the opening, and he crept in and tried to steal what meant most to us. And he almost succeeded."
I thought of Ring's valiant struggle on the raft to realize his dream. I remembered Prancer singing carols as we crossed the desert in hell, and how I wouldn't hear that voice again. "I don't like being used like that," I said. "But that's the price of the miracle we performed last year, isn't it?" I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I don't much care for that either."
"You aren't meant to. We live by Old Testament rules, Bernard. Those of us outside the normal realms must abide by the strictest laws."
"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Is that it?"
The angel nodded.
"But you're not taking it back," I said. "And so that means we can do it again, can't we? If we wanted to. We could perform another miracle for Christmas. And you'd let us. But I get it now. There's a price to be paid for such things. We bring a soul back down; you get to take one up."
"Exactly."
"But we gave you two," I said, my voice starting to shake. "We gave you Ring and Prancer. Two reindeer died on this trip."
Michael shook his head gently, a smile ghosting across his lips. "No, Bernard. Only one."
There was a squeal from the sky, and a shape fell right down to the rooftop, scattering snow as he landed with a clumsy thump. I stared, unable to believe what I was seeing. He looked . . . he looked so washed and groomed.
Ring bounded across the roof and bumped into me. "Lookit. Lookit," he squeaked. "They let me keep the scar." He showed me his flank and the vaguely star-shaped pattern of Satan's hand against his skin.
I threw my arms around the frenzied reindeer and hugged him tightly. Ring squirmed out of my embrace and bounded away to examine the rain of destruction he had dropped on the rooftop.
"I don't understand," I said, wiping at my face.
Michael watched the young reindeer wrestle with a sheet of bubble wrap that had survived the bombing run. "We couldn't keep him. He wasn't in heaven five minutes before he tried to jump the gates and come back here. I don't think we could have stopped him." The angel offered another inscrutable movement of his shoulders. "Maybe we could have. Once or twice, but not more than that. He wanted something too badly to let his soul rest. He wanted something we couldn't give him."
I nodded. "Yeah, I know what he wanted. I can't say I blame him."
The angel looked at me, something akin to the color of surprise darkening his eyes. "Belief is a powerful thing, isn't it, Bernard Rosewood?"
I looked him dead in the eye. "Especially when someone tries to take it away from you."
He lifted his eyes towards heaven. "Yes," he said, his voice almost too soft to hear. "I know. I know very well."
I looked up. A rain was falling on the North Pole. A rain of angels of all sizes and shapes. They fell from the sky and landed on the rooftop of the Residence and on the snow-covered Pole. Ring bounded up to a small cherub that alighted on the bent edge of Ramiel's forgotten lawn chair. The tiny angel's wings buzzed apprehensively, but he held still while the young reindeer sniffed him.
Michael was offering something to me. It was my hat—the goofy one that Rudolph had given me in hell. I had lost it—somewhere, I couldn't even remember where. "You've still got a lot of work to do this year," the angel said. "We thought you could use a little help getting back on schedule."
I took the cap from him. "I'll do my best."
He nodded. "I know you will." His wings unfurled.
"No miracles."
"That would be nice." His wings moved like the sails of a gigantic ship, and he lifted gracefully from the rooftop. I noticed that there weren't any footprints to mark the passage of his presence. "Good night, Bernard Rosewood, and good luck."
"Merry Christmas," I shouted after him as he flew into the night.
Ring glanced up from the sheet of bubble wrap he
had been stomping. "Merry Christmas," he shouted joyously. He dashed towards the edge of the roof, stopping before he fell off. He looked out at the angels falling on the North Pole. "Merry Christmas to all," he yelled, "And to all a year of good cheer." He scampered past me again, giggling and kicking at the snow.
I rubbed my jaw. "Good night," I said to myself. "‘And to all a good night.'" I looked down at the reindeer figure on the front of the hat, and then at the letters that were stitched across the back. SECO. Senior Elf in Charge of Operations. I traced my finger along the stitching. Rudolph hadn't done it, but I knew who had.
Mrs. C.
I had given Santa my word once, but it hadn't been enough to keep me here.
But Mrs. C was the one who had stayed with Rudolph. She had believed in him when he had been lost. And she had believed in me too, even when I hadn't known how lost I was.
Michael was right: there was a lot to do. Santa was going to have to be double-stuffing the calories to get himself up to optimum weight. The elves would have to be retrieved. Probably with a promise of hazard pay. We were going to have to find out who was better at snapping LEGOs together—the cherubs or the seraphim. A new sled was going to have to be built.
Ring bumped into me again. I made a grab at his tail as he danced around me.