Pausing above the onlookers, he raised his hands in benediction. “To the extent possible, be blessed, o ye shades. Go thy ways. Our fight is finished. Both won. Both lost.”
The shades stretched forth their bony arms in supplication, one great moan of despair sighing from millions of throats.
“Sorry. I’m not authorized to—”
Realizing that no words would suffice to ease their suffering, he rose from their midst, speeding swift as thought toward heaven. But halfway there, a new call came.
Jeepers, what now? Relief gave way to exasperation, fully felt in a most unheavenly way. But what the hell, he had accepted his trickster side and all that went with it.
Earthward he sped once more, regretting that he had put himself at the Easter Bunny’s beck and call.
Chapter 39. Wendy and Rachel in Trouble
THE EASTER BUNNY HAD BEEN too het up to sleep.
Jazzed by memories of the Divine Mother and the night just passed, he had stroked the velvet strap of the heavenly pouch hanging on the wall. Now he slipped it over his head, so that it rested like a blessing against his back. The thrill of miracle and privilege once more filled his breast. About the burrow he zoomed, bursting with energy.
Sleep no longer possible, he decided to engage in some innocent voyeurism at the bedroom windows of several non-homophobic couples who had roused one another in the waning hours of night to try a bit of babymaking. There he gawked and gaped, obliging them by giving his nose a twitch at just the right moment for one lucky spermatozoa to be welcomed into a waiting ovum.
On his third such visit, as he observed Anna and Lorenzo Calderon in Taos, New Mexico, the Easter Bunny let two wonderings distract him. He wondered how Santa, whom he had last seen in excruciating pain, was faring. And he wondered why the archangel had not dropped in to give him the heavenly praise he deserved. Perhaps he was being chastised, though he couldn’t imagine for what. Or perhaps his actions this night had so exalted him, that even the top halo-heads stood in awe of him.
Well, he would help out. Two birds, one stone. He had been given permission to summon Michael whenever he wished. And so he did, standing outside the Calderons’ bedroom window, as Lorenzo took a slow hand to his wife's sex and she nibbled on his earlobe.
Beside him hovered the archangel, as invisible and inaudible to the mortal couple as he himself was. “You summoned me?”
The Easter Bunny knew how shamelessly he preened and strutted in manner and voice. Yet how could one so heroic keep from preening and strutting? “I was wondering,” he said, “how Saint Nicholas is doing. At our parting, he seemed on his last legs.”
“You’re concerned.”
“I am.”
“I expect he’ll soon be fine. He died and descended into the underworld. Now, now, there’s no cause for alarm. On the plains of Tartarus, he wrestled with Pan. I flew in from heaven to help but was soon caught up in my own struggle with Hermes. Then the Son came down to show us the way. Santa embraced Pan as his alter ego and sped off to be resurrected at the North Pole. I did something similar with Hermes and was flying heavenward when you summoned me.”
Panic gave way to relief. He nodded, he tut-tutted, he widened his eyes in wonder. “Do tell.”
“Yes.”
Still no praise. Maybe Michael needed a goad. “Santa and I and the little girl did pretty well tonight, I thought.”
“You did indeed.” Michael’s eyes strayed to the couple in the bedroom. “Oh my.”
“Ah, thanks. My mind had wandered.” His nose twitched. “It’ll be a daughter. They’ll call her Maria.”
“Well, if that’s all,” said the angel, “I...”
“What’s wrong?”
Michael scanned the earth. “Santa’s body is still dead. The elves have covered him with flower petals and are making speeches. And his shade is headed for the Tooth Fairy’s island, where Rachel and Wendy are in trouble!”
* * *
Wendy sat terrified on the beach, her limbs bound, her whimpers muffled by a gag so tight it made the back of her head throb. As much as she wanted to look away from Mommy’s battle with the Tooth Fairy, she found it impossible. They clawed at one another, yanked out hair, scored breasts that bled and healed and bled again. Whenever the fight went in Mommy’s favor, the Tooth Fairy’s disgusting imps surged in to poke and pinch her until their mother recovered and renewed her attack.
One of them held back, his leers unconvincing. “Come on, Chuff,” cried the others, cuffing and goading him to act meaner. He was definitely the nicest one. Wendy had seen it from the first. But not nice enough to turn against his brothers and rescue them. Still she was amazed at hints of kindness in him, given his family’s nastiness.
“Well, well,” said the Tooth Fairy, “look who’s joined us.”
Mired in fear, what Wendy saw next brought forth an abrupt surge of hope. “Oh!” she said, which came out “Mm!” For the shade of Santa Claus, his body transparent and the red and black of his suit muted to pinks and grays, had burst up through a sand dune and now surveyed the scene. Wendy thrilled to see him floating in the air, his eyes kind yet powerful. But wasn’t he dead? She glanced north and saw his body lying in state on the commons. Yet here he was as well.
He blew her a kiss. Then his finger flicked the tiniest bit and the gag disintegrated and her bonds fell away.
Wendy tried her mouth. Her arms and legs were stiff from long confinement. Before she could rise, the Tooth Fairy rushed in and bowled her over, her face blotting out the sky.
“Leave her alone,” Mommy shouted, but not before that awful fairy opened her jaws and slammed down, finding Wendy’s front teeth and biting deep into her gums to wrench them free.
Then her attacker was flung back, caught in Santa’s distant gesture. Wendy’s teeth sprouted anew in instantly healed gum tissue. The pain lifted. “You’re immortal,” said Santa, his words a gentle whisper in her ear, though he hovered at the spot he had first appeared. “You have far more power than you imagine. Imagine anew.”
That simple assurance burst Wendy’s internal bonds, so that she threw off her timidity and found that same strength that allowed her mother to sustain bodily injury, secure in the knowledge that swift regeneration would repair all damage. No longer did stiffness hobble her limbs. Being hurt still terrified her, but it was as if she were in a dream and knew she was dreaming and that nothing could ever really hurt her, not permanently. Meanwhile, every wound would remind her that she fought on the side of good. She leaped up and dove into the fray, the imps stunned at her boldness.
Then they too piled in, Santa’s shade as well, and all was a chaos of violence and shouting, of attacking and being attacked, until Wendy could barely see the sky for all the blood and all the bodies colliding and tearing at one another.
* * *
“Trouble? What sort of—?”
The Easter Bunny followed Michael’s gaze. There before him arose the hellish shoreline of his nightmares. Erased memories flooded into his mind. Santa had shown him this past shame, but once more he had forgotten. How he had flown to the Tooth Fairy’s island to snitch on Santa Claus, telling her of Santa’s preference for the mortal woman Rachel, the very woman whose flesh she now scored. And how the Tooth Fairy had ravished him, turning the sand red until he agreed to be her henchman, to spy on Santa and help her harm his loved ones, even Wendy’s kitten Snowball.
“Dear me,” he said, placing a paw, its leather chilly with fright, against one cheek as he watched the pitched battle. “You’ve got to help them.”
“I can’t. The Father’s got me on a tight leash. No more interventions unless he expressly commands it.” The Easter Bunny was shocked to see Michael’s confidence flag. Then a peculiar look, the bold look of the trickster, stole across the archangel’s face. “You, of course, are under no such constraint.”
“Goodness gracious, what could I do?” Inside, Anna and Lorenzo Calderon had settled back into sleep.
Panic s
eized him. “The Tooth Fairy will be apoplectic. Fighting’s simply not my style. For all my stature, at heart I’m just a sweet little bunny rabbit, more fit for kootchy-koo than clash and clobber. I could never strike anyone. Though I suppose, if push came to shove, I could shoulder the imps away from Wendy and her mom and...well I guess Santa’s shade doesn’t need defending, though even with his powers, naughty appears to be triumphing ever so slightly over nice.”
“They could use reinforcements. There, you see? The jolly old elf’s calling me again. You go instead. I’m forbidden.”
“But how could I possibly help? I mean, other than chittering nervously, clearing my throat, and saying, ‘Unhand that woman, you vile creature,’ I don’t see what—”
But as he spoke, he observed his right paw idly stroking the plush velvet strap at his chest, and an idea came full-blown into his head. The chocolate eggs from this pouch were anathema to the Tooth Fairy and her imps. Why not simply—?
“You’re on to something, I see.”
“I am. But there’s no time to explain. I’ve got to go. All due haste, you know. Your help? It’s been...helpful. Oh, most. Have a safe journey heavenward. Give my regards to the blissful folk and to the harp strummers. Wish me luck. I’m off. Oh wait, what if this no longer works?” He gestured behind him and at once a huge chocolate egg appeared between his paws. “Good. This one belongs to you, o angelic friend. Take, eat, indulge. All right, this time I’m really off.”
With that, the Easter Bunny shot past Michael, hurtling in a beeline toward the island of his onetime lover and dominatrix.
* * *
Santa knew the frustration of the disembodied. Though he was distinctly visible and audible to all and felt as much proprioceptive presence as in life, down to breathing, sweating, and the occasional urge to belch or fart, blows passed harmless through him. A slow-learning imp who dove at him ended in a sprawling heap on the sand. But that went both ways; he found himself incapable of laying hands on any of the attackers.
Moreover, though his finger flicks were powerful indeed and he could mold them minutely to his designs, the Tooth Fairy and her imps adapted quickly to them, coming back almost as soon as they were flung off. And he was unable to deliver his gestures as fast as the fight demanded. They needed time to recharge. But with fourteen assailants who, no matter how far inland or how high into the sky he threw them, surged swiftly back into the fray, he could but diminish slightly the attacks on Rachel and Wendy.
They fought valiantly. Wendy especially showed a ferocity he would not have thought she possessed. But then she was fighting to defend her mother, as her mother defended her in return.
At one point, he said, “Michael, we need you.”
But no archangel appeared.
I’m a shade, he thought. I guess he’s under no obligation. Oh, but he came at my summons on the plains of Tartarus. Maybe he’s still fighting there. Maybe he lost.
That thought sobered him.
Whatever the reason, Santa couldn’t afford to be distracted from defending his loved ones. He hovered just above the fray, a dim shade in dismal air, gesturing to repel the worst attacks, his eyes darting between daughter and wife.
“That’s it, Wendy,” he shouted, “toss the bastard off.”
But inside, Santa harbored doubts. Fourteen against three was horrendous odds, especially when the imps, all but a half-hearted one with a prognathous jaw and the look of a halfwit, attacked with such vicious glee, and Rachel and Wendy (and, dare he admit it, himself) were good-hearted souls fierce in defending those they loved but not quite as fierce as their adversaries. The scales had begun to tip in favor of the bad folks. He knew from recent experience that there was a limit to his immortal strength. And no archangel, no reinforcements of any kind, had come.
But as he teetered on the edge of despair, through the sky came careening what seemed at first a bit of fluff. Then that fluff grew bulk. It sprouted paws and hind legs, a furry head and tall pointy ears pressed flat against its skull from the swiftness of its flight, and two righteous red eyes ablaze with the fires of helpfulness and goodwill. One who had acted shamefully now acted nobly, carrying on his philanthropic activities earlier that evening.
The Easter Bunny paused beside Santa.
“Where’s the rest of you?” he said with a wink, but stayed not for an answer. Ahead he flew, not into the melee but above it. He gestured to his pack and a large chocolate egg sprang into his grasp, expertly bobbled and balanced, though his pace never slackened.
* * *
Chuff knew there’d be hell to pay once this fight was over.
He had always been the odd imp out. But not until this moment had he called it quits on wicked deeds. His brothers and his mother kicked and cuffed him out of his inaction. At first, he kept up the façade, zooming in to brush past the girl or her mother, then darting away. But in the thick skull that encased his brain, there dawned a glimmer of decency, though he could not name the alien feeling.
It came down to role models. Though he felt a perverse loyalty to his wretched family, he sensed nobility in these creatures from the North Pole and revulsion at the riot and rot surrounding them. Santa’s shade had more integrity, more kindness, in its little finger than any of Chuff’s family.
So when the Easter Bunny showed up, Chuff stood slack-jawed in awe. And when the first imp-high egg thumped into the sand, big end down, he forgot to breathe. His brothers skidded to a halt, their faces wrinkled in distaste and panic. Then they scampered away from the egg. A dozen more swiftly followed, making an all but complete circle around the woman, her daughter, and the sleigh the woman had arrived in. Into the last gap in the circle, the largest egg of all made a resounding thunk, with all the finality of a portcullis rumbling down for good.
The aroma of milk chocolate filled the air. But these eggs were more than mere confection. They threatened annihilation, or rather a leap from one’s familiar self to a self unknown—death, and the promise (who could say how valid?) of rebirth.
One egg in particular called to Chuff. Each imp fixed upon an egg, repelled by it even as he drooled for it. Inside the protective circle, the woman and her daughter hobbled together toward the sleigh. Santa’s shade swooped in to encourage them.
“Don’t let them escape,” shouted the Tooth Fairy, unable to penetrate the force field the ring of eggs had created. “Bastard!” she shouted at the Easter Bunny, a look of smugness plastered across his puss, “take those things away.”
She flew at him, gripped his floppy ears, and wrenched them off at the roots. They fluttered like dead flounders to the sand. But a new pair at once sprouted from the sockets. He darted from her grasp, ducking and dodging and weaving until she gave up the chase and turned her attention below.
Now or never, thought Chuff, making his decision.
“Out of my way,” he yelled, strong-arming his brothers aside and surging toward his egg. In the blink of an eye, he devoured every last morsel, down to the sculpted lace decorations, taking a heady whiff of the divine air inside the shell. His vile acts and urges passed before him, acknowledged and forgiven, and he was utterly transformed.
But his quick communion had opened a breach in the circle.
“Hold your noses, boys,” shouted the Tooth Fairy, “stop them!”
He was determined to stand his ground. Behind him, Santa’s shade urged his loved ones along. But they were only halfway to the sleigh. When his brothers surged in, Chuff kicked, clawed, and battered them for all he was worth. His mother swooped down to strike him, but he fought back for the first time in his life and it felt grand.
He glanced over his shoulder. Mother and daughter had gained the sleigh, Rachel desperately groping for the elusive reins and yelling to the white doe to take off. My one chance, thought Chuff, abandoning his post at last. He sprinted toward the sleigh, his brothers nipping at his heels. He put on a burst of speed, but the sleigh was moving too fast. He leaped and missed. Then he glimpsed Santa’s finger
-flick and felt an extra push that tumbled him over the trailing lip into the back seat. The sleigh bucked and bobbled as his brothers made a grab for its runners, their fists closing on air as the sleigh swiftly rose out of reach.
The shouts that skirled up past Chuff’s ears fell away in the distance. Wendy’s face flared in panic at the sight of him, but she looked deep into him and chose to smile instead. Rachel took even less time to accept him. “Hold on, you two,” she said, “we’re not out of the woods yet.”
But, miracle of miracles, no one pursued them.
* * *
Santa’s heart leaped at the turn of events. Up flew Rachel and Wendy and the imp who had helped them escape. The remaining twelve, disheartened, were not as quick on the uptake as before. The handful that tried to fly after the sleigh he finger-flicked away with ease.
Some forgot his permeability and turned their attacks on him, darting through him and knocking one another senseless. Others went after the Easter Bunny. But he, a seasoned flyer indeed, shot out of sight, pursued in vain by a small band of stragglers.
The Tooth Fairy rose into a rage, barking incomprehensible orders at her remaining sons, half of whom cast barbs of ill will ineffectually about, while the rest stared hypnotically at their designated egg.
I ought to be getting back into my body, thought Santa. Then a pang of anxiety lanced through him. Would he be able to resurrect? Or would he arrive and be naught but corpse and shade immiscible, the joys of corporeal existence—the feasting, the hugs, the pipe, the bed—forever denied him? There was but one way to find out. With luck, he would commingle spirit with flesh and revive in time for sunrise.
He dove into the sand and beelined toward the North Pole, solid rock yielding to his desire to reach home as quickly as he could manage.
Chapter 40. Sour Grapes, Sorrows O’erturned
NEVER HAD SUCH RAGE consumed the Tooth Fairy.
Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes Page 29