by Drew Hayes
* * *
Mr. Transport’s hands felt sweaty as he appeared at the home of Hershel and Roy Daniels. This was the final stop of the day; he’d already deposited Mary in the quiet suburb where her parents resided. Since there was no geographic limitation to where he teleported, the order in which he dispensed his charges had been entirely up to him. It was for this reason he’d chosen to leave Vince and Hershel for last, and it factored in greatly to the phantom sensation of sweat saturating his palms despite their dry status.
“Hey, Mom,” Hershel greeted, dropping his bag on the ground and embracing his mother in a strong hug.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Daniels,” Vince said politely. The seemingly docile woman had threatened him with extensive bodily harm if he dared try to spend Christmas on his own as he had last year. He often wondered how a single woman could exude both fastidious decorum and soul-rending intimidation. Had he grown up in the south, he would have understood.
“So good to see both of you,” Ms. Daniels said warmly. “Thank you for bringing them by, Mr. Transport.”
“Always a pleasure,” Mr. Transport replied. “If you have a moment, I wanted to speak with you on coordinating their return trip.”
“Of course. Boys, why don’t you bring your bags up to Hershel’s room and we can see about getting supper started?”
Vince and Hershel complied automatically, dragging their suitcases up the stairs in a flurry of quick movements that only the young and enthusiastic can manage so easily.
“Class resumes on the sixth for them, so I assume you’ll want to pick them up on the fifth,” Ms. Daniels said, a good measure of the warmth leaving her voice as the boys vacated the room. “Or is there an HCP activity they need to be back early for?”
“No, it runs parallel with the actual Lander schedule so the fifth should be fine.” Mr. Transport licked his lips, which had suddenly become strangely dry. There was no putting it off any longer; if he wanted to take action he had to strike now. He wouldn’t likely get a better opportunity. “Actually, there was something else I wanted to speak with you on.”
“Oh? Anything to do with last year’s incident?”
“Nothing like that. I was just wondering if you’d allow me to take you out to dinner.”
Ms. Daniels was not an easily surprised woman, yet the wide-eyed look across her face said quite clearly that Mr. Transport had succeeded in catching her off-guard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want to take you on a date, if you’re willing,” Mr. Transport reiterated.
“May I ask what motivated this? Our interactions have not exactly been cordial.”
“Curiously, that’s a good part of why I’m asking you out. My job makes sustaining a relationship very difficult. In my experience, it only has a chance of working with strong, capable women. Plus, I do find you rather attractive.”
Ms. Daniels didn’t blush: she hadn’t done anything so juvenile in many years. She did, however, mentally move a step back and take a fresh look at Mr. Transport. He was tall and lean, a bit more haggard than she liked her men, truthfully. He did cut a nice figure in the hand-tailored black suit, and she was long beyond the mindset that physicality was the only factor that mattered in a possible partner. With the exception of the mountain training, he’d done an excellent job of looking over the children, and Vince had spoken to her over the summer of the great risk he took in helping save Hershel. He seemed a nice enough sort, and the teleportation ability probably meant they could go somewhere other than the god-awful Italian restaurant around the corner.
“Let’s exchange phone numbers,” Ms. Daniels said at last. “I’ll have my hands full with Hershel, Roy, and Vince over the break, but afterward I could probably find a free night for dinner.”
Despite the fact that his hands were still quite dry, Mr. Transport still nearly dropped his cell phone in his hurry to pull it free from his pants pocket.
89.
There was no snow in southern California on Christmas day; in fact, Charles Adair found himself fiddling with the air conditioning as he settled down to work in his study. It was a rare holiday indeed that allowed Charles to be at home; however, on this occasion his meetings had lined up in a way that it made the most sense to work from his mansion for a few days. There was a Christmas tree in the foyer and some lights along the railing, but that had all been put up by a service Charles paid for maintenance and decoration. Charles had no concern for Christmas beyond the fact that it meant his American business contacts were out of commission for a few days. He was not a festive man. Not since a great many years ago.
Charles worked through the morning without pause, taking care of documents that had accumulated over the past few weeks. Some needed review, others authorization, but all were of exceptional importance. If they weren’t then they never would have made it all the way to his large, expensive desk. His pen scratched across the papers as the clock ticked away. Charles paid it no concern; he threw himself into his work as he always had. He was so engrossed that it would have been impossible for him to say how long he been at it before he was interrupted by a sound at his door. Charles paused his writing and glanced up to deal with the disturbance.
As soon as his eyes fell upon the door, Charles let out a choked, strangled sound from deep in his throat. A ghost stared back at him, her dazzling green eyes accentuated by pink glitter liberally swiped across her eyelids. He felt his mouth open and close repeatedly. Dimly he was aware of a wet sensation in his hand.
“Daddy, did you hear me? They’re going to have lunch ready soon. You should come eat.” Alice gazed at him with concern. She wore a sundress that was wrong for the season and right for the weather. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, drawing all the more attention to the sparkling around her eyes.
“I...yes, of course.” Charles blinked several times and reasserted his grip on reality. On the subject of grips, he realized he’d crushed his pen, the spilling ink accounting for the dampness he’d felt on his hand.
“Are you okay? You look flustered.”
“I’m fine, it’s just the glitter...” Charles shook his head once for good measure and looked about for a towel to wipe his now-stained hand on. “Sorry, Alice, sometimes I forget how much you look like your mother.”
“Did Mom wear glitter?”
Charles laughed, but not with his business appropriate laugh or his boys’ club laugh or even his polite disapproval laugh. Charles Adair let out a genuine expelling of mirth. Alice couldn’t remember ever hearing anything quite like it before.
“She wore glitter all the damned time. I can scarcely remember a day when she didn’t have some on. I tried to get her to ease up a little; it got on everything and was impossible to scrub away. She refused, of course. She used to tell me, ‘Glitter is a form of anti-depressant, because it is impossible to be sad when you twinkle.’”
“That sounds... cheerful.” Alice wasn’t sure what tone her voice had right now. Charles never talked about his deceased wife, and Alice didn’t want him to stop now that he’d let a bit of her memory slip free.
“I suppose it does. To her credit, she might have been right about the glitter. I’ve never known a consistently happier person than your mother.” Charles gave up the search for a towel; he was the only one allowed in this room and he knew he didn’t keep one here. With a minor exertion of will, he changed the ink into water and wiped the moisture off onto his slacks. “I think I will join you for lunch. I’m a bit peckish today.”
“I’ll tell the chefs,” Alice volunteered.
“No, I’ll go with you. I need to get a towel to clean the remaining ink off my desk anyway.” Charles stood from the table and looked at his daughter once more. “It really is shocking how similar you two are. What motivated the eye glitter today, anyway?”
“I got some as a Christmas present from... a friend,” Alice lied. “Since today is a holiday I thought I’d make myself a little extra festive.”
“Well
, it looks good on you,” Charles said. The two left the room and began traversing the mansion’s vast halls as the West Coast sun continued to beat down on the world outside.
* * *
Chicago had plenty of snow and cold for the season, so much so that it easily could have shared with other cities. A fresh inch cascaded down in fierce flurries as two figures trudged their way down the street. One was shorter and husky, the other seemed to have accrued so much snow that it had turned his hair silver. They plodded on methodically, checking street signs at each intersection to make certain they hadn’t lost their way.
“I still can’t believe my cousins knocked all the gravy on the floor,” Hershel mumbled, just barely audible over the persistent wind smacking them in the face.
“They didn’t mean to. They were just playing,” Vince defended.
“Playing in the kitchen near all the bowls where they aren’t allowed.”
“Your mom said all she needed was a base and she could make more in half an hour.”
“I’m not doubting my mother’s culinary abilities nor the willingness of my family to wait. I’m just annoyed because I have to freeze my butt off out here.”
“A quick drink could have let Roy out,” Vince suggested.
Hershel shook his head. “My mom’s side of the family is all normal. They know about Roy, but they’re a little put off by him. Roy tends to act out in situations where he feels like he’s being judged.”
“I take it they don’t get along.”
“There have been some strained holidays.” Hershel said something else, but Vince missed it thanks to a particularly fierce burst of wind. On instinct he turned to look back from where they’d come; Vince’s years wandering had made the ability to retrace steps a survival instinct. What he saw was rows upon rows of distinct houses being drowned out by an ever-thickening shower of white.
Vince squinted his eyes a bit. There was something else there, too, a human figure a block or two back. He couldn’t make out any details, not even a sex, but there was something about the figure that tickled the base of Vince’s brain. He stopped his forward movement and could have sworn the figure stopped walking as well.
“Vince! For the third time, are you okay?”
“Huh?” Vince whipped back around to Hershel, who was looking both concerned and frosty.
“You spaced out on me and kept staring behind us. I thought maybe the cold was getting to you.”
“I thought I saw something.” Vince turned back around, only to find the snow-saturated street was empty save for himself and Hershel. “I guess I was wrong.”
“The light can play some crazy tricks when it bounces off the snow. Let’s hurry and get Mom the flour for the gravy before we really do get lost in this storm,” Hershel said.
“Right.” The two quickened their pace, hurrying toward the store. Several blocks away, two other figures stepped out from the alley beside a house and watched them go. Some moments later there was a bright light that danced across the falling flakes, and then the sidewalk was unoccupied once more.
90.
Nicholas sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the casino; the last vestiges of a superb steak dinner and half a glass of red wine rested in front of him. Normally he would have taken Christmas lunch with Gerry; however, the older man had been swept up in handling a high-roller’s concerns for discretion and security. There wasn’t really anyone else it would be appropriate to mix with; the casino owner’s nephew could be seen buying waitresses drinks and slinking off to their room without issue. Spending a holiday together, that was a level of familiarity that spoke of more closeness than anyone outside of a small circle was privy to.
He heard the chair next to him pull out and the weight settle into it without turning from his view of the slot machines below. There was no need to look: with Gerry occupied, only one other person would have the confidence to sit down at his table unannounced.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Pips.” Nicholas’s eyes still tracked movement on the floor, specifically the movements of a black-haired waitress whose chest was precariously close to spilling out of her blouse.
“Good afternoon yourself, Angel.”
“You know I abhor that nickname.” At last he turned to face her, a slender woman whose face was surprisingly free of her years. She wore a pantsuit and her hair back as usual, and today she had added just a touch of makeup. People often had a fearful image of Ms. Pips based on her reputation; they rarely expected her to look so pleasant or speak so gently. Of course, after meeting her they also didn’t expect her cold-blooded tactics or policies of swift vengeance either, so in a way they were deceived both coming and going.
“Then you shouldn’t go so far out of your way to earn it,” Ms. Pips replied. “It seems the Angel of the Cards dealt Nathaniel quite a trouncing in poker the other night.” A waiter approached their table nervously and set down a glass of white wine. Ms. Pips rarely rested even long enough to sit; when she did there was a standing order for any service staff to have wine in front of her immediately. She nodded her acknowledgement to the waiter, who fled as soon as her piercing eyes were off of him.
“Nathaniel Evers is the same one-trick pony he was four years ago. I’ll admit the glowing orange eyes and creepy demeanor accentuate his power, but I’d hoped by now he would have extended his repertoire a bit.”
“The ability to see people’s fears is still enough to unnerve most players.”
“Please; my fears are the very least of my daily concerns. He’s welcome to them, just so long as I’m welcome to his chips.”
“You took quite a few of them, if reports are accurate.”
Nicholas reached across the table and took a healthy sip of his own wine. “They were.”
“Glad to hear it. Since you performed so well, I went ahead and got you a little Christmas present,” Ms. Pips said, flashing a smile that seemed too small to show so many gleaming teeth.
“Oh?”
“If you take the time to tour the casino today, you’ll find it staffed with every single new female hire I’ve made in the time since you left for school,” Ms. Pips explained.
Nicholas had indeed noticed a few fresh faces treading across the floor below, but he hadn’t yet noted the extensive lack of familiar ones. He cast his eyes back down to the casino and allowed a smile of his own to bloom across his face.
“Now I feel bad. I didn’t get you anything.”
“You crushed and humiliated that Evers boy in front of everyone,” Ms. Pips reminded him.
“Yes, but I took pleasure in that.”
“Not nearly as much as I did.” Ms. Pips finished her glass of wine and rose from the table. “I’ve got to get back to work. Do try to use a little self-restraint today. You’ve still got two weeks here and you can be a bit boorish when you run out of new distractions.”
“I’ll pace myself.”
Ms. Pips left it at that and turned back to her own matters. The boy would do as he wished; that was prerogative of those who served the family well. She was sure he’d go through more than was prudent; he was always so energetic on his first few weeks back home. Truthfully, Ms. Pips was impressed he’d managed to quell his appetite enough to stay in character while off at college. That was her nephew for you; just when you thought you’d found a weak point in his defenses, you discovered he’d refortified it years ago.
* * *
Mary sat in the thick heat of her trailer as a thin dusting of snow fell across her forest. She’d spent some time with her parents, but today the rest of the extended family was over. Though Mary could stop the influx of thoughts now, she hadn’t possessed that talent when she was younger. As a result she’d heard how they felt about her when she was growing up. There was something disconcerting for a child to see a smiling face offering presents and yet to hear them pitying her poor parents for having birthed such a freak. Mary didn’t spend time around them now; she hadn’t since she left home.
She sat in the str
eaming sunlight of a window with her bear perched on her lap. She’d waffled between reading a book and doing some of the practice techniques Professor Stone had taught her. In the end she’d settled on the book, if for no other reason than she felt the holiday entitled her to at least one day of laziness.
Dimly she was beginning to grow aware that she was a bit bored out here. Before Lander the silence had been paradise, but after a year and a half of living at Melbrook, plus a summer with Alice, Mary suspected she’d grown used to the sound of perpetual chaos. In a small part of her heart this saddened her: quiet had always been her refuge and she loathed to see it lose that quality. Most of her was happy with the discovery, after some time to mull it over. Mary had spent her whole life watching people find happiness by being around one another, a feat she had envied but never been able to replicate. Now, all this time later, she’d gone and gained the ability herself without even noticing it.
If there were any better Christmas present in all the world, Mary couldn’t have told you what it was.
91.
“Uncle!” A dark-haired young sprite of a girl came racing down the driveway, pigtails bouncing behind her with every over-enthusiastic step. Mr. Numbers didn’t even break his pace; he swept the girl into his arms with one fluid motion and gave her a solid squeeze. She hugged him back, gripping his strong neck for all she was worth.
“Hey there, Carmen. How’s my favorite niece doing?”
“I’m your only niece!”
“That’s why you’re my favorite.”
The front door Carmen had burst out of remained open; a woman only a year or two younger than Mr. Numbers stood just inside of it. She smiled as he made his way up the driveway, giving him a much gentler embrace designed to show affection without crushing her daughter.
“Glad you could make it, Luke.”
“Come on, Sara. You know I never miss a Christmas when I can help it.” He set the small girl down with some effort then reached into the small suitcase he’d kept gripped in his free hand. “Now then, can someone tell me where the presents go?”