“I think we should get to the Mortensens’ before it gets much later,” said Carter mildly. “I’m sure those girls have respectable bedtimes.”
I stood up, knowing we’d get nothing else from him. “I have to drop Roman off at home first. Then we can go over there.”
“How are you going to get me in to see her?” asked Carter. “It’ll be a little weird bringing in a stranger to a sick woman’s bedroom. Do you want me to go invisibly?”
I’d been about to suggest that very thing when a new idea struck me. I gave Carter a once-over. “Have you ever wanted to put on a Santa suit?”
“I have always wanted to do that,” said Carter gravely.
Roman groaned.
Once I explained the situation to Carter, however, he was totally on board. In fact, he told me not to worry about the costume arrangements and promised to meet me at Terry’s in an hour, once I’d had a chance to drop Roman off. As soon as we were in the privacy of the parking lot, Carter vanished into thin air.
“I hope he doesn’t get an outfit from wherever it is he normally does his shopping,” I mused to Roman as we drove. “We don’t want a hobo Santa. Although, if Ian’s there, he’d probably approve and say we were breaking out of the mainstream’s iron grip.”
“Goddamned hipsters,” said Roman. He leaned his head against the car’s window. “You’re rolling the dice a little with Carter, but something tells me he won’t mess this up, not for a bunch of girls with a sick mother. He’s an angel, after all. He’s got to earn his keep somehow.”
“And thank goodness he doesn’t have any hang-ups about Santa being at more than one place at the same time,” I joked. “No space–time contradictions there.”
Roman jerked up so fast, I nearly slammed on the brakes, thinking I was about to hit something. Half a second later, I realized whatever had startled him was in his own head.
“Oh God,” he said.
“What?” I asked, acting like him earlier. “What did you just think of?”
“I think . . . I think I’ve figured this out.” There was awe in his voice.
“What? This mystery we’ve been beating our heads against? We already figured it out.”
Roman shook his head, wide-eyed. “No . . . oh, Jesus. Georgina, if I’m right . . . how do I even prove if I am?” He leaned back in dismay. “How do I get proof?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I demanded.
“No. Not yet. Just drop me off, and we’ll talk when you’re done. I have to figure this out.”
There wasn’t much that was more infuriating than that. I hated having the lure of a secret being dangled before me. I hated the “I’ll tell you later” stance. But no matter how much I badgered him, he refused to say any more. With Carter on his way to Terry’s, I couldn’t linger long over Roman. I had to get to Lake Forest Park first. With much grumbling, I left Roman to his machinations, after first warning him that he’d better be ready to spill when I got home later.
When I arrived at the Mortensens’ soon thereafter, I was relieved to see that Seth was around and that all the girls were still awake. Recalling Carter’s joke, I’d worried on my drive over that it might be past the littler ones’ bedtime. Most of them were in their pajamas, but it was clear from their excited reaction to me that sleep was the farthest thing from their mind. Returning their hugs, I couldn’t help but imagine their response when the real act showed up.
Only Brandy stayed on the couch when the others hugged me. She still smiled and nodded in greeting, but there was a haunted, hollow look that hadn’t been there yesterday during our outing. My heart ached for her. After letting her have her night out, they must have told her the truth today about her mom. I sat down on the other end of the couch.
“Did you have fun last night?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It was okay.”
“Do you want to see the pictures?” asked Kendall excitedly. She nudged Brandy. “Show her!”
Smiling at her sister’s enthusiasm, Brandy produced her cell phone and gave it to me to scroll through. It was filled with the kinds of pictures girls her age like to take, group shots of her and her friends crowded in, some with silly faces. I was pleased to see that it looked like any other school dance. I hadn’t been sure what to expect from a church. The shots of her in particular were stunning. Margaret had done a good job with the French twist. One picture showed Brandy grinning next to a cute boy with sandy blond hair. He looked like a smart surfer. I glanced over at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. She nodded.
“Nice,” I said.
A knock at the door brought everyone’s excited chatter to a halt. Terry looked up in surprise from where he’d been leafing through a picture book with McKenna. “Who on earth is that?” He glanced around the room, as though doing a head count to make sure anyone who might possibly stop by was already here. I suppose with that many daughters, there was always the risk of losing track of one. Ian, Margaret, Seth, and I were also accounted for. There weren’t too many others who would drop in unannounced.
“I don’t know,” I said cheerfully. “Seth, why don’t you answer the door and see?”
Seth immediately picked up on the tone in my voice. He shot me a questioning look but walked over to the door anyway. He turned the knob and leaped back in astonishment when Carter burst in through the door.
Well, I was taking it on faith that it was Carter, based on our earlier conversation. Because really, the man who entered the living room looked nothing like the disreputable angel I knew. In fact, he didn’t look like any of the Santas I knew. He looked better. There was magic in the way he moved his round frame. His red suit seemed to shimmer, and his rosy cheeks looked like he’d just come in from the North Pole, not a dreary Seattle winter.
He had out-Santa’ed Santa.
“Ho ho ho!” he bellowed, in a voice that filled the entire house. “Merry Christmas!”
Dead silence and wide eyes met him for a few moments. Then Kendall and the twins began squealing in delight as they ran over to him. “Santa! Santa!”
“What are you doing here?” demanded Kendall. “You aren’t contractually obligated to come here until Christmas Eve.”
“True,” he said in a booming voice that I still couldn’t believe was Carter’s. “But I have to find out what you want for Christmas, don’t I?”
This was met with more oohs and ahhs, and the twins urged him to sit down on the couch. Brandy scrambled out of the way, and Kendall immediately took her turn first, claiming Santa’s lap.
Margaret and Terry looked like they were going to burst into tears. Ian looked dumbfounded. Seth caught my arm and pulled me to the side.
“Is that one of the guys you work with?” he whispered.
I grinned. “In a manner of speaking. It’s Carter.”
Seth did a double take, wearing the amazement I’d felt earlier. “Really? But how . . . I mean . . . even his body . . .”
“Mysterious ways,” I replied.
Kendall was rattling off a list of board games and economics books. Nearby, the twins stood quivering with excitement, eager for their turn but too well bred to show bad manners in front of Santa. After a few subscriptions to prominent business magazines and newspapers, Terry gently cut Kendall off and suggested she let her sisters take a turn. Kendall agreed eagerly, but not before throwing her arms around Carter and thanking him.
“Okay,” said Seth, drawing me near. “This was kind of amazing. Not that I should be surprised by anything you do anymore.” He kissed my forehead. “We definitely have to make the most out of your last month. If we’re going to be apart for a long time, then we have to find a way to work around my schedule here.”
I started to protest and tell him not to change his plans with the family because of me but stayed silent instead. Some desperate part of me wondered, what did any of it matter? If Hell wanted us apart, then we couldn’t stand against that. “A long time” would become “never.” Maybe I really should be trying harder to maximize
these last precious days. And yet if I did . . . would that make Hell work harder against us?
Glancing up, I saw Morgan had now replaced McKenna on Carter’s lap. They were having a discussion on the virtues of two different kinds of pony action figures. Morgan wasn’t sure what kind she wanted.
“Princess Ponies come in more colors,” she told him seriously.
“True,” he said. “But some of the Power Prism Ponies are unicorns. And you can do more stuff with their hair.”
Across the room, I saw Kayla curled up in a chair, watching Carter raptly but making no moves to talk to him. Slipping away from Seth, I walked over and knelt beside her.
“Are you going to tell Santa what you want?” I asked in a very soft voice.
It took Kayla several moments to tear her gaze from him. “He’s not Santa,” she said. I was grateful she spoke as quietly as me. No one else heard.
“Of course he is,” I said. “Who else would he be?”
“He’s not Santa.” She smiled and studied him again. “He’s beautiful. He’s more beautiful than anything.”
No human could see an angel in his or her true form, unless the angel revealed it. Even then, a human would be destroyed by it. No, Kayla wasn’t seeing Carter’s true form, not exactly, but she was seeing something. Some piece of his true nature. I felt a moment of envy, wondering what it was she saw, what her senses allowed her that mine didn’t. Whatever it was, I’d never know, but the enchanted look on her face made it clear it was wonderful.
“Beautiful,” she repeated. She looked back at me. “Can he stop the Darkness?”
“He’ll try,” I said. Not the entire truth, but it would have to suffice. “Can you pretend he’s Santa? Tell him what you want for Christmas?”
She nodded solemnly, just as Morgan finished and Carter beckoned toward us. I walked Kayla over. I helped her onto his lap, and he glanced up at me with twinkling gray eyes. Those, if nothing else, were definitely Carter’s. I stepped back and let them talk. Kayla continued staring adoringly at him, but no one except me knew what truly captivated her. She looked like any other child starstruck by Santa as she related her list, making no mention of his beauty or supernatural creatures prowling through her home at night.
Leaving them to it, I quietly went upstairs and peered in Andrea’s room. She was awake, reading a book. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and her face looked gaunter than last time. She nonetheless gave me a cheery smile.
“Georgina,” she said. “I should’ve known you were the source of all that commotion.”
I laughed. “Not all of that. A friend of mine is here, playing Santa for the girls. He’s taking their Christmas orders right now.”
Her expression softened, resembling the near tears I’d seen on the others’ faces. “That’s very sweet of him. And of you.”
“Would you like to meet him before he leaves?” I asked.
Andrea grimaced and absentmindedly patted her hair. “Yes, in theory . . . but Lord. I look terrible.”
“Believe me,” I said. “He doesn’t care.”
When I went back downstairs, Kayla had finished, and Carter was trying to get a list out of Brandy who told him point-blank there was no way she was getting on his lap.
“I think you have plenty to work on with their orders,” she told him good-naturedly.
“And there’s nothing you want?” he asked in his best echoing Santa voice.
“Nothing you can give, I’m afraid,” she said. Her smile faltered. “But thanks.”
Carter peered at her with that piercing look he sometimes used on me, the one that seemed to look right inside me. “No,” he agreed. “You’re right. But I can give you all my prayers. And my hopes for the best.”
Brandy stared at him, caught up in that gaze, and simply nodded. I don’t think she knew what a powerful thing it was, for an angel to offer all of his prayers, but she most certainly sensed the sincerity and intention in his words. “Thanks,” she repeated.
I caught hold of Carter’s arm. “Their mom wants to meet you, Santa.”
He stood up and followed me to the stairs. We passed Ian along the way, who watched us condescendingly. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”
Carter paused and looked him over from head to toe. “Sorry. My workshop doesn’t do shabby chic.” Carter continued following me, despite Ian’s protest that his style was “vintage” and that “shabby chic is for wannabes.”
If Andrea felt insecure at the thought of meeting a stranger, she did a good job of hiding it. Indeed, when Carter walked into her bedroom, a little awe passed over her face, reminding me of Kayla. Andrea couldn’t see what her daughter had, but I think she sensed some of Carter’s grace. He came to a halt at the foot of her bed and took of his red hat in a genteel style, revealing rows of white curls.
“This is my friend Carter,” I said, after first making sure no one small had followed us.
“Mrs. Mortensen,” he said, dropping the showmanship. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
She smiled, and the joy in it made her beautiful, despite her weary state. “Nice to meet you too. Thank you for coming over and seeing the girls.”
Their exchange was brief. He said something nice or funny about each girl, making Andrea’s smile grow and grow. She in turn couldn’t stop thanking him. When the pleasantries were finally done, I bid her farewell and stepped outside the room with Carter. I closed the door and was about to head downstairs when he caught my hand.
“Did you see what you needed to?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, face grave, looking more like Carter than ever. “You were right. Her condition was made worse—by a demon.”
“Can you tell which demon?” I asked. I knew Jerome didn’t have my best interests at heart, but it was a hard thing to think of him purposely harming those I cared about.
“No,” said Carter. “But it probably wasn’t Jerome. It’s the kind of dirty work a minor demon would do. I can also tell you that her illness, originally, was natural. Nothing gave this to her.”
“They just made her relapse when she was starting to get better.” To get to me. To keep Seth busy.
Carter nodded.
“Okay. Thank you for coming here tonight. I appreciate it.” I started to turn, and he again stopped me.
“Georgina . . .” There was an odd, troubled note in his voice, one I didn’t usually associate with confident, laconic Carter. “Georgina, I’ve told you over and over that there are rules about what I can and can’t do, how much I can be involved. As a general rule, I’m really not supposed to do too much active interference in mortal lives.”
“I understand,” I said.
“But what happened to her . . .” He frowned slightly. “That was another breaking of the rules, something that shouldn’t have happened. And in this situation, two wrongs can make a right.”
I stared up at him in amazement. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I can heal her. I can’t completely eradicate the cancer, but I can take it back to the level it was at before she was harmed this week. I can undo what they did to her and clean the slate.”
My jaw wanted to drop. “That . . . that would be amazing !” Carter still looked sad, and I couldn’t figure out why. Did he feel like he was violating a rule, even if he was righting a wrong? “What’s the matter?”
He sighed. “What you and Roman said earlier . . . about Hell wanting to keep you and Seth apart? About how her condition keeps him here? Well . . . it’s possible, this is exactly what they want. She got better, then they made her worse again. Then, if she gets better on her own—or because of me—then everyone gets hopeful again, until they come back and make her worse. I’m not saying they will come back. But that they could. A limbo state like this ensures Seth stays around. If I heal her now—and I will if you want—I might be perpetuating that.”
There were two key things I pulled out of that. One was a very, very subtle acknowledgment that Roman and I were
right. Oh, Carter wasn’t saying for sure that Hell was after Seth and me, but he certainly wasn’t denying it either. It was all part of that careful angel way of his. The other thing—the most startling one—was the implication that thwarting Hell meant keeping Andrea out of the limbo they wanted her in. Seth would always be tied to his family if she moved in and out of health. If she completely recovered, he would be free. And if she died . . .
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. Heal her. I don’t care if he stays here forever, so long as it keeps her alive.”
Carter nodded, and something shone in his eyes, something a little like pride . . . and sadness. “I thought you’d say that.”
He knocked gently on Andrea’s door before stepping back inside. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But I forgot to ask what you wanted for Christmas.”
Andrea laughed, eventually degenerating into coughing. Reaching for a glass of water beside her bed, she finally recovered herself. “That’s nice of you, but I’m too old.”
“Never,” said Carter. “There must be something.”
Andrea was still smiling, but it grew a little wistful. “There is something,” she said. I wondered if she’d ask to be cured, which was obviously what Brandy had wanted as well. “I want . . . I want my girls to be happy. No matter what happens to me, I want them looked after and cared for.”
Carter-as-Santa studied her with that soul-searching gaze, and it was as though something passed between them, something I wasn’t part of. At long last, he said, “I swear, it will be so.”
He walked over to her bedside and extended his hand to her. A chill ran down my spine as he did. I swear. Those weren’t words an angel could say lightly. I’d thought what he’d said earlier to Brandy was powerful, but it was nothing compared to this. Tentatively, Andrea took Carter’s hand. I saw nothing blatant, no blinding flash of light or anything like that. I didn’t even feel anything with my immortal senses. But Andrea’s face transformed, growing radiant and dreamy, as though she were seeing and hearing the most beautiful things in the world. When Carter released her hand, she smiled at him and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep.
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