The Saint

by Melanie Jackson

  Adora settled back into his arms. It was easier to deal with hard truths there. “I love you too. I think. I’m just having a harder time embracing everything else,” she confessed. “People keep talking about babies, and I’m just not ready to think about those. I may not ever be ready.”

  He nodded, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “I know. A child would be a first for me too, you know.”

  Adora blinked. She hadn’t thought of that. She had just assumed that Kris would be keen to have children right away.

  Maybe when you have all the world’s children to care for, you don’t need your own, Joy suggested.

  “What would you like to do when this is over?” Kris asked suddenly. “The world is ours to explore. I know people, as they say. Want to see the columned halls of the selkies’ sunken castle in Scotland? Or see the lost city in the Ecuadorian rainforest where the dark pixies lived?” She looked up, and he smiled a little. “This is a hard job we have, but there are perks. Choose something—anything—and we’ll plan a vacation.”

  A vacation.

  “I’m not sure where I’d like to go. I’ll have to think about it,” Adora said. She felt a bit cheered that Kris was making plans for an afterwards. Plans that didn’t involve children. Or saving the world.

  Ask him why, Joy urged, curiosity getting the better of her. Why is he doing whatever he’s doing?

  Do I want to know? Adora asked, and found that she did.

  “Kris, can you explain why? I mean, why it is that you have to do this—whatever it is you’re doing?” He raised a brow. “Why you’re giving me time to adjust when I know the others, and the Goddess, expect us to . . .” She stopped, embarrassed.

  “I can explain, but understanding is up to you.”

  Adora sighed. “I know. And I’m dense. But try anyway.”

  “The children part is easy. You aren’t ready, and given your childhood, I’d have to be a monster to ask you to have a baby when your heart isn’t sure. The Goddess can just wait. As for the other . . . That’s tougher. Goblins . . .” He sighed.

  “I know I don’t like what I’ve seen of them. They’re violent and cruel.”

  “Some are,” Kris agreed. “The leaders, often. You don’t know much about the goblins because lutins have chosen to keep to their lives, unseen, much like the fey. We few have walked among humans for millennia, but cautiously, and with our identities unknown. I was an exception, and eventually even I was forced to present myself as human.”

  “Because you were in danger?”

  “Yes—and still am. The species xenophobia isn’t something of the long past, you know. Look at the hate-crime lists of Amnesty International. Many humans kill each other almost without hesitation. What might feys and goblins expect if they walked openly among them, proclaiming their differences and asking for a share of ever-diminishing resources?”

  “But surely in this day and age—”

  “No. Nothing’s changed. There were always humans who welcomed us, and always those who hated and feared anyone different. And consider this: There is no law on the books anywhere in the United States that says killing a fey or a goblin is illegal. Technically, it isn’t even murder.”

  “But the Americans With Disabilities Act—”

  “We aren’t considered Americans. Even if we were, it only says that you can’t discriminate against those of mixed-blood. It says nothing about killing them. And pureblood faeries, trolls, pixies or elves—dogs and cats have better protection under the law. In thirty-two states, it’s illegal for a pureblood fey to have sex with a human. In two of them, it’s a hanging offense—a terrible punishment, as hanging won’t kill a pureblood sidhe.”

  “‘She?’”

  “Sidhe—a fey.”

  “But Kris, lots of states have stupid old laws on the books. They just haven’t changed them because they think the fey are dead.”

  “Is that why?” He shook his head. “I’ll wager anything you like that, once they know I’m alive, they won’t rush out to clean up their archaic laws. The only reason they haven’t passed any recent repressive measures is that the mixed human-fey and the goblins have been at pains to present themselves to the public—on those occasions when they can’t avoid interaction—as being essentially human. Humans don’t know who we are, but since we look like them—walk like them, talk like them—the average man has offered us shelter under their umbrella of goodwill and given the politicians no reason to act against us. Supplied with an excuse, the politicians would be happy to play Us and Them.”

  Adora stared at Kris, stricken.

  “What the hell are you doing, then—making yourself a target this way?” she asked. “You have goblins and humans after you, and you have me write this stupid book and expose you further?”

  “I’m doing this because I—we—have no choice. We either succeed in ending this species hatred and uniting as one new nation or we all perish. Which means we have to stand up and admit what we are and talk about our differences until people stop being afraid of them. We have to all meet at the same table as equals.”

  “Kris . . .” Adora shook her head slowly.

  “It can be done. An opportunity has presented itself. Remorse is not usually a human political failing, and it’s all but unheard of in goblin hives. Molybdenum is a true rarity. It’s why I worked with him, and why I must rescue him and his people now, in spite of the risk. He’s media savvy, and one of the few leaders who aren’t aggressive and blinded by race-hate—and I believe there is a chance he can regain control in L.A. Usually I wouldn’t interfere in lutin internal power struggles, but this is too critical to pass up.” He sighed. “I don’t know if you can truly understand. So many goblin leaders are angry beyond any hope of reasoning with—beyond even bribery—and I fear they won’t be content until they have ripped the belly out of human civilization. And this will happen before Nick and Zee’s kid can resurrect the hobgoblins and turn them loose on the world.”

  “Hobgoblins?” Adora asked blankly. She didn’t know what those were, but they sounded nasty.

  “Yeah. Hobgoblins. They’re the jokers in the deck who can skew the balance of power for good. The world was made by Gaia, but these days it’s being run by some truly evil caretakers.” Kris sighed. “But leave unto the day the troubles therein. We must do what we can when we can. We fey know that our war hasn’t worked. The recent cross-breeding and cultural exchanges haven’t helped either. We have to try something else. Something more direct and radical. Closer to my original plan.”

  “But what? What could possibly work?”

  “A different kind of intervention. You know what the three species have in common?” Kris asked. “The children of humans and lutins and feys all have the capacity to love without judgment. We must teach them to embrace unconditional love while they are still young and uncorrupted by the hate and societal bigotry.

  “Almost two hundred years ago, a goblin king decided to make himself master of the human world. He didn’t hate me or my kind, but he feared what I was doing with the humans, that I would make a human-fey alliance—and steal his power over his people. Thus, he arranged for me to disappear. But that’s okay, because I am fey and I have time. That king is dead and I’m still here. And I will remain until my work is done.”

  “So . . . all these terrible things happen to you, you’re threatened on all sides—by unaccepting humans and goblin leaders who terrify the others into submission—and you want to fight back with love and understanding?” Adora was amazed.

  “Yes. Trust me. It’s the way of the Goddess. It couldn’t be held off for long. You’ll see. Even now, the world has begun to change for the better. I can sense it. Molybdenum will be set free and my other plans will be set in motion.”

  Adora shook her head. “So . . . Santa Claus rides again.” She smiled a little to picture it, this time Santa’s uniform being a designer suit.

  “Yes. And we’re going to get it right this time. I can’t belong to any one cou
ntry or any religion—or even any species. There will be no race distinctions or preferences, no religious ties. The lutin leaders won’t like it, but they’ll adapt when they see it isn’t harming the hives. It may take until this generation has died out, but we can win the fight for good.”

  And, gee, it sound like twice as much fun as a root canal, Joy said.

  Adora digested his words as best she could. Partly they just sat there, a lump of dread in her stomach.

  Kris went on: “As you yourself know all too well, children learn what they live. The next generation of lutins will know love as well as hate. Not all will allow themselves to choose love, but many—perhaps enough—will. And if not, we will persist with the next generation. If the sins of the fathers can be visited on the children, so can the blessings.” His hand cupped her jaw, and his eyes probed at her.

  “This is a little daunting,” Adora said at last. “I don’t have even one deadly enemy, you know, never mind a whole colony. And no god—however large or small—has ever asked me to do anything.”

  “I know. But look at it this way: It isn’t every day that you have a chance to save the world. Isn’t that kind of exciting?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s exciting all right,” she said.

  Kris laughed. “You’re gloomier than Abrial when I told him he was going to have to deliver toys to the goblin children on Christmas Eve.”

  “Abrial’s going to be delivering toys?”

  “Yeah, we all are.”

  “Will he wear your old Santa suit?” she asked.

  Kris’s eyes crinkled. “I’ll have to offer it to him. I’m sure the thought never crossed his mind.”

  The fey Executioner in a Santa suit. The mind boggled. Still, if she was with Kris . . . anything was possible. Adora might even consider raising that goblin child, doing a better job than her own parents had done with her, since she knew what she was. Maybe the world was changing. Everything was looking up.

  “Let’s do it,” she said.

  Miffith stared at the bloody knife in his lower left hand, unable to believe that he’d actually cut General Anaximander’s throat.

  Anaximander stared too, just as disbelieving. The goblin general gurgled out a question as blood poured through the fingers he had wrapped around his neck.

  “Why?” Miffith repeated. “Because you’re wrong. Niklas will win, and so will Molybdenum.” He added: “And I did it for my father. You remember him? Mabbit? He worked for you until you strangled him. He always said our family owed its existence to Niklas. That Niklas saved my grandfather from being burned at the stake in France. Today, I’m paying off that debt. My daughter isn’t going to grow up in a world full of mindless hate.”

  His half-breed daughter, the one he hadn’t known about until yesterday, but whom Niklas and Adora had saved when her fruit-junkie mother died. The one who was in Cadalach with the feys whom Anaximander wanted to destroy. The one this goblin regime would exterminate for not being of pure lutin blood.

  The dying Anaximander gurgled some more, but Miffith didn’t bother to say anything else. He went to the sink and washed his hands.

  EPILOGUE

  Abrial looked quite dashing in Kris’s old red suit, though Roman tended to snicker every time he looked at him.

  It was Xmas Eve, and the fey had their teams positioned all over the United States, ready to deliver presents above- and belowground. Things would be tricky in the goblin lands, since the world had been put on notice that Santa Claus was back and ready to resume operations. The documentary that aired Thanksgiving weekend on PBS had attracted a lot of attention, as had the mass mailing of vials of water from the shian. Those had come with a tag—Think you might be magical? Drink this, if you dare. Government and the media had warned against anyone actually opening the vials from the anonymous sender, and were investigating how the water had ever gotten into the postal system—so far without any luck. But people being who and what they were, the feys were betting many had taken a swig. And many others would have tucked theirs away instead of turning them in as the government suggested.

  Ben had guessed the truth and e-mailed Adora, asking her to pass on his congratulations to Bishop’s publicist. Ben was now in AA, and doing a lot better. Not that it was as crucial to Adora—he was no longer tied to her understanding of her parents. No, she had found that here in Cadalach.

  There hadn’t been any overnight uprisings of magical beings across the country, but many Internet discussion sites had sprung up and the number of hits at the fey and goblins’ corporate websites had gone way up. People of all species and races suddenly wanted to know who and what the lutins and feys really were.

  Opinion on the messageboards seemed to be that whether this person claiming to be Santa Claus was real or not, America was headed for a global shipwreck if Greed was left as the pilot and Corporations as the captain, and it was high time that something changed. There was talk of finally forming a true third party. There was also talk of giving lutins and feys the right to vote. California, with their voter initiative process, was collecting signatures to get voting rights on the ballot for the next election, though many government workers were moaning about the cost of redistricting to include the lutin hives.

  Adora stood beside Kris. Behind them were Mugshottz, Hansel and Gretel, who were dressed as elves in costumes Chloe had made—Kris had flinched when he saw the green coats and candy striped pants, but had hidden his dismay from Chloe—and the dragon, who was going to pull the sled for the A-Team. Adora still had some misgivings about using the dragon instead of reindeer, because they were bound to be caught on film when they landed in Reno, and that would create an uproar in the human world. But the dragon was very excited to have a chance to fly under Kris’s power, and Adora had to admit that she was also thrilled at the chance to see this old magic at work. And, as Kris said, if they were going to come out of the closet, then they should come all the way out and show the world who they really were.

  That said, the other teams were opting for discretion and stealth. They also had a lot more territory to cover, so they would be using faery roads and time manipulation to aid them. Cyra—who had just given birth the week before—Nyssa and Farrar were working together inside Cadalach to influence as many minds as they could, attempting to fill the world with a calm desire for peace—and to not shoot any odd-looking strangers bearing bags of gifts. Delivering presents to every home was impossible even with magical aid, so they had opted for leaving gifts in town squares, city halls, libraries and other public institutions. These were really symbolic presents. Most of the gifts were monetary and headed for charities. The logistics of the operation had been horrendous, and had made Pennywyse’s hair go gray, but everyone agreed that they were ready.

  Adora still had moments of fear when she thought about how easily Kris might be taken from her. Word was out that the goblin leaders had united and put a bounty on his head—ten million dollars, dead or alive—and there were weapons that could kill the fey for good, she’d learned.

  But not in L.A.

  No, not in L.A., where Molybdenum had been restored to power after one of General Anaximander’s aides had slit the general’s throat and said it was to thank Kris for some undisclosed good deed. In this goblin leader, Kris had a fast friend. Kris was happy and filled with certainty that they were going to turn the tide of race relations, so Adora did her best not to worry and be grateful that they had today and would have tomorrow. If Gaia smiled on them, they would have many more days as well. And that was all that anyone could ask.

  “Ready?” Kris called.

  “Yes!” shouted the children.

  The dragon nodded. He looked odd in his harness, even though it was a tasteful brown and had no sleigh bells.

  Kris looked deeply into Adora’s eyes and smiled blindingly.

  “Kiss me for luck?” he asked.

  “And for any other reason,” she answered, standing on tiptoe and putting her mouth against his. “Merry Xmas,” she w
hispered a moment later.

  “Merry Xmas, love.” And then Kris launched them into the sky. Around them, the heavens answered with a blaze of silver stars.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Yes, America, there is a Santa Claus. I know because he appeared to me one night in a dream and interviewed me for the position of his official biographer. Of course I protested— I’m a novelist, I don’t write biography, and I was busy. I tried to evade him, this Kris Kringle with a K, but never could. He visited my dreams until I simply gave in.

  While Kris was the driving force behind the story, I have to give thanks to a few human people, including Lydia in the public relations department at the Beverly Wilshire. She listened with a straight face when I explained that Santa—being a traditionalist—wanted to stay at that hotel while he was in L.A. (in my book, though he may stay there in fact as well). Likewise, the folks at The Museum of Automobiles were wonderful about giving me the history of Kris’s 1937 Packard (see www.museumofautos.com/cars_on_exhibit.htm). My husband went right from listening to me babble about the amazing Lord Byron to hearing me talk about an even more amazing Santa Claus, and he never once suggested medication or a long stay in a quiet psychiatric facility. And finally my editor, who was enthusiastic from the get-go. I have long suspected Santa enlisted him.My editor denies it, as does Kris, but I am still suspicious.

  On a separate note, many of the concepts Kris talks about— laws of eternity instead of laws of time, etc.—can be explained by quantum physics. However, his understanding of this science surpasses my own, so I had to rent What The Bleep Do We Know? to get a grasp of the discipline.

  Sadly, this is the last of the planned goblin books. Of course, it’s exciting to move on to new projects, but it’s still hard to say good-bye to old friends. Thomas Marrowbone has arranged it so that if you get lonely, you can write to any of the fey at kris@lutinempire.com. For example, just type Kris@lutinempire.com and eventually your mail will get through the goblins’ sneaky mail filters.