Polterheist: An Esther Diamond Novel (10 page)

Jeff nodded in agreement with this suggestion and went to go clock out. “So long, everyone. See you tomorrow.”

“Drag Queen . . .” Lopez was looking at Satsy with dawning recognition. “Oh,
that’s
where we’ve met. You’re one of Esther’s friends from the Pony Expressive, right?”

Several other performers from the club knew both me and Max, who had helped them recover a friend who’d gone mystically missing. That was how we’d all met, actually. It was how I’d met Lopez, too. That had been a strange and annoying case for him, and I could see that he was ambivalent about encountering someone again who was involved in those odd events.

Satsy, however, was pleased to be remembered. He patted Lopez’s hand and said, “I understand completely why you didn’t recognize me, detective. This costume upset you.”

“It just startled me,” Lopez said uncomfortably.

“Oh?” Rick looked puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned. “
Oh.
I see. Hmm. You know, detective, a Santa phobia is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Lopez scowled. “It’s not a phobia. I just—”

“It’s far more common than you might realize.”

That made Lopez pause in his denial. “Really?”

“Well, very common among young children,” Rick amended. “Unusual in a grown man—very unusual, in fact—but not entirely unknown.”

“It’s not a phobia,” Lopez repeated. “And I think your boss made a good suggestion about getting back to work.”

Eager to help ease psychological suffering, Rick said, “I don’t have a license to practice, of course. I’m still just a grad student. But if you’d like to talk about your problem with someone, detective, I’m a good listener.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lopez insisted.

“Or, if you prefer, I could refer you to a good psychiatrist,” said Rick. “There’s been some pioneering work in the past decade or so in the field of—”

“I’m going to interview Dreidel now. Go back to work, Santa. Little kids are probably waiting on line even as we speak, eager to meet you.” Lopez turned to me. “Where can we talk without being interrupted?”

“Hang on, detective,” said Satsy. “I need a few minutes with Esther. It’s important.”

Lopez nodded in acceptance of this. Rick departed to work another shift on Santa’s throne. I led Satsy about twenty feet away, seeking privacy from the sharp ears of the NYPD, as well as the Fenster’s maintenance and security people who were milling around the Enchanted Forest now.

“That wasn’t just a massive electrical meltdown, was it?” Satsy said to me. “Something happened, didn’t it? Something
evil.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. I quickly explained my experience. I was disappointed to discover that, like the others, Satsy hadn’t witnessed any of the phenomena that I was describing. “Not the smell? Or the fangs? Nothing?”

“We were coming from over there.” Satsy pointed toward the North Pole, and I realized that from their angle, he and Jeff wouldn’t have seen the tree’s face. “And Jeff was in front of me, so all I really saw were some branches waving around and people fighting and ducking and screaming . . . Then
splat!
Jeff hit me like a giant bowling ball, and we both flew into that old display of penguins and baby reindeer playing in a snow bank . . . I think I blacked out for a few seconds. Anyhow, by the time we could inhale without coughing up fake snow and managed to stagger to our feet, the whole thing was over and Jingle was shouting that you were all right. So I staunched the bleeding on Jeff’s lip before we did anything else.”

“Hmm.” I thought it over. “Well, maybe it’s just as well that no one saw—or, at least, no one really recognized and processed—what
I
saw. It might be hard for Max to look into this if there were too much other scrutiny being applied to it now. As it is, what with the NYPD prowling around in search of hijackers, and maintenance looking for electrical problems—”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry much about Fenster’s maintenance,” Satsy said darkly. “They’ll probably just make sure the tree won’t burn down the store, and not bother doing much else. They’re not going to repair it with only three days left in the season.”

I realized he was right. Slack safety measures seemed to be standard operating procedure around here. Moreover, with Preston Fenster determined to shut down Solsticeland for good after this season ended, and with the rest of the family seemingly less organized than a random street riot, I suspected the homicidal tree might never get properly examined or repaired.

Satsy said, “So you
are
going to talk to Dr. Zadok about this situation? Good. That’s such a relief!”

“Yes, I’ll go over to his place after Detective Lopez is done interviewing me.”

“Oh, the detective is looking
very
hot, isn’t he?” Satsy said, enthusiastically distracted. “I think navy blue is really his color, don’t you? It brings out those blue, blue eyes with those thick black lashes . . . He doesn’t even use mascara, does he?”

I snorted involuntarily at the mental image this gave me. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But the poor man! A phobia can be
so
traumatizing.”

“He says it’s not a phobia.” But I was skeptical that anything less serious than that could make a brave man as jumpy as Lopez was around Father Christmas.

“He’s in denial,” Satsy said. “That’s understandable. People can be very judgmental, you know.”

Looking at my three hundred pound, purple-lashed friend who usually dressed as a woman when he was working, I assumed he was speaking from experience. “I know, Satsy. And although Lopez didn’t show it, I’m sure he appreciated that you were sensitive to his problem.”

“Maybe you should encourage him to talk to Rick, even though he was resistant to that idea,” Satsy suggested. “Rick
is
a good listener, and his training gives him insight into people’s little foibles. It might be a non-threatening way for Detective Lopez to start confronting his fear of Santa Claus.”

“We’ll see,” I said vaguely. “Meanwhile, do you want—”

“And, girlfriend, there are
obviously
still sparks between you and the detective!” Satsy gave a little shiver of delight. “I mean, zing, zing, zing!”

“Satsy—”

“I really think you should go for it, Esther! Just grab that man by the—”

“Focus, Satsy,” I instructed. “The subject on the table right now is the Evil at Fenster’s, not my shipwreck of a love life. Do you want to come with me to Max’s to tell him about what happened to you this morning? I could wait for your shift to end.”

“Oh, I can’t,” he said. “You’ll tell him for me, won’t you? I have to go straight to the club to get ready for my first show as soon as I get off work here.”

“That’s a
long
day, Satsy.”

“The show must go on.” He added, “But I do think this is my final year here. It’s not as much fun this year. And now it’s dangerous, too!”

“Actually, I think it could be
everyone’s
last year of doing this.” I told him about the Fenster family quarrel over Solsticeland. “I wouldn’t want to bet on how it’ll be settled. Freddie Junior has got the deciding vote, for all practical purposes, but Preston’s probably got more determination than the rest of the family put together. I think that may be the quality he inherited from his mother, more so than the other Fensters, even if he’s not nearly as shrewd as she was, and probably not as ruthless.”

“Oh, I met that woman, sugar, and I don’t think there’s a person in this whole city as ruthless as she was.” Satsy shuddered a little. “But she did keep Fenster’s running smoothly. If she were still alive, you can bet we wouldn’t be short-staffed and having equipment problems, or having hijackings and the police prowling around here.”

I suspected they also wouldn’t be sharing weed down on the docks if Constance were still alive; but I didn’t spoil Satsy’s nostalgia by mentioning this.

“And you know what else? Evil wouldn’t have
dared
move in here while Mrs. Fenster was still alive and in charge,” my friend said. “It would have been too scared of her! Whatever is here now, Esther, I really think it waited for her to die first.”

In which case, I supposed I was sorry, after all, that the Iron Matriarch was dead.

8

A
fter Satsy returned to the break room, prepared to swap out with Super Santa at a moment’s notice, I told Lopez, who was talking with a uniformed cop, that I was ready for our interview.

He nodded at me, but he was looking over my shoulder; something behind me had caught his attention. “Hang on a second, Esther. It’s that guy with the accordion. Finally! What the hell took him so long?”

“Don’t say ‘hell’ on the floor, detective,” I admonished.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Having passed through the security barrier that was keeping people out of the Enchanted Forest now, Twinkle came trotting over to us, looking a little tired—possibly because he was still lugging around his instrument. He was alone.

“Still no EMTs?” Lopez asked with a frown.

I said, “I really
don’t
need—”

“Oh, they’re here,” said Twinkle. “But right after they arrived on this floor, they got an emergency call to go up to the sixth floor instead, since there were no serious injuries down here.”

“Why were they needed on the sixth floor?” Lopez asked.

“Mr. Fenster had a heart attack!”

“Whoa!” I said. “Just now?”

“Preston Fenster?” When Twinkle nodded in response, Lopez asked, “Did they say what happened?”

“Ms. Fenster-Thorpe said that when they heard about what had just happened down here—the tree going haywire and attacking people—Mr. Fenster went red as a beet and started screaming at the top of his lungs about how that was
it
, he was going to close down Solsticeland
now,
he wasn’t even going to
wait
until the end of the season . . . And then he started breathing heavily, clutched his chest, and keeled over.”

“Is he alive?” Lopez asked.

“Oh, yeah. Alive and kicking. They’re going to take him to the hospital, but he’s still upstairs right now,” said Twinkle. “Actually, I thought he looked pretty good by the time I left to come back down here.”

“You went to the sixth floor with the EMTs?”

“Yeah. I thought you’d want a full report, officer.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. I was kind of curious. I’ve heard all these stories about the Fensters from Jingle, you know, and I’ve seen them around the store—Oh! There’s one now, in fact.” He pointed across the forest. “But I never met any of them before.”

I looked in the direction Twinkle had pointed—and I flinched when I saw her.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lopez.

“That’s Elspeth Fenster,” I said anxiously. “Preston’s daughter.”

“Yeah? What’s she doing down here?” Lopez wondered. “You’d think she’d want to be with her father right now.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re very close,” I said.

“They’re not,” Twinkle confirmed. “I saw her upstairs, too. It would be exaggerating to say she seemed
glad
to see her father lying on a stretcher . . . Well, no, maybe not exaggerating.”

What a family.

“But, actually, none of the family members seem that worried,” Twinkle continued. “Not even Mr. Fenster himself. I gather this happens kind of a lot. Him having chest pains and keeling over, I mean.”

“Even so,” Lopez muttered, “you’d think he’d realize that one of these days will be the
last
time, and maybe make an effort to change his ways before then.”

I nodded, keeping a cautious eye on the goth girl as I said, “Preston Fenster really does seem like a mortality statistic looking for a place to settle down and build a tombstone.”

Elspeth looked this way and spotted me. I gasped and edged a closer to Lopez. He was armed; that might come in handy.

“It sounds like her dad might have reason to be a little tense around her,” he said to me, “but why does she make
you
nervous?”

Elspeth started clumping gracelessly in this direction. I said urgently to Lopez, “She’s one of the vamparazzi.”

He frowned. “Are you sure? I know she looks the part, but—”

“Yes, I’m sure! We’ve already had a confrontation. I don’t want another one.” Losing my nerve, I slipped behind Lopez, standing on my toes to look over his shoulder at Elspeth.

“Okay, I’ll handle this,” he said soothingly, well aware of what I’d endured at the hands (and fists and feet) of the vamparazzi only a month or two ago. “Stay where you are. I’ll deal with her.”

Joining us, Elspeth peered at me over Lopez’s shoulder, jerked a thumb at Twinkle, and asked, “Did this guy get it right? Are you the one who got mauled by the tree?”

I nodded, watching her warily.

“He thought you could’ve died,” she said. “Is that right?”

“I guess so.”

“So what was
that
like?” she asked with interest—and with a peculiar absence of any sort of sympathy or empathy. “Were you scared shitless? Oh,
did
you shit yourself? Elf boy says there was a foul odor that—”

“Miss Fenster,” said Lopez, “don’t you think your father needs—”

“Twinkle!” I blurted. “You smelled it, too?”

“I never implied it was Dreidel!” Twinkle said indignantly to Elspeth. “But, uh, I think
somebody
must have . . . You know.”

“So tell me what it was like,” said Elspeth. “Thinking you might die.”

I stared at her with dislike, unwilling to answer. She had the right idea about Naughty and Nice, but she otherwise struck me as a repellant person. Her whole family was horrible, and her father seemed like a real bastard; but while that explained Elspeth’s behavior to some extent, it didn’t excuse it.

To be fair, I had met some very nice vampire fans during my sojourn as Lord Ruthven’s hapless victim in
The Vampyre
. I had also encountered many perfectly harmless people among the vamparazzi.

I didn’t know if Elspeth was the sort of vamp fan who physically attacked me, started violent altercations with other fans, stormed police barricades, broke into the theater, and/or rampaged backstage (the run of that show was one rough ride, let me tell you). Maybe, maybe not. I suspected she probably
was
one of the legions of fans who chatted on the internet about wanting to die in Lord Ruthven’s (and/or Daemon Ravel’s) toothy embrace; but this was only a guess.

But even if she was just a harmless vampire groupie with a healthy awareness of the difference between fantasy and reality . . . I found something really distasteful about the murky light of clinical and slightly malicious interest in her black-rimmed eyes now as she questioned me about the frightening and dangerous incident I had just been through.

Lopez evidently shared my opinion. He said, “Miss Fenster, I suggest you return to your father’s side. He needs his family around him right now.”

Elspeth snorted with amusement. “You don’t know the family, do you?”

Lopez tried another angle. “If he’s going to the hospital, he’ll need an immediate family member present to assist with—”

“We have staff for that,” Elspeth said dismissively.

“All the same, miss . . .”

Her gaze, which had mostly focused on me so far, now shifted to Lopez. She looked a little annoyed. “Oh . . . I’ll bet you’re one of the cops who was upstairs before, meeting with my father and my aunt.”

When he confirmed this, Elspeth’s gaze drifted down his body, then back up to his face. I could tell by the change in her expression that, now that she had bothered to look at him, she was recognizing what an attractive man he was. As the saying goes, he was a guy you definitely wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers there. Her attitude underwent another peculiar shift. Not friendly to him, exactly, but interested in him now. No longer dismissive. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Detective Lopez.”

“No, your
name,”
she said.

“Detective Lopez,” he repeated firmly.

That made her scowl. “What
ever.”

She looked away, avoiding his gaze after that, reverting to being dismissive of him.

“And since we still don’t know whether this area is safe,” Lopez told her, “this isn’t a good place for you to be right now, miss.”

“The little elf hiding behind you is the one who nearly got killed here,” Elspeth said. “Not me.”

“We’re leaving this area in a minute, too,” said Lopez.

In another swift change of attitude, Elspeth let her breath out in an exasperated gush, crossed her arms defensively over her chest, and looked around like someone waiting for a bus—which was something I suspected she had never actually done. “Is Rick around? I want to talk to him.”

“Super Santa?” said Twinkle. “Yeah, I think he’s still on the clock.”

She rolled her eyes. “That
stupid
name.”

“He’s on the floor right now,” I said. “He won’t be able to talk for a while.” It seemed very fitting to me, though, that Elspeth was seeking out someone with training in psychology.

“I’m heading for the throne room,” said Twinkle. “Can I give him a message for you?”

Elspeth didn’t even reply. Without bothering to take her leave of us, she turned around and walked away.

Twinkle called after her, “Oh, Miss Fenster? Do you think your aunt maybe liked my idea? I mean, I could go and talk to the guys in tech and give them—”

“She hated it,” Elspeth said, without bothering to turn her head and look back at the elf. “It was stupid.”

Seeing that Twinkle looked crestfallen, I asked, “What was your idea?”

“While I was upstairs keeping Ms. Fenster-Thorpe company, I told her I thought we could do a really cool display in the Solsticeland sky on Christmas Eve,” he said.

“A bright star shining in the East?” Lopez said. “I think it’s been done.”

Twinkle shifted the weight of his accordion and stretched out his hands overhead, looking up at the starlit sky. “I want to stage a lunar eclipse,” he said grandly.

“On Christmas Eve?” Lopez asked.

“Yes!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because we’re gonna have one on Christmas Eve!” Twinkle added, “I’m treasurer of the Astronomy Club at college.”

“Of course you are,” I said, unsurprised by this.

“A lunar eclipse on Christmas Eve!” Twinkle repeated. “Do you know what that means?”

“It’ll be dark?” Lopez guessed.

“Uh-huh.” Twinkle nodded enthusiastically. “Right!”

“This is solstice,” I said. “It’s dark all the time, anyhow.” Or, at least, it sure
felt
like all the time, since I was always stuck inside Fenster & Co.

“No,
really
dark,” said Twinkle. “The darkest season, the longest nights of the year . . . made even more profound on that holy night by a lunar eclipse!”

“Okay,” I said. “Lunar eclipse. Dark. I get it.”

“You
don’t
get it.” Twinkle’s eyes gleamed behind his bottle-bottom lenses. “This is the first lunar eclipse on Christmas Eve in over four hundred years!”

“Four hundred years?” I repeated in surprise. “Wow. That’s since before M . . .”

“Hmm?” said Lopez.

“That’s a really long time,” I amended.

I had started to say “since before Max was born;” but Max’s age was a secret, for obvious reasons. He didn’t want to get committed to a psychiatric ward. (Neither did I.) He also didn’t want to become a science experiment, which was a fate he had already endured, albeit in other centuries.

Max had unwittingly drunk an age-retarding elixir prepared by the absent-minded mage whose apprentice he had been back in, oh, the 1680s. Decades later, he finally noticed—since
nothing
slips by Max!—that he was aging unusually slowly and still had the appearance of a young man despite being nearly sixty.

His colleagues in the Magnum Collegium—an obscure but important worldwide organization dedicated to confronting Evil in this dimension (apart from politics, which the Collegium shunned entirely, Max said)—soon became
very
interested in this phenomenon, and they insisted that Max submit periodically to various examinations, tests, and experiments. They wanted to find the formula which had altered his aging process. After a century or so of going along with this, though, Max decided to cease wasting any more of his long life in trying to find out
why
it was so long.

The other reason I’d stopped myself in mid-sentence was that I usually tried not to mention Max around Lopez if it wasn’t strictly necessary. Lopez’s “thing” about Santa Claus was nothing compared to how bad-tempered he could be about Max, whom he considered a well-intentioned but dangerous madman—and
that
was Lopez’s opinion of Max on the days when he was feeling kind-hearted and generous toward him.

“A lunar eclipse on Christmas Eve is that rare?” Lopez asked, looking up at the Solsticeland sky. “And we’ll get to see one this year? That’s pretty cool.”

I looked up at the fake solstice sky overhead and felt Twinkle’s enthusiasm infecting me, too. I was impressed that, three nights from now, we’d witness a lunar event which had last occurred well before Max’s birth.

I looked forward to telling my friend about it when I saw him later tonight. Although he probably knew, I realized. The movements of the celestial bodies seemed like the sort of thing Max would follow.

“I think reproducing the event on Christmas Eve in Solsticeland is a nice idea, Twinkle,” I said. “Do you think Elspeth was right about her aunt hating it? Or was Goth Girl just being snide?”

“Well . . . I didn’t really have the impression the idea went over well upstairs. Maybe my timing wasn’t so good,” he admitted, “pitching it to Ms. Fenster-Thorpe when her brother had just had a heart attack, medics and cops were all over the place, and—”

“Twinkle!” Candycane called irritably from somewhere in the North Pole. “TWINKLE!”

“Oops. I’d better get to work. Later, Dreidel. Bye, officer.” The elf trotted off in the direction of Candycane’s summons.

I turned to ask Lopez if he was serious about interviewing me on an official basis, but he was gazing across the landscape of Solsticeland with a frown on his face.

“I think we
are
having an electrical fire, after all,” he said in alarm. “Is that smoke?”

“Where?”

“Stay here.” Moving swiftly, he went through the forest toward the west wall.