Rudolph! (17 page)

Rudolph jerked his head up, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. He snapped at me, and I backpedaled. He didn't look all there, and I didn't want to be on the receiving end of a reindeer head-butt. I tripped over a piece of medical equipment, and kept scrambling backward, using both hands and feet now.

Rudolph shook his head, like he was being buzzed by bees, and he jerked upright in a rush, his legs wobbly. "What's that?" he snarled, looking in my direction but not entirely seeing me. He put one hoof on the something-ometer that I had fallen over, and leaned forward, raising his other hoof as if he meant to stomp on me. It was all very zombie reindeer weird. There was something wrong with his eyes.

I tried to burp again, but I was a little too frightened to relax, and it came out more like a hiccup. Rudolph made a rumbling noise in his belly as he lowered his antlers at me.

"It's the Spirit," I said, rubbing at the moisture on my lips and holding out my damp fingers. "It's in me."

Rudolph shivered like he was trying to shake off a chill. I knew what he was feeling. Anger, heresy, and violence. Satan's touch was still on us. The circles were like a noose around our necks, ever tightening. Each circle smaller than the last.
Fraud
. Squeezing.
Treachery
.

"It's in you," I said. "The Spirit. I gave it to you, remember?"

Rudolph twitched, his hoof slipping on the metal box. He shook his head, the tips of his twisted antlers dangerously close to my outstretched hand. "Bernie," he wheezed, his chest heaving.

As I opened my mouth to say something, a silver rain started to fall between us. Tiny glittery motes like a cascade of delicate tinsel.

Santa Claus was still in the Residence. Satan hadn't lied to us after all; he had been leeching the Spirit of Christmas out of Santa, and since the gates of heaven were closed to Santa, Fat Boy had been forced to haunt the North Pole, adrift on a phantom sea of despair.

I sucked down more air and belched loudly. The sound echoed throughout the room, and some of the glittering rain changed color. Red and green. That's what Santa needed. That's what we all needed. A little bit of crazy, a little bit of crude-yet-absolutely silly joy.

Rudolph swayed as he focused on the colored rain, his pupils slowly returning to a more normal size. His chest swelled as he took in air, and when I thought he couldn't hold any more, he let loose with the loudest belch I had ever heard.

"Wow," I said with a laugh. "You could spook cattle with that." The snow was nearly all red and green now.

"Better than that anemic fog horn noise you were making," Rudolph snorted. He sucked another bellyful of air.

"Anemic fog horn?" I sputtered. I flapped a hand over my mouth and burped out the beginning of "Winter Wonderland."

It made me sad to do it—I wasn't the one who knew all the songs—but it felt right. It felt like the right way to honor those we had lost. We had to keep singing. We had to keep the Spirit alive.

Rudolph stepped off the machine, nodding his head. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all." He one-upped me with the first verse of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," his lips quivering as he forced enough air up from his stomach to squeak out the final phrase.

Mrs. C twitched in her chair, nearly spilling out of it entirely. I rushed over as she leaned back, raising her head toward the ceiling. She reacted to my touch, rolling her head around on her shoulders and looking at me. Her eyes were clear, and the gray was fading. Deep blue swirls were moving in her irises. "Bernie," she sighed. "And Rudolph. What are you two rascals doing?"

"Saving Christmas," Rudolph replied with mock seriousness, which he spoiled with a short belch. I tried not to giggle, but failed. It felt good to giggle again.

Mrs. C frowned, but the expression barely turned down the corners of her mouth. She shivered slightly, and pulled her robe more tightly about her as she looked around the room. Looking everywhere but at the still figure on the bed next to her. She saw the red and green snow that was still falling.

"Oh, my love," she whispered, and her lips curled upward. "I knew you hadn't left."

I knew Santa's secret at that instant; I knew what he was laughing about as he drove out of sight on Christmas night. Every year, we worked until we dropped and he always worked harder and longer than anyone else in the village. And then, on Christmas night, he put his DNA at risk by using the Time Clock so that he could visit every house personally. He B&E'd in every country through the course of that night, breaking the law so many times it wasn't even worth counting. He faced violent weather, angry dogs, and unhappy parents who waited up for him to bitch about the unavailability of the latest plastic gewgaw their kids couldn't live without, and he managed it all with laughter in his heart. Why did he do it? Because when he was done, when Zero Hour was over and the Clock was turned off, he got to come home to Mrs C. He got to come home and tell his wife that another Season was done, and she would smile at him, and he would know that he was the luckiest man on the face of this planet.

The rain of festive snow drifted toward us. I stepped out of the way, and Mrs. C raised her face as the rain fell upon her pale cheeks. The red and green glistened on her skin as it brought color back to her face. She lifted her hands, cradling the glittering rain. "Come back," she whispered. "Come back to me." Rudolph and I belched in unison, and she smiled again. "Come home, Santa."

She opened her mouth, taking in a long, deep breath, and the rain stopped, the last glittering motes of red and green vanishing into her mouth. She got younger as I watched, the haggard toll of the last few days falling away from her. She leaned over the bed, carefully cradling Santa's head in her hands. She pressed her lips to his, and what passed between them was all that ever mattered.

She sank back into the chair, leaning on the bed, her hands still touching his still face. Behind me, Rudolph kept burping, but I was holding my breath. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a sign . . . 

And I got one finally. Santa's left eyelid fluttered, like a butterfly shaking itself off after a cold night. The right followed suit, and after a few moments, he opened them both and stared up at the ceiling. Finally, his lips parted painfully as if he was remembering how to breathe, and then he coughed—violently and suddenly. It was a dry, grinding noise that sounded like someone was dragging heavy furniture across the carpet a floor below. Dust floated up from his mouth. Or maybe it was the last bit of chilly air fleeing the room. I wasn't entirely sure.

"I don't think . . ." he whispered in dry voice more suited to overly dramatic off-Broadway death scenes. "I don't think I've ever heard a Christmas carol so horribly mutilated . . ."

"What do you know, you tone deaf has-been," Rudolph snorted before belching again.

Santa chuckled, a sound like walnuts rattling in a large wooden bowl. "Ah, Rudolph," he sighed. "I missed you." He turned his head slightly and looked at Mrs. C. He wriggled a hand out from beneath the blankets, and he carefully stroked her hair as if he were afraid that it would melt at his touch. "I missed you all."

She stirred at his touch, raising her head and then sliding forward to press her lips against his. Rudolph nudged me out of the way as he stepped up to the bed. "Get a room, you two," he muttered as he nosed them apart.

Santa laughed. "We have a room," he said. "You two are cramping my style." He reached up and grabbed the base of one of Rudolph's antlers, and before the reindeer could pull away, Santa hauled himself up and kissed Rudolph.

Mrs. C kissed me. I, shamelessly, kissed her back.

When else was I going to have the chance?

Santa caught me laying some lip on his wife, and he laughed. His first laugh sounded like an old tire deflating on the shoulder of a hot summer highway. He coughed heavily and tried again. The second sounded like he had just been out of practice. And the third?

Well, it sounded like Santa Claus.

I wandered away from the bedside before Rudolph got all caught up in the moment and tried to kiss me too. "It's not all good news," I said sadly. "We lost a couple bucks. Prancer and Ring didn't make it back."

A dark shadow flickered in Santa's eyes. "The Residence? The elves?"

"They're all gone," Rudolph said. "Run off by a nefarious agency."

"We're under Holy—" The words died in my throat as I looked at Rudolph. "Nefarious?" I repeated, my brain working overtime. "It's not . . . ?"

Rudolph snorted. "God?" He shook his head. "Not His style. This was—"

"Treachery," I finished for him.

"A nasty bit of lying, I was going to say," Rudolph said. "But sure,
treachery
works too."

"The ninth circle of hell," I breathed. "The last circle. The noose, tightened down so far we can barely breathe."

Santa looked back and forth between us. "Would someone like to tell me what is going on? Are the elves gone or not?"

"Oh, they're gone," I said. "That's for certain. In fact, that might be the only thing that is true . . ." I nodded as I slowly shrugged my way out of the ruined thermal suit. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked Rudolph.

"Blitzen knew," Rudolph said. "But then, he's the one who has not only read
Paradise Lost
, he's memorized it. It just took him awhile to remember where he'd heard that angel's name before."

XVI

R
amiel
was waiting for me. I navigated around the pocked holes that
Ring's bombs had left in the thick concrete of the roof. Ramiel's lawn chair sat a little crookedly, one of its legs prematurely shortened, and there was no sign of the little lean-to that had sheltered the angel previously.

Ramiel rose out of the chair as soon as he saw me. "You've transgressed again against the host," he started, waggling a finger at me. A finger on his right hand, the one that had been melted off the last time I had seen him.

I held up a hand of my own in apology. "It was a mistake. We shouldn't have tried to drive you off your post." I took a deep breath. "It was a stupid, immature thing to do. I'm sorry."

My apology caught him off guard, and he stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "Apology accepted," he said finally.

I held out the package I was holding in my other hand. "I brought you something," I said. "I know we're under quarantine and all, but what's a little present between friends, right?" I gave him my best innocent expression. I had scrubbed some of the grime off my face and had thrown a parka over my rather insufficient winter wardrobe.

Ramiel softened. "Of course," he smiled as he took the package. "In fact, I've forgotten all about whatever it was that we were talking about a moment ago."

"I can't remember either," I said.

He raised the package to his ear and shook it gently. "You shouldn't have," he simpered.

I unzipped my parka casually as he tore at the wrapping paper. I had raided Mrs. C's stash, swiping some of the stuff she had been saving for special occasions. This probably qualified. I figured she wouldn't mind.

Ramiel ripped the paper free from the narrow box and tossed it aside. The box was a plain white one, stamped on the bottom with a manufacturer's seal. He checked. Predictably. "Ah," he said. "Hallmark."

"Nothing but the best." I gave him a wide grin.

He popped the box open and took out the smaller cube resting inside. He looked at inquisitively, idly discarding the now empty white box as carelessly as he had the wrapping paper. He found the tiny crank on the side and carefully wound it. I had pre-wound it downstairs. I didn't want his attention wandering while he cranked the box. The crank went around twice before the top popped open and a tiny figure of an angel on a spring danced out. Ramiel gave a little cry of surprise, and then laughed.

I chuckled along with him. My hand rested inside my open coat.

The laugh died in his throat as he looked closely at the figure. I had stuck a sticker on the front of the angel's robe. It read:
Satan inside.

"What's this?" the angel growled.

"It's an old joke," I explained. "I'm sorry I couldn't find one of the actual stickers that were all the rage back in the last millennium." I shrugged. "But
last millennium
, you know. These jokes come and go so fast. I'm not surprised you don't remember it."

"I do not like your jokes, elf," Ramiel snarled.

"Yeah, well, I'm not too fond of yours either," I said. "Game's up, chuckle-head. I know who you're working for."

"I'm one of the heavenly host. I report directly to God."

I shook my head. "You haven't talked to God in a long time. You switched sides, Ramiel. Someone took roll. You were listed as one of Satan's agents a long time ago."

I had checked in the library before I came up. Milton had been quite specific.  
. . . the violence of Ramiel scorch'd and blasted, overthrew
. Good old blind John, taking really good notes when it mattered.

"I've been on a little field-trip, Ramiel. Went down to see your boss." A wry grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. "He's pissed. And not just because we stomped through his daisies." I thought of Prancer's skull and antlers in my hand. The least of Satan's worries was the condition of his flowerbeds. He was going to remember the consequences of killing a reindeer for a long time.

Ramiel was making a noise like the sound of a hundred lions feeding.

I kept talking. I had thought that my knees would have been quaking with fear. But the memory of busting Satan's face up brought with it a certain amount of starch to my backbone. "I heard you got a little wet," I continued, taunting Ramiel. Wondering how far I could push him. "Must have been miserable for a fire-breathing scorcher like yourself to have been forced to take a swim in the Arctic Ocean."

He was growing already, his shoulders and head elongating as his rage filled his form.

"One little reindeer manages to dunk a Demonic Lieutenant." I voiced a low whistle. "How's that going to look on your yearly review?"

His joints began popping, swelling and splitting as he relinquished his angelic guise. He towered over me—nearly ten meters tall already and festooned with spikes and ridges and bony knobs. His mouth was so enormous, I could easily fit inside and comfortably take stock of all of his teeth. Many of which were longer than my arm. His eyes were pinwheels of fire, and black ichor dripped from his mouth. "It doesn't matter, elf," he hissed. "My master has taken the spirit of this place. Christmas is no more."

He roared at me then, lowering his face and blasting me with the full brunt of his brimstone-reeking breath. His nails clicked like old bones rattling as he reached for me.

I held my ground, exhaling slowly through my nose. I lifted my hand from my coat so that he could see the other thing I had brought up to the roof. I raised the second pistol that Rudolph had given me and sighted carefully up at the demon's face. My hands were warm and dry against the cold grip.

"Consider this the Resurrection," I said as I squeezed the trigger.