Page 26 of Unholy Night
She nods. “Growing up my grandfather loved his scotch. He’d share sips with me when my mother wasn’t looking. At first it made me gag, but I eventually developed a taste for it.”I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, studying it. “This is the real deal. Scottish single malt scotch from Islay. The perk of a contract I made years ago.
We sip our drinks slowly, savoring the burn. Once we are all finished, I stand. “Shall we be off then?”
Lyla nods a bit nervously. “So we are really doing this?”
I hold up my hands, palms up. “If we want to save Christmas, we must.”
“I’ve got my people here ready for us when we return. But it’ll just be the three of us going. My demons would be too conspicuous.”
Lyla smirks. “And you’ll fit right in? Or me for that matter?” She glances down at her outrageously tight bodysuit that molds to her skin like a glove.
“You’ll be as stealth as night itself,” I say, admiring the outfit once more before I summon a door of fire to take us to the most insufferable place imaginable.
I’ve been to the North Pole exactly once. The year the Summit was hosted there. We all take turns and that year it was Santa’s. God awful place. Truly.
I’m not looking forward to going back, but I remember the place well enough to get us where we need to be.
This time I take the lead, holding Lyla and Mandy’s hands as I guide them through the portal and transport them from Hell to somewhere far worse.
I can smell the peppermint the moment we step through, and it nearly gags me. My eyes water and I blink back the tears. I’m the Devil. Nothing makes me cry, but this blasted peppermint is evil. Everything in this cursed domain smells like peppermint. All the time. Every emotion. It is a nightmare.
I’ve actually reproduced this smell as a torture for some of my less fortunate guests. It works wonders.
Mandy takes a sniff and coughs. “Smells like someone threw up a lot of candy canes,” she says, with the honest insight only a child has.
Lyla is about to scold her but I laugh. “You’re absolutely right, my dear. It does.”
We are standing in a field of snow surrounded by a grove of Noble Firs reaching hundred of feet into the sky, their silvery green branches lightly dusted with the perfect amount of snow and lit up by dozens of tiny white candles on each tree.
And there are hundreds of trees.
The effect is quite stunning, even I can admit as much.
“This is a fire danger,” Mandy says solemnly. “We learned about it in school during our Stop, Drop, and Roll lessons.”
“The magic of this place protects the forest,” I say. But the worry of her words lingers.
We won’t be here long enough to be concerned about fire hazards anyway. “The village is through those trees,” I say pointing west. “We just need to get to the barn where the sleigh and reindeer are kept and we’ll be out of here.”
Lyla shivers, but it cannot be from the cold. Her outfit is insulated with Hell’s special brand of warming magic. As is Mandy’s. They will both stay perfectly regulated all night. Something else is bothering her, agitating the little bit of magic that inhabits her soul.
She instinctively knows something is off about this place, and she’s not wrong.
It feels different than when I was last here.
More... desperate.
We move quickly and quietly. Even Mandy manages to maintain some level of stealth, though I end up carrying her on my shoulders once we are within sight of the village. She’s getting tired and Lyla shouldn’t have to do all the work. Not while I’m around and able to help.
The little imp holds onto my horns as she rides on my shoulders, guiding me like her own personal pony.
I can only imagine what they would say about this back home.
The moment we pass through the trees, we are accosted by a scene unlike any other. It’s Christmas on crack. Glossy and shiny and noisy and blingy and so damn festive, but it all feels hollow this time. “This place feels like it should be fun,” Mandy says in a quiet voice, “but it’s just sad.”
They can both see it, feel it. We all can. There are life-size cottages made of gingerbread and frosting. Once upon a time they might have looked tantalizing, but now they are fading. The frosting is yellowing, clumping, and crumbling. The gingerbread is cracking; it has definitely seen better days.
And the elves who should be busy at work are lounging on porches smoking and drinking. Arguing about something nonsensical.