Page 34 of Unholy Night
He even bows.
How are these two plotting against me when they don’t even speak the same language?
As if the child can readmymind, she grins. “I’m using Pictionary to communicate with Tzul,” she says. “I talk and he draws pictures. I’ve already learned some Demon. Wanna hear?”
Before I have a chance to reply, she makes some sounds that do sound vaguely like Demon in a rusty accent. “You like cookies with butter?” I say with a smile.
She frowns. “Milk. How do you say milk?”
Tzul makes the appropriate sound and Mandy repeats him, then beams with her progress. “I’ll be fluent in no time. I wonder if there’s an app that teaches Demon?”
I chuckle. “I’ll look into it.”
I shake my head, staring at the bag of clothes in my hands, then with a flick of my wrist I summon a whirl of black smoke and when the smoke fades I’m standing in my demonized version of a Santa outfit. Black and silver and white, with the traditional hat to top it off. In black too of course. I’m not dressing in all red, not even for Mandy. I don’t need to look like a giant bloodstain.
“Much better,” she says, slipping her tiny hand into mine. “Now, about the reindeer?”
I guide her across the field and through the narrow stand of trees to a large barn, built of gray stone rather than wood. Wood isn’t advisable when the occupying animals can occasionally shit flaming embers. One bad case of bowels and the whole thing would go up in a blaze.
It, in fact, has done just that. Which is why it’s now built out of stone.
Mandy tugs my hand. “Where are we going?”
She stifles a yawn, and I can tell the night is taking its toll on her, no matter what superpowers kids on Christmas Eve get.
But when we walk through the heavy doors--that I push open after she tries and fails to open them herself, letting out an adorable grunt of frustration in the process--her jaw drops. “Puppies!” she screams, and all the Hellhounds turn to look at us, low growls in their throats.
In a move that proves the kid has zero self-preservation instincts, she runs into the pack of hounds like she’s in a petting zoo for bunnies.
“Hello puppies!” she says in a baby voice as she kneels to hold her palm out to them. There are about two dozen of them, since three of my bitches just gave birth to new litters.
Others are working--guarding various levels of Hell, keeping an eye on the cells.
But some of the older pups are ready for real work, too.
And all of them are a good three times Mandy’s size, even the youngest and smallest of the pups.
She looks like a chew toy in their presence, but they instinctively know to treat her gently. I know their moods like my own, so bonded are we.
Slobbery tongues the size of Mandy’s head are licking her, and she’s ewwwing and squealing with feigned disgust and clear delight.
When all the greetings and wagging tails have settled, the giant black canines form a protective circle around the girl, their ears perked and heads facing her, as if they’ve been called to a meeting.
I stare in shock. I’ve never seen them act like this before.
“Okay,” she says, taking control of the room. “We need eight of you to fly Satan Claus’s sleigh tonight. You have to be able to fly, and um…” she pauses, thinking. “And carry us and all the presents. But there’s magic, so I think you’ll be okay. Who wants to come?”
This isn’t how I planned on going about this, but I watch in fascination as the hounds begin stepping forward one by one. As each does, she holds out a small hand like a royal sword for knighting, patting each one on the head. “I dub thee Dasher,” she says to the first. “And you shall be Dancer.” And so on, through to Blitzen. “That’s eight,” she says.
I feel Lyla approach, but keep my gaze locked on Mandy. I’m not worried the hounds will hurt her. I’m more entranced by her bewildering powers over them.
“She’s always been like this,” Lyla says with a smile. I can hear it in her voice. “She has a way with animals. We’d have a whole menagerie if my apartment complex allowed pets and I could afford it. She has strays following her home from our walks all the time, and I swear there’s a bird that shows up at her window everyday with a small gift.”
“She is channeling primal magic,” I say. “It’s the only kind animals respond to. Earth magic. Nature magic. Very elvish.” I almost hate to admit the relation to elf magic, but it’s true.
Lyla sucks in her breath and watches as the sound of a whine draws Mandy’s attention.
The hounds are circled around her, but she steps forward, and two larger hounds part to reveal a much smaller hound standing there, ears too big for his head, eyes wide and trusting--not like a proper Hellhound at all, half-tail wagging. This hound is much smaller than the others, small enough that Mandy can pick him up and hold him against her chest. “Oh look at you. You’re the sweetest aren’t you? A good boy.” She studies him carefully then nods. “And look at those bright red eyes. They practically glow. I dub you Rudolph. You will guide the sleigh for the others.”