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8
Joy
I thrash mindlesslyagainst the demon holding me, but his grip remains firm. Desperation surges through me, turning my blood to molten lava, and I do the only thing I can think of—I bite down on his hand. Hard.
He releases a muffled curse, his grip loosening just enough that I’m able to wiggle my body free…apparently forgetting that I’m miles and miles above the ground.
“Oh shit!” I manage to stutter out as the demon’s grin turns malicious and cruel. With a wink that sends chills shooting through me like fallen stars, he releases me completely, and I drop.
Air rushes past my ears as I begin to freefall towards the ground below.
I don’t want to die!That one thought plays on repeat in my head as I somersault through the air, my dress whipping around me and my apron flipping over my face, obscuring my vision.
Fear bombards me, the sheer intensity like a knife to my gut, as I see the ground rush up to greet me. I think of my father, wherever he may be. Trapped. Hurt. Broken. Completely at the mercy of the sadistic demons currently ruling the North Pole. I think of the innocent cherubs, caught in a battle they can never hope to win.
And then, surprisingly enough, I think of my reindeer. Who will feed them cookies? Though the cherubs are kind and pure, they’re too lazy to make all of the reindeer special treats. I suppose my pets will have to eat oats and carrots for the rest of their time like the rest of the animals. Will they miss me?
But the second my body would’ve made contact with the ground, the second I would’ve become a Joy-shaped pancake, a furry body swoops in and veers skywards. I release a pained “oomf” as I land on Donner’s back, the two of us rising towards the sky. For a brief moment, the wind is knocked out of me and I struggle to breathe. My breaths saw in and out as I orient myself on Donner, gripping his neck with a grip like an iron vise.
In the distance, I can see the shadowy silhouettes of the rest of my reindeer hurrying towards us, and the relief I feel is instantaneous. They’re alive, and though they appear bloody and battered—Blitzen has a particularly nasty gash over his right eye, and Comet’s antlers are covered in blood, though now that I’m thinking about it, I doubt the blood is his—they’re all in relatively one piece.
I’min one piece.
“Donner, you saved me!” I don’t know if my words are able to carry over the roaring of the wind, but I’m pretty sure he makes a strange sound of acknowledgment, something between a chirp and a grunt.
As we continue to fly, the buildings getting smaller and smaller until they’re nothing but mushroomed-shaped, red and green colored roofs poking through the boughs of snowy trees, my body relaxes incrementally. I find myself sagging forward, resting my cheek on the back of Donner’s fuzzy head, between his antlers. He makes another low noise in the back of his throat, and this time, I almost think it’s a purr. Can reindeer purr?
But that mundane thought is soon swept away by a tidal wave of guilt and self-loathing.
I lost the cane.
I found all of the ingredients and reassembled it, only to drop it into a huge snow drift seconds later. I couldn’t even give the damn thing to Santa before my clumsy ass ruined it.
Tears of indignation prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. There’ll be a time for that later, but for now, we need to get somewhere safe. The reindeer aren’t capable of staying in the air forever, and I can already see Blitzen lagging behind, both because of his injury and his natural affinity for sleep.
My eyes scan the snowy landscape before me, currently shrouded in a fine layer of wispy snow, before they hook on a tiny cabin located in a thicket of trees.
“There!” I point towards the minuscule structure as Donner twists his body in that direction, the rest of the reindeer following him.
As we get closer, I can see that the building is nothing more than a single-room cabin made of roughly hewn logs. Both of the windows are dirty, as if the owner hasn’t bothered to clean them in a while, and long, spindly, red and green weeds poke through the snow along the curving driveway. Last I heard, the owner of this house left a few years ago, after…
Donner slows to a stop, and Cupid reaches my side, nudging my hand with a question in his eyes.
“My ex-boyfriend, Zacharia, used to live here,” I explain as I slide off of Donner and walk on shaky legs to the entrance. He was an angel interning with Santa, hoping to take over for my dad when he hit retirement age. He was given this cabin as a way to stay away from the politics that accompany the North Pole and Christmas Village. Of course, my dad didn’t realize that I used to sneak away to fuck Zacharia senseless. When I broke up with him, he was devastated, but I knew a relationship between the two of us would never last. He had a Center somewhere out there, and until he found her—or him—he would never be truly happy.
Cupid gives me a droll look, almost as if he’s pissed at me for taking him to a place I used to fuck a guy, and Dasher goes as far as to stick his antlers through one of the windows, shattering the glass and then turning towards me with innocent, Bambi eyes. Fuckers. I’m pretty sure Comet is peeing on one of the sugar plum bushes, just to make a statement. Sometimes, I swear these reindeer are sentient beings who can actually understand what I’m saying to them. It wouldn’t surprise me. There are far weirder things in both Heaven and Hell, creepy demon children included.
The front door is unlocked—no one would dare to try to steal anything in the North Pole—and I quickly flick on all of the light switches, illuminating the cabin in a musty, golden glow. It’s exactly as I remember it, with a single table in the far corner surrounded by two chairs, and a kitchen that is larger than even the living room. A bathroom is against the far wall—there’s not even a door to separate it from the living room, because angels don’t believe in privacy—and the bedroom itself is in a loft above us. It’s small, but it’ll be safe and warm for the night until we can come up with a Plan B. And C. And D, E, F, and G. Hell, let’s just come up with an entire alphabet this time, because knowing my piss-poor luck, I’ll screw it up. Again.
A wave of sheer fury and frustration explodes inside of me, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m slamming my fist into the window that Dasher didn’t break. Glass embeds itself into my knuckles, pain reverberating across my hand, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in my chest, steadily choking my airways until it feels as if I can’t breathe.
“Fuck!” I scream, preparing to throw another punch at the window, but before I can make contact, Cupid is in front of me, his dark head canted to the side. I could be mistaken, I usually am, but his eyes almost appear…sad. Heartbreakingly sad, as if I had shoved my fist into his chest instead of a window.
And that expression…
It shatters me.
I feel like one of those ugly Christmas sweaters that humans love to wear that, overtime, has become riddled with holes. The thread is unraveling, and the slightest tug will destroy it completely. I’m that sweater, and this moment is that damn thread being tugged within an inch of its pathetic life.
