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13
Nico, aka Donner
It’s fooking on!
A thrill races up my spine faster than a spider outrunning a shoe. I’ve got Santa’s magical bag on my back packed full of goodies for naughty demons.
I couldn’t find coal, but I hurl several nice boulders from the bag down onto the workshop roof. They give a satisfying clang as they dent the metal and then roll off with a groan, before dropping and disappearing into the snowbanks near the walls.
When I’m out of rocks, I snag a Bluetooth speaker that the cherubs keep in the barn and blast some heavy metal. Damn. I cannae say how much I’ve missed that music stuck here in the land of eternally obnoxious jingles.
There’s a good, long scream from the lead singer that reminds me nostalgically of the picnics we used to have next to the murderer’s canyon in Hell. It’s a beautiful sound, one that is sure to bring any demons in the area looking, wondering what delicious torture is going on.
Seconds later, the other demon group appears. A couple of them are chasing Gus, their eyes lit pure red in fury as they pelt after my brother, the door of the workshop slamming behind them. He weaves between some evergreen trees, and they howl in rage, their sounds mixing perfectly with the angry anthem blaring from my speaker.
I turn when another demon flies up through the hole they made in the workshop roof, his horns glinting in a bit of sun that pops out from behind some clouds. That one shoots towards me like a dart. Unlike the other demons, his eyes aren’t bright red. Looks like Gus missed one with his wrath.
I roll to the side, letting the fooker shoot past me and grinning when I hear him growl in annoyance.That’s right, you disgusting hacket of a hellion, I think.Come and get me.I pretend I don’t notice him as I reach again into the magical sack, feeling around for my next weapon.
The demon, whose face is as pale as the snow, flies at me with bared teeth like some kind of rabid dog. A saner demon might be put off or intimidated, but me? I love it when I drive others a bit mad. And it’s been so verra long since I’ve been able to do it effectively.
I let him get within spitting distance before I shoot up higher. As soon as he follows, I drop like a stone. Up. Drop. Up. Drop. It’s a little game that makes him screech. If he was a dragon shifter, I’ve no doubt he’d be spitting fire.
I pull my next weapon from Santa’s sack, and part of me really wants to shout out “Freedom!” in tribute to Mel Gibson. But I don’t. Instead, I sling blue paint through the air so that it douses my enemy, coating him like some sickly afterbirth because the paint chunks up in the cold air and looks like cottage cheese on his skin.
I cannae help it. I laugh uproariously at this. “Oh, you’re a sad sight now!”
He divebombs me with a speed I didn’t realize he possessed, and my heart fondles my tonsils for a second.
Fook.
That’s an unpleasant surprise, to find out he’s actually that damn fast. Has he been toying with me? Realization dawns. I wonder if some of these bastards are unpleasant surprise demons. You know, the assholes who make sure your mother unexpectedly fills in as a chaperone at prom, who make you scramble to find a ride to work when your car won’t start, the ones who ensure you find a sext message from someone else on your boyfriend’s phone. They’re right arseholes they are.
I met one or two during my transition from tortured soul to demon. Cannae say it was fun to know them, but that power would explain their ability to sneak up on Santa. If a few demons in that murder have surprise powers and combine them…damn. That will make them harder to fight than the Loch Ness monster. Who cannae be fought because she isn’t real.
Santa would just turn around, and bam! His worst nightmare would be in his face. I don’t want to find out what unpleasant surprises these demons might have in store for me.
I dive for the workshop, eyes scanning the ground as I feel the demon behind me, his breath heating my neck as his claws rake the back side of my left wing. Where the fook is Bryn? Did he fall asleep on the job?
Stupid sloth demon.
I throw the bag behind me in a desperate attempt to throw this arsehole off course, but other than a muffledwhomp, I can’t be sure it worked. I definitely don’t have the time to glance back, not when I feel a claw pierce my wing a bit.
I dive through the hole in the workshop roof, past the cherubs still strapped to the ceiling, ignoring them when they shriek, “No! More demons! We’re done for!” Overdramatic whiners.
I head right for my favorite toys in the place. The Nerf guns. I snag one mid-flight and whirl around so I can pelt the fooker behind me with bright yellow balls. They fire through the air and pelt his torso, sticking a bit to the crusty paint before sliding down and getting caught on his pants, gathering around his midsection like pollen grains. With the blue paint… “You look like a fooking flower!” I compliment him.
His hand lifts, and suddenly, my kilt feels like sandpaper. I look down to see the couch cushions have transformed into actual sandpaper, scraping at my skin and my manly bits.
“Good ‘un. Too bad I like it nude just as well,” I say with a wink as I rip off my makeshift kilt without a care. Honestly, I can say that the one benefit of being a deer is getting used to having my junk hang out in all this cold. It doesn’t even faze me when a gust of wind drifts in from a hole in the ceiling.
I hear a battle cry and am not at all surprised when Gus flashes by me, barreling into the ugly blue demon I’ve been annoying.
I watch them fight in midair. Gus swipes with his claws, and the unpleasant surprise demon flits in and out of time and space, just quick enough that Gus cannae touch him.
My eyes scan the room, lighting on trains and drums…and a bright pink microphone. I dive over to it, energized by an idea.
That’s when I notice Cal and my Joy crouched behind some beginner electric guitar amps that will torture some poor parents’ ears next year. Nostalgia hits me for a minute, because that was a key part of our plan for taking over Christmas. We were going to make sure every damn gift was so loud and obnoxious that parents all over the world would be annoyed by the very thought of Christmas day.
