10
An Unexpected Encounter
With the starlight scope to my eyes, I drove slowly forward across the parking lot, avoiding the Dumpster. The parking lot rose slightly and met the country lane beyond. I had just rounded the bend and slid behind the trees when the piercing blue lights of the patrol cars entered the parking lot. I kept driving, slowly at first. Then, once there was the rise of a hill between us and the warehouse, I put my foot on the accelerator and shot forward as quickly as the range of the starlight scope would allow.
When we passed the third stop sign, I slowed down and turned on my lights. Mab, who was peering out the back window, swore softly. Mephisto leaned forward between the two front seats, nearly jarring my elbow as he did so.
“Yippie! We escaped the police! Why were they chasing us? Did we get my staff?”
“No, Mephisto, and they were chasing us because we broke into a warehouse. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Can you imagine what would have happened if I got arrested? The CEO of Prospero, Inc., a multinational corporation, nabbed breaking into a warehouse like a common crook? I think I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Mab, what is going on back there?”
“I can see ’em, ma’am, the barghests. They’re after us, and they’re running pretty darn fast.”
“Oh, no!” I cried, adding more rapidly, “Holy Lady, be my shepherd. Guide me to a safe fold.”
Like a bright beacon in the darkness, a warm certainty urged me forward, directing me where and when to turn. Obediently, I drove and turned as I was bid. We passed down narrow country roads. To either side, tree trunks gleamed, half-illuminated by our headlights. Mab watched the road behind me, cursing and swearing as the barghests gained.
“If they reach the car, they’ll probably be able to get in, and we’ll have to fight them. I doubt this vehicle has been properly warded,” Mab said. “That’s not my biggest worry, though. It’s what happens if they reach the motor that really frightens me. Natural laws and the supernatural don’t mix well. The engine will probably cut out.”
“Well, do something! I don’t want those ugly dogs slobbering all over me! Hey, Miranda, where’d all that blood on your face come from?” Mephisto said.
“Those slobbering dogs.” I spoke the words automatically, my thoughts on our path and the road.
“Why don’t you do something?” Mab snapped from the backseat. “You scared them away quickly enough in your fiend form. How’d you do that anyway?”
“Do what? What’s he talking about, Miranda?” Mephisto called.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Mephisto sat hunched in the backseat, his face contorted by confusion, as if he struggled to remember something unpleasant.
“I don’t think he remembers, Mab,” I said softly.
As we continued barreling through the night, I fought a growing sense of dread. Mephisto’s strange transformation disturbed me. I had been certain, considering the terrible things my family had witnessed, that none of us would ever traffic with demons. It was quite a blow to learn that one of us might be a demon! Still, I held onto the lingering hope that Mephisto might have some reasonable explanation. Perhaps, if we questioned him later, under less stressful circumstances, he would be more forthcoming.
On the other hand, maybe there was no more palatable explanation. I remembered my moment of sympathy with Mephisto in Vermont, when I wondered how sane Mephisto might feel about the crazy one. If I lost my reason or, worse, my rank of Handmaiden, I would be desperate to regain it, though not desperate enough, I hoped, to give in to the lure of forging a deal with Hell. What of my brother? Might he have given in to such a temptation and made a pact with dire powers in hopes of regaining his sanity, even if only temporarily?
We were driving through the outskirts of town. Once, then twice, the car pulled suddenly as, according to Mab, the barghests seized the bumper in their teeth. Soon, we found ourselves on a busy street, passing diners and neon signs. Mab cried out, pointing at a passing pool hall.
“Stop there! Pool halls always have chalk for their cues. We could step on the stuff to grind it down. I bet it would work. Stop! Do you hear?”
“No.”
“No? Has your brain left your noggin? Stop!” Mab cried.
The car jerked again as another barghest gained our bumper. Mephisto shrieked. His voice shrill, he cried, “Miranda! Listen to him. These barghests are about to eat us. I don’t wanna be puppy chow!”
I glanced at the neon sign hanging sideways along the pool hall. Mab was right, such a place would have chalk. Chalk alone, especially of the poor quality we’d find here, would not allow us to banish the hounds. However, the pool hall sign indicated they sold food, so they probably had salt, too. A circle of salt and chalk would keep the barghests out. If we could stay put until morning, the sunlight would force them away until the next evening. By then, we certainly could find what we needed.
I considered stopping. There was not only myself, but Mab and Mephisto to consider. Yet, the beacon of my Lady’s light led onward. I pushed aside the gnawing fear in my stomach and shook my head again.
“No. That is not where Eurynome wants us to go.”
“Has anyone told Her about the barghests?” Mab asked.
I kept driving. Mab stared morosely out the back window at the receding pool hall. Mephisto sat shivering, with his arms around his knees.
“Ah, Miranda, something happened to these clothes you gave me. Do you have any more?” he asked plaintively.
The car gave a thump. Blood-red wolf-like eyes peered in the back window. Pale fangs gnawed at the glass, slobbering at it with a faint black tongue. Mab swore, and Mephisto screamed. As I rounded the corner, following where my path was leading me, Mephisto perked up.
“Oh, goody, a mall!”
Sure enough, we were in the middle of a massive parking lot. A bright sign of blue and pink read “Landover Mall.” Led by my Lady, I parked under a street lamp. When the barghests drew back, confused by the light, we made a break for it, leaping from the car and running for the mall’s entrance.
“A mall? Oh, this is great, ma’am! Just excellent,” Mab yelled sarcastically as he sprinted for the door. “What does that horse-brained Lady of yours expect us to find here?”
“Her brain is made of lightning, Mab. Same as yours, or at least mine.” I reached the double doors and plowed through both the outer and inner set. Then I slowed. Panting, I said, “Perhaps, she knows something about malls we don’t. Perhaps they’re warded. They are the churches of the modern capitalistic creed, are they not?”
As I spoke, the first barghest passed through the glass and lunged at me. We turned and ran again.
“Warded church of the capitalistic creed, my foot!” Mab panted as he ran. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that the first creed of blessed capitalism is: sell to all comers? That means me and the barghests, too.”
We raced pell-mell along the lower floor of the mall, passing staircases and kiosks, startling shoppers. The hallway led into a large open area. Above could be seen the stores of the upper level. There were three ways we could go. I glanced rapidly in all three directions. As I turned toward the leftmost corridor, a warmth touched my face, like the sweet breath of spring air. Instantly, I ran in that direction, calling for Mab and Mephisto to follow me.
The mall was decorated for Christmas. Bells and wreaths hung in store windows and along the railing of the upper level. Far ahead of us, a Christmas display had been set up, complete with fir trees, stuffed elves, and a Santa Claus to listen to the wishes of children. Many of the shoppers wore their winter coats. Some carried parcels wrapped in red and green paper.
Children screamed. Some pointed down the hallway, back the way we had come. Others cowered behind their parents’ legs. The adults stared blindly toward where they were pointing, seeing nothing amiss, other than three adults running. Several mothers lectured their frightened children, ordering them to be silent, apparently embarrassed by the attention their children’s wailing drew.
As we ran on, Mab called, “Where are we headed, ma’am? Maybe we could find a mountaineering store. That chalk rock climbers use works pretty well. Or maybe the food court? Or a place that sells drawing materials? Isn’t that an art store over there?”
I glanced in the direction Mab was pointing. My face felt instantly colder. I continued onward, following my Lady’s beacon.
“No. This way!” I replied with certainty.
Mab scowled. He gave the art store a last longing glance. Suddenly, an unarticulated cry of horror escaped his lips. “Ma’am! The barghests! They’re feeding on the crowd!”
The smoky hounds, unseen by the crowd, were leaping upon and rending the shoppers. I saw a barghest bite the leg of a thin woman in a burgundy coat. The woman sagged suddenly, her face becoming tired and pained. She grabbed her leg, massaging her calf, where—to my eyes—the barghest lapped up her blood. Another man had a barghest gnawing at his throat. Eyes dazed, he looked for a place to sit. A small child had fallen to the ground. Two smoky hounds licked blood from his bleeding cheek. His angry overweight mother, oblivious to the barghest, dragged him back to his feet and slapped him for crying.
The sight was terrible; I felt sick to my stomach.
“You should have stopped at the pool hall, ma’am,” Mab said between gritted teeth. “At least, there wouldn’t have been any kids there.”
“Oh, Mab!” I cried out, shaken.
The lead barghests were nearly upon us. As we ran again, I prayed aloud. “Holy Lady, take not from others the safety and sanctuary that I have asked be granted unto us.” The warmth of Her beacon did not waver. I ran, following it. Behind us, the barghests bayed.
Then they were among us, barking and yapping and howling. Fear gripped me. Whatever sanctuary my Lady envisioned for us, we would not reach it before the barghests devoured the lot of us. Just a few days ago, I might not have cared about the welfare of the shoppers, but I thought again of my aging brother with his wrinkled and careworn face. He did not look so different from the old man by the stairs, or the man near the ice cream store who was trying to comfort his frightened wife. All of these people wanted to live at least as much as I did. How terrible if we were to perish now and leave the innocent shoppers prey to the denizens of Hell.
Maybe Mab had been right. Perhaps I should have stopped at the pool hall and not trusted my Lady to take human needs into account. That thought took me aback. Did my Lady usually take the needs of those around me into account? I could not remember. I realized with growing chagrin that I had never noticed.
A sharp stinging pain shot through my ankle. A great shadowy beast clung to my leg. I cried out, kicking it and slashing at the beast with the polished shaft of my flute. My leg came free. Desperately, I threw all I had into one last sprint, running directly toward the warmth that guided me.
Suddenly, there was a small, white picket fence directly in my way. It was only a foot and a half tall, but I did not have time to react. My leg struck it. I fell sprawling, arms flailing before me.
I tumbled onto something soft and white. A green-and-white object tumbled over with me. Rapidly, I threw my arm up before my face, waiting for the attack.
None came.
Slowly, I sat up, clutching my flute. I was sitting just beneath a large Douglas fir, among the soft cotton snow of the central Christmas display. A jolly stuffed elf lay toppled beside me. Just beyond the tilted picket fence stood the barghest. Its red eyes glowed hot with anger. It growled and snapped, showing teeth as white as bone. So substantial had it become from drinking blood that the shoppers stopped and pointed at the angry dog. However, it did not cross the tiny picket fence.
I lay cushioned by cotton, gazing up at fake pine needles. Before me, the shadow dog leapt and slobbered, but each time he approached the fence, he cringed, drawing back. I was aware of him, and yet it was as if we were worlds away from each other. The fear I had felt when the dogs were chasing me fell away, and now I felt enveloped in an aura of safety and cheer, as if nestled against my Lady.
Mab and Mephisto had run toward me when I fell. The barghests assailed them. Mab, blood-streaked and gasping, backed toward me, warding off the dogs as best he could with his lead pipe. Mephisto had collapsed to a crouch. Cowering, his hands before his face, he shouted for the barghests to leave him alone. Leaping to my feet, I called to them.
“Mab! Mephisto! Over here!”
A large hand came down my shoulder, bringing with it a sense of peace. Behind me, a deep voice spoke.
“Madam, are you harmed?”
I turned and gazed up into a familiar face that was wise with age. The man who regarded me had bushy white eyebrows, keen blue eyes, a proud and kingly nose, and a long bushy beard. His red velvet hat and robes were trimmed with white fur and clasped about his middle by a shiny black belt. In one hand, he held a tall staff of yew wood hung with bells that rang softly. He smelled of peppermint.
“Father Christmas!” I breathed in amazement. As Mab and Mephisto came vaulting over the picket fence, I glanced toward the empty chair where the mall Santa had sat. “Is it really you?”
“Indeed, Miranda,” he spoke in his deep booming voice. “Many years have passed since last we met, have they not? But you must excuse me.”
Father Christmas strode past me. Just inside the picket fence, he stopped and raised his left forearm, laying his staff perpendicularly atop it, forming a horizontal cross between arm and staff. Throughout the mall, the barghests froze. They looked up from their victims and turned their blood-red eyes toward Father Christmas. The majority of them began to back up slowly, their heads lowered, their tails between their legs. A few braver hounds growled and began to creep forward, hackles raised.
Father Christmas pointed the iron tip of his belled staff straight between the eyes of the largest beast. In a tremendous booming voice, he said. “Begone! I revoke your invitation.”
The entire pack of barghests howled. Turning, they fled. Some ran down the corridors toward the doors and the night beyond. Others vanished into the shadows, under staircases or behind store displays. In a blink of an eye, not a single barghest was left.
About the upper and lower levels, the crowds of shoppers, startled by the loud noise, turned weary faces toward Father Christmas. Among them were the barghests’ victims, still bleeding from yet unnoticed wounds. The hostile gaze of the crowd took in Father Christmas and the three of us who stood beside him. Mephisto slowly backed away and hid behind a pine tree. Mab’s hand reached into his pocket and closed about his trusty lead pipe.
Father Christmas raised his staff and shook it. The bells about the top jingled and rang.
“Merry Christmas,” he boomed, “Merry Christmas!”
The shoppers straightened. Fear and tension drained from their faces. The plaintive cries of children changed to laughter and shouts of joy.
I watched my hands and ankle heal until nothing was left of the bloody bites and scratches but tiny, almost imperceptible scars. A sense of awe filled me. The barghests were spiritual creatures. The wounds they made must have been spiritual, too. When our fear changed to joy, they were undone. Elsewhere, the wounds of those who had been injured in the crowds also healed, though where the more substantial shadow hounds had damaged clothing, the rents remained. Apparently, the cloth was not affected by Father Christmas’s holiday cheer.
Father Christmas strode around to the other three sides of his small enclosure, shaking the bells on his staff and spreading holiday cheer. On both the upper and lower levels, the shoppers smiled. Children hopped up and down, waving. Many pulled at their parents’ coats and pointed. Even at a distance, I could make out that their happy mouths were forming the word “Santa!”
Mab took off his battered hat and stared after the dignified figure in scarlet and white who stood waving to the children crowded around the railing of the upper level, an expression of awe on his craggy blood-caked features.
He turned to me and said, in a subdued voice, “I beg your pardon, Miss Miranda. I guess that Lady of yours really knows her stuff.”
“She does indeed!” I laughed.
“What are the chances that Santa would be right around the corner?” Mab marveled. “Seems almost eerie.”
“Had we asked Her to lead us to Father Christmas and he turned out to be right around the corner, that would have been eerie. We just asked for a safe place, and this happened to be the closest one,” I replied. When Mab continued to look dubious, I added, “Surely, you know there are supernatural beings scattered throughout our world. My Lady led us to the nearest friendly one.”
“That’s right!” Mephisto stuck his arm around my shoulders. “That’s what having a Handmaiden for a sister is like! Everything goes better when she’s around! Kind of like Coke.”
“Ya know,” Mab scratched his stubble, “Come to think of it, magic does attract magic. There may be a reason why the real Father Christmas showed up near where the demons have a warehouse. Their presence may have made it so that it was okay for him to come here in whatever cosmic Big Book of Score the Powers of Good use to decide these things.” He made a note in his notebook. Then, his eyes drifted back toward Father Christmas. I touched his shoulder lightly. He started and blinked. “Huh?”
“Come on,” I said, smiling. “Help me lift this elf.”
We righted the jolly elf, removing some of the white cotton snow from its sharp pointed chin. Mab bent and peered into the figure’s narrow impish face. “What did you say this was supposed to be?”
“An elf.”
“Humph!” As he put his hat back on, he added under his breath, “Just goes to show how little humans know.”
Father Christmas finished his rounds and shut the gate leading to the enclosure, stopping to speak a brief quiet word to a little boy and girl who stood by the entrance. The boy laughed and the little girl stared up at him with adoring eyes. He handed them each a red-and-green peppermint stick, then returned. Taking his place in the throne-like chair set upon a dais amidst reindeer and three-foot-tall candy canes, he beckoned for us to join him.
We approached Santa’s Chair. A semicircle of Douglas firs surrounded the dais, forming a partial screen. In this small oasis of seclusion, away from the bustle of the mall, Father Christmas sat surveying the Christmas display, with its jolly elves’ workshop and its moving toy train, as a kindly father might survey his children’s playroom. His large hands, unadorned except for a single gold wedding band, rested regally on the arms of his chair. His eyes crinkled kindly as we approached.
Mab and I sat on the steps of the dais, basking in the sense of warmth and security this place radiated. Mephisto, however, rushed forward and plopped himself down at Father Christmas’s feet, singing as he did so, “‘He knows when you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.’ What about me? Have I been good?” he asked.
Father Christmas stroked his long white beard and nodded his head slowly. There was a sadness in his keen blue eyes. “Yes, Mephistopheles. You have been good.”
“Goody, I hate that icky coal stuff!” Mephisto started to rise. I feared he would attempt to sit in Father Christmas’s lap. He asked, “Can I tell you what I want?”
“I know what you want, Mephistopheles,” Father Christmas replied solemnly.
“You do?” Mephisto sat back down. “Oh.” Then, perking up, he asked, “When do I get it?”
“When all my presents are delivered, child,” Father Christmas laughed. “On Christmas, of course!”
I smiled indulgently, pleased to see the kindness with which Father Christmas treated my daffy brother. And yet, hearing his calm promise, I could not help but feel a lingering sense of envious regret. When I first met Father Christmas, so long ago, I asked him for the one gift I most desired: The Book of the Sibyl. Written by Deiphobe, the Sibyl of Rome, it purportedly explained the secrets of the Sibylline Order. Shaking his head sadly, Father Christmas had told me that was beyond even his ability to give.
“What of my people?” Mab cocked his head. His tone was challenging “Do you give my people gifts?”
Father Christmas met Mab’s gaze squarely. “Do they give each other gifts?” Mab frowned, thinking. Father Christmas turned his keen and penetrating gaze toward me.
“Let us speak of things immediate. I have driven off the demons who pursued you. However, those beggarly dogs may not yet have lost your scent. You are safe within the circle of my hospitality. This place is as a temple bedecked in my honor. My power is strong here.” He gestured toward the red and green banners hanging from the rafters and the Yuletide displays decorating the window of every store.
“Then we can stay here a while?” I asked.
Father Christmas smiled down at me kindly. “Of course! All who serve the Light are welcome.”
I smiled and, reaching out, squeezed his hand in thanks.
“It has been a long time, Miranda,” Father Christmas declared. “When was it we met last?”
“On the streets of London, near Mayfair, during the reign of Victoria,” I recalled. “You wore robes of dark green, and two shaggy ponies festooned with bells pulled your sleigh. If I recall, there were burning candles in the holly wreath about your head.”
I remembered the encounter clearly. It was just after vespers, and the evening bells were ringing. The air smelled of pies and spices, for the muffin man had just pushed by with his cart. Carolers were singing at the park, and snow was falling. I had met him once before, too, long ago, in Italy, though back then he wore yet another guise.
Father Christmas’s keen blue eyes twinkled. “The mall security will not let me have lighted candles.”
“Imagine, meeting the real Father Christmas at a shopping mall, and after a wait of well over hundred years!” I laughed in wonder.
It was unbelievable. Yet, nothing was impossible when divine guidance was involved. To think I had nearly doubted Her. Silently, I begged my Lady’s pardon.
Father Christmas nodded solemnly. He frowned ever so slightly and stroked his long white beard.
“Hey, aren’t you called St. Nicholas in Russia?” Mab asked.
“I am.”
“Is it true what the legends say? That you’re God’s apprentice, preparing to take His place when He dies?” Mab asked.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Father Christmas’s laugh was a deep and jovial sound. “How could anyone replace the Infinite?”
“Hmm, you have a point. . . . Sir, why don’t my people give each other gifts?” Mab asked.
“Gift giving requires a free will. Mankind did not always give gifts. Do you know the tale of how they came to have the freedom to do so? Perhaps with its telling, we can while away the time you must remain here for my blessing to protect you. I know Miranda is familiar with this story, but perhaps she will not mind hearing it told yet again,” said Father Christmas.
I knew the story quite well. The servants of Eurynome passed it down from generation to generation. It was an analogy only, not necessarily more or less true than other accounts, though it resembled rather closely the version told by the early Christian Gnostics, before the Church hunted them into extinction. We kept it alive because it glorified our Lady and served as a reminder of the infamy of Her great enemy, Lilith.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I could hear that tale told over a thousand times, and it would not be too often for me.”
“Then listen, my children, and I shall tell you the tale of how mankind came to be free.” Father Christmas leaned forward and began. “Once upon a time, the fallen angels who dwell in the darkness were bitterly envious of the bright things they had left behind. Filled with overweening pride and wishing to prove their superiority to the Infinite, they fashioned a world out of the stuff of darkness and set in it a garden, which they filled with all manner of pretty things: flowers, fruit trees, animals, birds, and fish. In the midst of this garden, they created creatures formed in their own images.”
“He means people,” Mephisto looked back and forth from Mab to me. “Doesn’t he mean people?”
I reached over and touched Mephisto’s shoulder lightly, putting my finger to my lips. Mephisto covered his mouth with his hand and sat quietly, gazing eagerly up at Father Christmas, awaiting the tale.
“Their new creatures were homunculi, containing no spirit.” Father Christmas’s voice was deep and restful. “When the fallen ones exerted their will upon them, their hideous homunculi would stand and shamble about the garden, dancing and cavorting much like a marionette beneath the puppeteer’s strings. When the fallen angels turned their will to other matters, their charges collapsed and lay inanimate upon the grass.
“Beholding this little pocket of color in the bleakness, the Divine Infinite felt pity for the fallen angels and their dolls. He moved across the face of their garden and breathed the breath of Life into the homunculi. The flopping homunculi stood and thought and named themselves mankind.
“The fallen angels were both horrified and delighted with this new turn of events—horrified because now their charges had the ability to escape them, but delighted because they now had prisoners to torment. Fearing that mankind might escape the garden, they laid great enchantments to blind mankind and bind their will. Thus bound and blinded, mankind could not perceive the nature of their fallen masters, nor could they perceive the walls that enclosed the garden. They lived much as they had before, bound and meek, obeying the fallen ones’ every whim.
“Far above, among the shining spires of High Heaven, a daughter of the Divine Infinite beheld the creatures within the walls of the garden prison. Moved by mankind’s plight, she left the Void, where she had danced, weaving worlds out of chaos, to travel down into the murk and darkness wherein the fallen ones’ world was hid.
“Eurynome came across the oceans of the Void, a bolt of brilliance through the eternal night. The hosts of the fallen streamed forth to bar her way, but none could stand before her brightness. Searing the air as she plummeted, she pierced the wall surrounding the garden. Where she struck the ground, a tree grew.
“The fallen angels took council among themselves. Mankind must be stopped from eating the fruit of this new tree, else the darkness might be lifted from their eyes and the bindings from their will. The fallen ones chose one from among their number, the dark and cunning Lilith, called the Queen of Air and Darkness, to misguide mankind. Lilith crept among them, whispering to them that if they should eat of this tree, they would surely die. Mankind dutifully abstained.”
As Father Christmas wove his tale, his voice grew more powerful and the gleam in his eye more keen, until I was amazed any shopper could mistake him for a costumed mortal. An aura of majesty surrounded him like a cloak, and the lights gleaming off his thistle-white hair shone like a halo. Folklore named him a saint, but I suspected he was something far older and more primordial. After all, saints were human. When Father Christmas spoke about High Heaven, I got the distinct impression he knew of it firsthand. When he spoke of Lilith and the demons, he seemed no more afraid than an adult might be of a child’s nightmare.
“Then, one day,” he continued, “as a woman sat beneath the blessed tree, a fruit fell into her hand, and she bit into it. Some say that it fell by its own volition, but others claim that Ophion, the Serpent of the Wind, Eurynome’s dance partner from the Void, moved through its branches, disturbing them. If so, this might explain why some other versions of this tale recall a snake within the branches.
“As she ate, Eurynome’s virtue went into the woman, and the mist cleared from her eyes. She became aware of her divine nature and beheld the imprisoning walls. Running to her mate, she shared the fruit with him, and he too beheld the truth. Hand in hand, they scaled the walls and escaped from the garden, to make a new life upon the face of the Earth. They were free now to love, to give gifts, and to do all those things, both good and bad, that free will allows.”
While we sat spellbound, listening, the halls of the mall around us had slowly grown quiet and empty. Now a security guard approached, stepping over the low fence as he came toward us.
“I’m sorry folks, but the mall is closed; you’ll have to leave.”
Father Christmas stood, saying, “Come. I will escort you to your vehicle and ensure no dark powers approach you out of the night.”
Outside, we found our rental car alone in the parking lot, bathed in a pool of garish lamplight. The magic of the story still encompassed us as we walked in silence, Father Christmas striding before us. When we reached our vehicle, Father Christmas raised his staff and uttered his benediction.
“Merry Christmas! And to all, a good night!” he boomed.
“Good night, Santa,” Mephisto said.
“Good evening, Sir,” said Mab.
“Good night, Father Christmas,” I said. “I hope to see you before another hundred and forty years have passed.”
“May your wish be granted!” Father Christmas bowed solemnly and strode off into the darkness.