Page 1 of Letters to Satan

Chapter 1

Damien

“A-fucking-nother?” I bellow, thumping my fist on the desktop as Xalreth nonchalantly drops an envelope onto the polished mahogany. Irrational anger, white-hot and explosive, flares to the surface as I stare at the colorful red and white striped paper, with its stupid holly leaves and—gagme—hearts.

“Don’t these people know how tospell?!S-A-N-T-A!” I pound on the desk between every letter. “It’s not that fucking hard, is it? Santa and Satan don’tevensoundthe same.”

“Yes, sir, of course they don’t,” Xalreth says, bored as he flips through the rest of the mail in his hand, leafing through them as though they’re nothing more than annoyances.

Honestly, same.

My hands wave in the air as I glare at the offending letters. “Just like that tomato and to-mah-toe business... completely different.”

He freezes, sparing a glance up at me. Gods, those solid black eyes get no less creepy, even after decades of working with him. “I don’t think—”

“Yes, yes, we’re aware you don’t think, Xalreth. Leave it to those with more brain capacity so you don’t hurt yourself.”

A quiet snort rolls from his throat, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like, “Iknowyou aren’t including yourself in that assessment.” As I open my mouth to argue, he interrupts me by holding up the bunch of envelopes and waving them in my direction. “There are a few actual important letters mixed in with the rest, if you’re interested in them.”

“More important than lazy little whiney humans begging for presents from a bearded man in a red suit?” I ask, flicking the disgusting candy cane letter away from me until it teeters on the edge of the desk.

“I mean, comeon,am I right?” My voice turns into a mocking, high-pitched whine, which I feel is terribly accurate for most members of the human species. “DearSanta,I want a new set of golf clubs or world peace or a goddamned BMW so I can look like even more of a douche. Send me a Turbo Twister 9dildo because my model 7 is worn out. Wah, wah, fuckingwah.”

Xalreth’s eyebrow arches, but he doesn’t look up from the papers in his hand. “You think The Santa is dealing in vibrators these days?” Irritated, my tail twitches and snaps out, flicking him on the back of his hand with enough force to make him yelp and drop the mail, causing him to finally meet my eyes.

“Petulant little shit,” I mutter as he tosses me a smirk and leans to pick up the fallen letters. “And no, I don’t think The Santa is involved in anything as interesting as vibrators. Probably still making wooden rocking horses and fucking dictionaries, being the insufferable, goody-two-shoes, pot-bellied asshole he is. Or maybe he’s crafting a new style of stick to shove up his ass, uptight fuckface with his holier-than-thou attitude. Rightboring,if you ask me.”

“You’ve never met him,” he points out as he drops two letters in front of me, which I glance at and push aside. “This Santa took over a few years ago.”

I furrow my brow, trying to think. “How long has it been since the last Santa came to visit?”

“A few decades. You…” He coughs, averysarcastic sound. “…accidentallyset him on fire.”

“Ahh, that’s right,” I say, a sly grin spreading across my face at the delightful memory. “Purely a misunderstanding. I was merely showing him that the flame retardant on his suit wasn’t sufficient.”

“Right,” Xalreth says, completely dry. “Because summoned Hellfyre from The Lucifer himself is the same as a common chimney fire.” I click my tongueand give a noncommittal hum, refusing to voice an opinion on that matter.

It’s notmyfault his elves were slacking in their R&D.

I was simply offering a helping hand by revealing his shortcomings… giving him a chance to make some improvements. Much needed ones, judging by the way he lit up like a barrel full of gasoline. It’s not like Iknewhe’d lose his eyebrows. Or that he looked like a lumpy, overboiled potato without them.

It was really quite horrifying.

And to think, my requests for compensation for my mental damages wereignored.

“We don't know much about this new guy.” My gaze darts to the candy-striped letter still teetering on the edge of my desk and I slide it in front of me, tracing my fingers along the edges of the envelope.

“You’re right, Xalreth, we don’t. This might be the perfect opportunity to change that.”

Once again, his black, pupilless eyes flicker up to meet mine. “I recognize that tone… this is the beginning of one of your terrible schemes.”

I scoff, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “My schemes areincredible—”

“What about the time you required Hellhounds to be micro-chipped?”

“Not my fault the mutts had an adverse reaction.” Mutts... I use the term loosely, since their primary, unshifted forms are six-foot-something hard bodies sculpted straight from a wet dream.

Still, a rambunctious crew if you ever saw one.

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