Page 39 of Letters to Satan

He’s thoughtful as I force myself to take another bite that’s no easier to stomach than the first. “Extra hours in the workshop would help get caught up.”

A spiteful laugh leaves my throat as I stare into the fire once more. “There’s no getting caught up at this point. I wasted too much time, and now I’ll be written into history as the only Santa to miss Christmas.”

“We’ll make it work, sir. Even if we have to move gifts around and reduce what people are getting, we’ll make sure that everyone has a Christmas.”

“I don’t deserve you, Caddy,” I say, so quiet it’s barely heard over the crackling logs, and I swallow again, forcing past the lump in my throat. “I don’t deserve to hold this position, or the trust that has been placed on my shoulders. Once this Christmas is done, we’ll start the search for my replacement.”

“But sir—”

“I’d like to be alone now, if you don’t mind.”

He hesitates, watching me stir my spoon methodically through my soup, not bothering with the pretense of taking anymore bites. His hand lands on my shoulder, but I don’t meet the scrutiny of his gaze. “Of course, sir. I’ll be close by, should you need me.”

And with that, he leaves, and I’m alone.

Again.

My fingernails scratch through my beard, which has gotten scruffy in the aftermath of all the chaos. The usual scissors-to-a-football-field level of grooming standards I have for myself have fallen to the wayside, and I look as unkemptas I feel.

Disappointed is far too mild a word for the contempt I have for myself in this moment. Disgusted might come close.

Repulsed might come even closer.

Anger surges deep in my gut again, but there’s nowhere to direct it other than to myself. It’s my fault he stayed, because I took one look into those honey brown eyes and thought… what if?

Every time his name crosses my mind, it festers and boils like a wound I refuse to treat. It’s become an integral moment in my life that I can’t outrun.

I’ll now measure life in years of B.D. and A.D.

Before and After Damien.

The dim light filtering through the window casts long shadows on the desk, mirroring the melancholy that has settled over me like a heavy blanket. I haven’t left my office in days, and I’ve simply accepted that whatever’s going to happen, will.

The elves may appear eternally young, but their youthful looks belie the weight of their long lives and countless experiences. I’m hoping that by staying out of the way, they can navigate my blunders and prevent Christmas from being a complete disaster this year.

Amber liquid sloshes in my glass as I stare at it, the firelight shining through and transforming it into the same color of his eyes. My knuckles whiten as I tighten my grip around it, and a furious, defeated snarl crawls from my throat before I can stop it. Glass shatters and flames erupt as I hurl the cup into thefire, the accelerant sending a wave of heat to wash over my face.

My chest heaves on an angry inhale, the fire’s dance reflecting in my eyes. I can be pissed off at Damien all I want to be, but the one truly deserving of my fury is me.

What will be left for me after this?

A sudden commotion from the workshop causes me to pause, and I glance at the time with a frown, seeing that it’s past dinnertime. With the amount of overtime Cadbury said he’d have elves working, it makes sense that they’d be in the shop this late, trying to make up for the mess I’ve put us in. I sigh, sinking back into my seat.

The noise doesn’t die down, though, instead building until it’s at a level I’ve never heard it. Voices boom through the hallway, and I freeze, every one of my senses on high alert. They rumble low, nothing like the high-pitched, slightly squeaky timbre of the elves.

Deeper, louder, scratchier, and… almost demonic.

My nostrils flare, my temper a powder keg ready to ignite, and I burst from the door, my feet heavy with rage, pounding against the ancient wooden floors as I storm into the hallway. The sight that greets me at the shop entrance is so shocking that I screech to a halt, my breath catching in my throat.

Every inch of the workshop… every surface of my sanctuary… is filled with demons.

Hundreds of them, not a single one identical.

Shades of red, orange, a sickly green, and even one so dark he seems to suck in the light that surrounds him. Mostly large, but a few smaller bodies mixed in, and every variation imaginable. Cloven feet, silky fur instead of skin, and bat wings blur into a nonsensical image, and then I see the cyclops, and my brain refuses to absorb anything else.

Pandemonium ensues as they prance around the workshop, cackling as they dart about in a chaotic carousel of motion. Surprise still has me frozen in place until my eyes land onhim.

So beautifully horrible that my heart breaks all over again.

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