Page 8 of Letters to Satan

Prince of Hell, indeed. He certainly looks as though he could use someone putting him in his place.

Maybe on his knees.

“Come, gentlemen, let me escort you to my office. I’m assuming there’s a reason behind your visit beyond social niceties?” Xalreth nods as The Lucifer glances around, his wide eyes absorbing the bustling activity in the main area of the workshop. Elves are everywhere—hundreds of them, each with a task to do—and it causes quite the disturbance when one of them notices a visitor in our midst.

I cringe as a few of them collide, their feet tangling as they clumsily drop their gifts and toys, creating an explosion of noise. Faces flushed pink and eyes on the floor, the elves gather the items in a rush and hurry away to continue with their tasks. Whispered conversations pass in a buzz of hissing voices, the usual lively chatter dulled as they openly stare.

If failing to recognize Lucifer was the first strike, this was the second, and I’m on the verge of striking out. All eyes fall on me as I clear my throat again, needing to get this game back on track.

“As you were.” Immediately, everyone springs into action, although I still notice some staring from the corner of their eyes.

“Yeah, as you were.” Lucifer puffs out his chest as he speaks, and I stifle a smile, aware that he wouldn’t take kindly to being laughed at. Large elven eyes blink at him before I raise my brow, and they jump back to work.

I decide the only way we’re going to make it out of here is if I take charge. “Allow me?” I ask, offering my crooked arm towards Lucifer. Xalreth’sgaze sharpens, but I ignore him and focus on Lucifer as he stares briefly at my arm before wrapping his hand around my forearm and clasping. His fingers are brighter than the rest of his skin, a similar ruby to his horns and tail.

We walk through the workshop, and I point out a few areas of interest. Several doors branch off from the main area, each leading to a different specialty section, such as books or clothing, beyond the usual toys and trinkets. “That one’s empty,” Lucifer points out, gesturing towards a darkened doorway.

“Ah, yes… that was the Furby room for a long stretch in the nineties, then again for a brief run a few years ago. There’s no need for it now.”

“Furbies are creepy asFUDGE.” Lucifer’s eyes get enormous as he shouts the word. “Oh, dear baby Jeebus, what theFIDDLESTICKSjust happened?”

A light laugh sneaks out of my throat as he whips his head up to face me. I grin down at him, placing my hand over his, and am surprised as a small jolt passes between his warm skin and mine. “There is magic in the workshops that prevents the elves from cursing, or else it turns… nasty. They’re actually quite crude.”

His eyes bulge as his mouth sags, and my gaze drops to his pouty, pink lips. “You’re telling me I can’t curse? What happens if I saySUGAR COOKIE!SHITAKE!” He squeezes my arm as Xalreth tries very hard not to react. “Why theFUNYUNSdoes it change every time?!”

“Part of the fun.” I offer him a smile, and he cocks his head at me like he can’t quite figure me out.

Welcome to the club, buddy.

“You know the man who invented Furbies is in Hell, right? We torture him with his own invention, and don’t even tell him when they’ll strike. It’ll be the middle of the night, and one will go off under his bed.” He gives a quick shudder, gripping my arm tighter. “Sometimes days will go by, just to give him a false sense of security, and then, bam! Creepy laugh engaged.”

“They are evil little creatures,” I agree with another small smile, and he glances back up at me, still with that unreadable expression. My fingers brush lightly over his, my thumb swiping over the back of his hand, and I find I enjoy the feel of him beneath me. His fingers lift to reciprocate my gentle touches, and a spark of something flutters in my chest, but the sneer that Xalreth shoots in my direction makes me withdraw.

Are they lovers?

A small blush burns at my cheeks as I guide them into my office. “Please, make yourselves at home. I’m sure you’re still chilled from your time out in the weather, so I’ll have Cadbury bring hot chocolates to help you thaw.”

Lucifer releases me as he drops into a plush chair across from my desk, slinging his arm over the back and making himself comfortable. “Oh, that sounds fucking delicious!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, realization hits him and he balks, thenappears confused. “Why did it not censor me that time?”

I chuckle as I walk around the desk and drop into my seat. “Perks of being the boss. The enchantment doesn’t carry into my office or into the living quarters. It only covers the workshop, and even that is just to ensure no one gets distracted.”

A devilish grin pulls across Lucifer’s lips as he leans forward. “So, I can say whatever I want to say in here?”

“Something tells me you’ll say whatever you want to say, whenever you wish to say it, rules be damned,” I tease, and his smirk only tugs deeper. The flashy arrogance he wore like a crown at the door has diminished, prompting me to wonder how genuine it really is.

“Excuse me for just a moment.” Not wanting to be rude, I send a quick message to Cadbury asking him to deliver drinks before stashing my phone into my desk drawer. My attention refocuses on the men before me, primarily watching The Lucifer as he calmly tracks my movements. I can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain, always in motion.

Anyone in their right mind realizes how sly the Devil can be, and I can’t help but question if his soft, pretty facade is part of his deception. Put you at ease, bat those long eyelashes, and next thing you know, you’re gutted on the ground. It’s a reminder to stay on track and not let my thoughts wander.

“You’ll forgive me for cutting to the chase, but what brings The Lucifer to the North Pole?”

The way his expression changes from contemplative to alert is almost jarring. “Right,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of papers. “I keep getting these letters, and they’re meant for you.”

Confused, my brows knit as I accept the envelopes and leaf through them. There are around two dozen, just a handful. “This is how many you’ve received today?”

Appalled, he placed a dramatic hand on his chest, staring at the letter like they might be imbued with the plague. “Dear god, no! These are from the past six months, and they are extremely distracting,as I’m sure you can imagine.They take my time away from far more important tasks.”

I glance at him, searching for any hint of humor, convinced that thismustbe a joke, but he has reverted to his usual state of annoyance.

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