Page 32 of Unholy Night

“Then, I guess I’m gone.” I look back at Lucifer who is still watching. I give him a coy little wave before turning and walking to where Gurch is waiting for me. And if I put a little extra sway into my walk, who can blame me?

10

Lucifer

“We need elf outfits,” Mandy says, pulling my attention from the sway of Lyla’s hips, and all the naughty thoughts it brings like a blaze of fire in my core.

“Elf outfits?” I ask, forcing my attention away from that deliciously indecent bodysuit to the child before me. “Who needs them?”

She waves her hand to gesture to the demons around us. “Them. If you’re Satan Claus, then they have to be your demon elves.”

I chuckle. “Satan Claus? Did you come up with that?”

She grins. “Yup. It just makes sense. Santa. Satan. Anyway, can we get them outfits?”

“Um…” I struggle to find the words. I could magic some up, but that seems like a waste of time. “I don’t really keep a pile of elf costumes in my closet. I’m not sure--”

But before I can finish making my lame excuses, I’m cut off by Tzul, who is standing a respectful distance away from us holding a can of pitch black paint. “Master, we already discussed the matter amongst ourselves while you were gone and, well… Marlix made everyone outfits, if you don’t mind us wearing them?”

Mandy frowns and looks at me. “What language is he speaking? It sounds weird. Not like words at all.”

“It’s the language of demons,” I say as I relay what he told me.

She grins. “That’s wonderful! So he understands me but can’t speak English?” she asks.

Clever girl. “Yes, some of them have better comprehension than others.”

I can practically hear the wheels turning in her sharp mind, and she reminds me so much of Lyla, of her mother’s curiosity and intelligence, her quick wit and kind heart. A rare combination in any realm.

Especially rare here.

“Won’t Santa be mad we’re painting his sled?” Mandy asks, in a mildly surprising non-sequitur.

I look to Tzul first and give a curt nod. “Tell everyone they can change into whatever Marlix made. But then hustle. Mandy will need to sleep eventually.”

Mandy raises an eyebrow. “You underestimate a kid on Christmas Eve,” she says, deadpan.

I burst out laughing, the sound coming from my gut in a full-bodied way that is far too infrequent in my existence.

“If you say so, short stuff,” I say, ruffling the hat on her head.

She giggles and picks up a paint brush Tzul left behind. “I like painting,” she declares.

“So do I,” I tell her as I pick up my own brush. “Let’s start with the doors.”

We each dip our brushes into the blackest ink in existence. “I had an artist from your Earth make this,” I tell her as we work. “He had the right spirit. Wanted to stick it to another artist who was hoarding the pigments he created. So my guy was determined to make the blackest black ever for everyone in the world except his rival. And I gave him just the secret ingredient he needed to create it.”

Mandy looks at me blankly then just shakes her head and returns to painting the sleigh. “Grown ups are so weird. Getting mad about whose black paint is the blackest? Just weird.”

I frown. “Well, when you put it like that.”

We work in silence for a time, before she turns to me. “You didn’t answer my question. Won’t Santa be mad you painted his sled the blackest black ever?”

“Doyouthink he will be?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I would be.”

“Then why are you doing it?” I ask.

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