Page 41 of Demon's Joy

15

Joy

“Joy to the world!”the cherubs sing as my demons untie them. The poor things look utterly wretched after being trapped on the ceiling of the workshop for so long. They’re a little loopy, so they don’t even care that their carol makes no sense for this scenario.

At first, Santa’s little helpers panic when I ask Cal and the guys to untie and fly them down to the floor, because their singed little wings just can’t handle it.

“No! Don’t do it, Joy! I’m sorry for all those times we called you a free willy whale!” Mittens nearly sobs. “Don’t hand us over to more of them!”

A free willy whale? What the hell? That’s an angel's derogatory name for someone who goes about doing whatever they want, regardless of the consequences. Other than a few dates here and there and some premarital orgasms, I’ve never done anything too bad!

But then, to angels who have a strict “hand only, unless you’ve sworn your soul to someone” policy, maybe a few dates are all it takes.

I try to stifle my irritation, because the cherubs are clearly traumatized. Like Dad always says, “People get weak. Sometimes, kids end up on the naughty list because they have poor impulse control. I always make exceptions for the ones who’ve had a really bad time. Because that’s how you bring them back around to the good list.”

So, with a deep breath, I smile gently at Mittens, a pudgy cherub with a little curl of nose hair that really needs a trim. “These demons are with me. They’re not going to hurt you. They’re going to rescue you.”

Mittens shakes his head frantically, struggling to get out of Cal’s arms and hover, despite the fact that his wings are far too injured to keep him afloat.

“MIttens, don’t!” I scold, tossing out a hand as if I can catch him. But I’m still holding the Christmas cane. I absolutely cannot drop and break this cane because clearly our realm needs it! But I can’t let him get hurt either, so I’m caught in a bit of a pickle.

Luckily, Nico and Dem fly over to help Cal.

“Shh, you’ll be fine,” Cal tells Mittens. For once, he’s not lying. The sight of two more demons seems to startle Mittens for a moment, and my demon uses that distraction to carefully fly down, not even balking when the frantic angel wriggles and bucks like a wild little puppy in his arms. Cal simply proves the little guy wrong by bringing him down to safety.

After the others watch Mittens, they come much more easily.

Each of the demons treats the cherubs as if they’re made of glass. They gently lower the little angels, navigating around all the smashed and cluttered tables, all the battle debris and broken toys, to set them in cleared spots on the ground not full of rubbish. Seeing the demons be so gentle makes my heart melt like caramel.

All appears to be going well, until the cherub in Nico’s arms shrieks.

The others gasp and turn towards her, expecting the worst, like her being turned into angel stew or something else just as horrific, only to hear her erupt into giggles. She smacks Nico’s finger away. “Do not be tickling my belly, you gingerbread head!” she yelps.

“Sorry, little lassie. My finger slipped.” Nico’s mischievous way of breaking the tension almost makes me laugh, but I don’t know that the cherubs would appreciate it.

“All right, now we see if this thing will listen again.” I hold up the cane skeptically, despite the fact that it just did exactly what I needed and pulled off an epic Christmas miracle. I’m still not quite sure that I’ve got the same amount of holiday in my heart that Dad does, so I don’t know if the cane will work for me on a regular basis.

But I hold it up and try. To my astonishment and relief, a white light shoots out of it and envelopes the cherubs as an ethereal choir song fills the air.

I only have time to exchange a confused look with Cal, who shoves up his glasses and shrugs, before it’s all over. The light dissipates, and the cherubs are left looking whole and hale. The cane’s magic has healed them.

I clear my throat and get their attention, which feels weird. I’ve grown up around them, but I’ve never been in charge of anything more than snacks. A baker I may be, a leader I ain’t. I’m pretty sure Shakespeare said that. “Um, so, I need you guys to split up and tell everyone that the threat is gone. Then we need to have a meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about Christmas.”

The cherubs all glance down the hall, and Mittens asks, “What about your dad?”

“He’s next on my list, but he’ll probably need a minute to deal with all of this.” I wave a hand at the battle-strewn workshop, where all his centuries of hard work have been blown to bits.

Mittens’s eyes fill with tears, a look of exhaustion passing over his pudgy cherub features, before he nods. “All right.” He and the others fly out slowly, using one of the roll-up doors instead of the hole in the ceiling. It’s probably just as emotionally taxing for them to see all their work in this state of shambles as it will be for Dad.

Guilt seeps into me then, as dark and disgusting as unflavored coffee, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

Did we try to save Christmas, only to ruin it?

My hand tightens on the cane as I walk back out of the main workshop, towards Dad’s office. The hall doors are hanging from their hinges, and I gingerly sidestep them. I end up stepping on a whoopee cushion that got thrown in the battle, and a squeaky fart noise fills the air. I don’t laugh, and not just because whoopee cushions are lame. I’m very worried at this moment that all of my work is going to result in something that’s as pathetic as a whoopee cushion prank.

Is Dad going to be disappointed in me?

Did he expect me to do better than this? He’s never had a problem vanquishing demons before. I mean, the guys around me are living proof of that. They’ve spent years as reindeer.

---