Excerpt
The howl of the icy wind blows the door of the one-room cottage wide open, dumping a foot-thick carpet of snow across the floor. The door slams shut.
“Kris, I think you picked this God-forsaken place because it’s so cold you thought I wouldn’t dare show up here,” says the tall, thin young man in a midnight-black silk suit, scarlet tie, and mirror-shined leather loafers as he shakes off the snow from his slick black hair.
“And yet, here you are,” says the boney old man, not looking up from his scroll, undisturbed by the rush of artic air which sent his shoulder-length white hair into a frenzy. “Well, take a seat, I have work to do and no time for your frivolity.”
“Don’t be like that. I travelled all this way to see you.” The man snaps his fingers and a plush high-back velvet chair catches him as he falls back. He smiles, “Let’s do something about the atmosphere in here. I don’t want you to catch your death of cold.” Another snap of his fingers and the hearth behind the old man roars to life, spreading a sea of flames throughout the single room hovel, melting all the snow instantly, then receding back into its proper place. “That’s more like it. Nice and comfy, wouldn’t you say?”
“I was just fine before you arrived, Satanael.”
“Oh, come on, Nicolas, why so formal? Just call me Satan, all my friends do,” laughs the devil with a sparkle in his eye. “And I’ll call you Santa, like all the kids do. Hey, want a drink to warm the innards?” Two glasses of dark-red liquid appear on the old, weathered oak desk between them.
Santa ignores the offer as his eyes rapidly scan the aging scroll. He finishes the one in hand and moves to the next, drawn from the piles surrounding him on the desk. Letting it unfurl to the floor, he responds, “you know I only drink milk.” He winks imperceivably and the two liquids turn white just as his companion is about to raise the glass.
The devil’s drink returns to it bloodlike hue as it touches his lips. Swirls of red and white mix in the glass until it is consumed. “Well played, old man. You almost got me.” He grabs a scroll from the pile, “Come on, take a break from the whole checking it twice to find out who’s naughty or nice. What has it been, like a thousand seven hundred and forty years now? Has anyone made the naughty list?”
“I know of one.”