The Saint (42 page)

“Almost two hundred years ago, a goblin king decided to make himself master of the human world. He didn't hate me or my kind, but he feared what I was doing with the humans, that I would make a human-fey alliance—and steal his power over his people. Thus, he arranged for me to disappear. But that's okay, because I am fey and I have time. That king is dead and I'm still here. And I will remain until my work is done.”

“So . . . all these terrible things happen to you, you're threatened on all sides—by unaccepting humans and goblin leaders who terrify the others into submission—and you want to fight back with love and understanding?” Adora was amazed.

“Yes. Trust me. It's the way of the Goddess. It couldn't be held off for long. You'll see. Even now, the world has begun to change for the better. I can sense it. Molybdenum will be set free and my other plans will be set in motion.”

Adora shook her head. “So . . . Santa Claus rides again.” She smiled a little to picture it, this time Santa's uniform being a designer suit.

“Yes. And we're going to get it right this time. I can't belong to any one country or any religion—or even any species. There will be no race distinctions or preferences, no religious ties. The lutin leaders won't like it, but they'll adapt when they see it isn't harming the hives. It may take until this generation has died out, but we can win the fight for good.”

And, gee, it sound like twice as much fun as a root canal
, Joy said.

Adora digested his words as best she could. Partly they just sat there, a lump of dread in her stomach.

Kris went on: “As you yourself know all too well, children learn what they live. The next generation of lutins will know love as well as hate. Not all will allow themselves to choose love, but many—perhaps enough—will. And if not, we will persist with the next generation. If the sins of the fathers can be visited on the children, so can the blessings.” His hand cupped her jaw, and his eyes probed at her.

“This is a little daunting,” Adora said at last. “I don't have even one deadly enemy, you know, never mind a whole colony. And no god—however large or small—has ever asked me to do anything.”

“I know. But look at it this way: It isn't every day that you have a chance to save the world. Isn't that kind of exciting?”

“Oh, yeah. It's exciting all right,” she said.

Kris laughed. “You're gloomier than Abrial when I told him he was going to have to deliver toys to the goblin children on Christmas Eve.”

“Abrial's going to be delivering toys?”

“Yeah, we all are.”

“Will he wear your old Santa suit?” she asked.

Kris's eyes crinkled. “I'll have to offer it to him. I'm sure the thought never crossed his mind.”

The fey Executioner in a Santa suit. The mind boggled. Still, if she was with Kris . . . anything was possible. Adora might even consider raising that goblin child, doing a better job than her own parents had done with her, since she knew what she was. Maybe the world was changing. Everything was looking up.

“Let's do it,” she said.

Miffith stared at the bloody knife in his lower left hand, unable to believe that he'd actually cut General Anaximander's throat.

Anaximander stared too, just as disbelieving. The goblin general gurgled out a question as blood poured through the fingers he had wrapped around his neck.

“Why?” Miffith repeated. “Because you're wrong. Niklas will win, and so will Molybdenum.” He added: “And I did it for my father. You remember him? Mabbit? He worked for you until you strangled him. He always said our family owed its existence to Niklas. That Niklas saved my grandfather from being burned at the stake in France. Today, I'm paying off that debt. My daughter isn't going to grow up in a world full of mindless hate.”

His half-breed daughter, the one he hadn't known about until yesterday, but whom Niklas and Adora had saved when her fruit-junkie mother died. The one who was in Cadalach with the feys whom Anaximander wanted to destroy. The one this goblin regime would exterminate for not being of pure lutin blood.

The dying Anaximander gurgled some more, but Miffith didn't bother to say anything else. He went to the sink and washed his hands.

Abrial looked quite dashing in Kris's old red suit, though Roman tended to snicker every time he looked at him.

It was Xmas Eve, and the fey had their teams positioned all over the United States, ready to deliver presents above- and belowground. Things would be tricky in the goblin lands, since the world had been put on notice that Santa Claus was back and ready to resume operations. The documentary that aired Thanksgiving weekend on PBS had attracted a lot of attention, as had the mass mailing of vials of water from the shian. Those had come with a tag—
Think you might be magical? Drink this, if you dare
. Government and the media had warned against anyone actually opening the vials from the anonymous sender, and were investigating how the water had ever gotten into the postal system—so far without any luck. But people being who and what they were, the feys were betting many had taken a swig. And
many others would have tucked theirs away instead of turning them in as the government suggested.

Ben had guessed the truth and e-mailed Adora, asking her to pass on his congratulations to Bishop's publicist. Ben was now in AA, and doing a lot better. Not that it was as crucial to Adora—he was no longer tied to her understanding of her parents. No, she had found that here in Cadalach.

There hadn't been any overnight uprisings of magical beings across the country, but many Internet discussion sites had sprung up and the number of hits at the fey and goblins' corporate websites had gone way up. People of all species and races suddenly wanted to know who and what the lutins and feys really were.

Opinion on the messageboards seemed to be that whether this person claiming to be Santa Claus was real or not, America was headed for a global shipwreck if Greed was left as the pilot and Corporations as the captain, and it was high time that something changed. There was talk of finally forming a true third party. There was also talk of giving lutins and feys the right to vote. California, with their voter initiative process, was collecting signatures to get voting rights on the ballot for the next election, though many government workers were moaning about the cost of redistricting to include the lutin hives.

Adora stood beside Kris. Behind them were Mugshottz, Hansel and Gretel, who were dressed as elves in costumes Chloe had made—Kris had flinched when he saw the green coats and candy striped pants, but had hidden his dismay from Chloe—and the dragon, who was going to pull the sled for the A-Team. Adora still had some misgivings about using the dragon instead of reindeer, because they were bound to be caught on film when they landed in Reno, and that would create an uproar in the human world. But the dragon was very excited to have a chance to fly under Kris's power, and Adora had to admit that she was also thrilled at the chance to see this old magic at work. And, as Kris said, if they were going to come out of the closet, then they should come all the way out and show the world who they really were.

That said, the other teams were opting for discretion and stealth. They also had a lot more territory to cover, so they would be using faery roads and time manipulation to aid them. Cyra—who had just given birth the week before—Nyssa and Farrar were working together inside Cadalach to influence as many minds as they could, attempting to fill the world with a calm desire for peace—and to not shoot any odd-looking strangers bearing bags of gifts. Delivering presents to every home was impossible even with magical aid, so they had opted for leaving gifts in town squares, city halls, libraries and other public institutions. These were really symbolic presents. Most of the gifts were monetary and headed for charities. The logistics of the operation had been horrendous, and had made Pennywyse's hair go gray, but everyone agreed that they were ready.

Adora still had moments of fear when she thought about how easily Kris might be taken from her. Word was out that the goblin leaders had united and put a bounty on his head—ten million dollars, dead or alive—and there were weapons that could kill the fey for good, she'd learned.

But not in L.A.

No, not in L.A., where Molybdenum had been restored to power after one of General Anaximander's aides had slit the general's throat and said it was to thank Kris for some undisclosed good deed. In this goblin leader, Kris had a fast friend. Kris was happy and filled with certainty that they were going to turn the tide of race relations, so Adora did her best not to worry and be grateful that they had today and would have tomorrow. If Gaia smiled on them, they would have many more days as well. And that was all that anyone could ask.

“Ready?” Kris called.

“Yes!” shouted the children.

The dragon nodded. He looked odd in his harness, even though it was a tasteful brown and had no sleigh bells.

Kris looked deeply into Adora's eyes and smiled blindingly.

“Kiss me for luck?” he asked.

“And for any other reason,” she answered, standing on tiptoe and putting her mouth against his. “Merry Xmas,” she whispered a moment later.

“Merry Xmas, love.” And then Kris launched them into the sky. Around them, the heavens answered with a blaze of silver stars.

Yes, America, there is a Santa Claus. I know because he appeared to me one night in a dream and interviewed me for the position of his official biographer. Of course I protested— I'm a novelist, I don't write biography, and I was busy. I tried to evade him, this Kris Kringle with a K, but never could. He visited my dreams until I simply gave in.

While Kris was the driving force behind the story, I have to give thanks to a few human people, including Lydia in the public relations department at the Beverly Wilshire. She listened with a straight face when I explained that Santa—being a traditionalist—wanted to stay at that hotel while he was in L.A. (in my book, though he may stay there in fact as well). Likewise, the folks at The Museum of Automobiles were wonderful about giving me the history of Kris's 1937 Packard (see www.museumofautos.com/cars_on_exhibit.htm). My husband went right from listening to me babble about the amazing Lord Byron to hearing me talk about an even more amazing Santa Claus, and he never once suggested medication or a long stay in a quiet psychiatric facility. And finally my editor, who was enthusiastic from the get-go. I have long suspected Santa enlisted him.My editor denies it, as does Kris, but I am still suspicious.

On a separate note, many of the concepts Kris talks about— laws of eternity instead of laws of time, etc.—can be explained by quantum physics. However, his understanding of this science surpasses my own, so I had to rent
What The Bleep Do We Know?
to get a grasp of the discipline.

Sadly, this is the last of the planned goblin books. Of course, it's exciting to move on to new projects, but it's still hard to say good-bye to old friends. Thomas Marrowbone has arranged it so that if you get lonely, you can write to any of the fey at [email protected]. For example, just type [email protected] and eventually your mail will get through the goblins' sneaky mail filters.

Merry we meet. Merry we part. Merry we meet again.

Melanie Jackson

P.O. Box 574, Sonora CA 95370-0574

www.melaniejackson.com