The Santa Society (24 page)

“Klaus is his own dog. I’ll honor whatever he chooses.” Reason’s voice sounds cinematic, a throwback to “Gone with the Wind,” or maybe Clint Eastwood.

I roll my eyes and straighten myself as I lower my foot back to the floor. “Where is he?”

He grins and re-opens the door a crack, enough for me to see a cinnamon colored barrier across the threshold of the doorway. “Right there.” He points. “He’s been there since we brought you home—guarding you.”

Home. I smile at his use of this word, but I can’t speak. My chest is too full. I have a dog who would give his life for me. And a man who would do the same. A lot has happened since my mother left me, but I think she’d be happy to see the turns my life has taken.

Klaus looks over his shoulder and sees me out of the corner of his. He scrambles to his feet, and I see the little leather pouches over his feet, tied with cords. Klaus has boots, a badge of honor for his bravery—he walked himself bloody…for me.

“I think it’s safe to say Klaus has chosen his master. I hope you’ll let me see him every now and then, for old time’s sake.”

Klaus pads through the door and breezes past Reason without acknowledging him as he makes his way toward me. The boots muffle the usual sound his paws make across the floor. Something about that clenches my heart. I bury my face in his fur. The fresh smell of peppermint surrounds me.

“Klaus, you smell wonderful.”

He drapes his head over my shoulder as I hug him.

Reason laughs, “Peppermint shampoo. It’s the only thing that covers his scent. And he loves it. As soon as he sees the bottle, he runs to the bathtub.”

“Couldn’t you have told me that sooner? It would’ve saved me a lot of trouble, and my house would thank you for it.” A face full of fur muffles my laugh and soaks up the tears from my face.

As soon as we step inside the door of my house, I know the furnace really has died.

“I’ll get a fire going, and then I’ll call Nick.” Reason grabs an armload of firewood from the porch and carries it over to the fireplace.

I close the door and look around.

As he sets to work building a fire, I head for the kitchen, turning the lights on as I go. I notice right away the murky pot of coffee and my withering aloe plant. I dump the coffee down the drain and dispose of the grounds. Next, I grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with water. As I drizzle the plant, I realize the house has become way too quiet. I don’t hear a match striking or any other sound coming from the living room.

“Reason? Do you need matches?”

Silence.
Did he go back outside?

I stick my head through the door.

He stands near the hallway with his back to the fireplace. Klaus is just in front of him. His ears stand alert as he takes a step forward with his head low to the ground, sniffing.

The hair rises along the back of my neck. No one needs to tell me something’s wrong. I can see it in them both, feel it in the air.

“Achtung.” Reason says it so quietly, it’s barely audible. But Klaus hears him perfectly.

My heart begins to pound as I watch Klaus move forward with deliberate steps, his head tilted to listen. He turns back to Reason for a moment. Whatever passes between them, Reason says softly, “Voran.”

Klaus continues moving down the hall. Reason follows, but he looks over at me just before he steps into the hallway. He motions to the door. He wants me to wait outside? I don’t want to go, but I obey. He disappears into the darkness of the hall.

I walk to the door and quietly let myself out. I stand alert and on edge, listening for sounds from within, anything to tell me if they’re okay. Seconds slip by. Soon, they turn to minutes passing. It feels like an eternity. Just as I consider going in to check, I hear the door knob turn. I take a step back, just as it opens. Reason stands in the doorway, wearing an odd expression on his face. One I haven't seen on him before. I see Klaus moving around behind him, still sniffing at the floor.

“It’s clear.” But he doesn't sound relieved.

He steps back, allowing me to pass in front of him. I turn back to him just as he closes the door again. “What’s wrong? Was someone here?”

He looks me in the eyes and nods. “Where did you leave the letter?”

Dread fills me. “I don’t know.” I glance at the table by the chair. I can already see in the dim light it’s not there. “I don’t remember. I either left it over there or in my bedroom.”

 He nods his head as though I have confirmed something. “I’m pretty sure it’s gone. Someone's been here. They’ve gone through the bedrooms.”

“Both?”

He nods.

My mother’s things.
Someone dug through my mother’s things. I feel sick. I know he’s right—they came to get the letter and anything else she may have had that would save Christmas.

Chapter 26

I STARE IN DISBELIEF at the disaster in my mother’s bedroom. Every drawer has been dumped out onto the floor. Pictures of me lay scattered everywhere. Even her Bible has been cast off to the side, its pages splayed open and bent beneath its spine. I pick it up and smooth them down then place it next to the lamp beside her bed, where she kept it.

I turn my back and close the door.

My room doesn’t look much better, but I don’t care as much about it. I didn't have much in here, other than old transcripts from my work in New York which currently form a mountain in the corner. The only real thing of value has been taken.

I’m aware of Reason beside me as he picks up my stuffed animals and sets them on the dresser, one by one, in a row.

“I’ll clean it up later.” I try not to sound as discouraged as I feel, but still feel my shoulders sag. The aches and pains, my reminder of Brice, feel even more profound now that my hope has abandoned me. “I need to sit down, I think.”

He scoops me into his arms. I rest my head against his collarbone, my face hidden in his neck. “Let’s go back to the living room, and I’ll build a fire.”

He can carry me away from the mess, but he can't carry me away from reality. From somewhere in the walls, I hear the house shudder followed by a low rumble. As we pass underneath the vent in the ceiling, I imagine I hear the furnace.

“Reason, do you hear it?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it you?”

He stops. “You know”—he grins— “I think it was.”

The fire blazes in the hearth, casting a glow throughout the room. He wanted to build it anyway, even though the furnace has begun working again. We sit snuggled together on the sofa as I try to pinpoint something that keeps nagging at me. “You always say the Gift requires faith. They can't take your faith.”

“It’s possible. My Dad said that once. It makes sense.”

“If it’s true, you don’t need the Society this Christmas. You could do it anyway, without them.”

He considers the idea. “But I wouldn’t be able to move the regional offices. They’ll only follow the Society’s directives now. I could take care of our local area, but not much else.”

I sigh and lean my head over to rest on his shoulder. We watch the fire in silence for a while. An idea comes to me. “Are you sure? Maybe you could deliver to the world at the same time. The Gift could do that, right? If it wanted to?”

“I remember once, when I was a little boy, my father said he’d love to travel the world in a night, just by standing on our rooftop and looking out to the horizon. He believed it was possible, but I never asked why.”

I sit up and face him. “If he’s right, there’d be no need for the Society, at least not the way it works now, right?”

He stares into the fire as he tries to imagines it. “That’s big, Erin, really big.” Slowly, his gaze drifts to me. “I have a feeling there wouldn’t be much of a Society left. What you’re describing would bypass most of what they do. The only purpose left would be the rights of apprenticeship. But even that would be questionable. Father Christmas could select them himself or pass it down through his bloodline.”

He stands and begins pacing as he continues. “The regional offices wouldn’t be necessary and neither would alliances with government authorities. I can’t think of anything that one man couldn’t handle with a Gift like that.”

I can't help but laugh. “We just invented a Santa Claus exactly like the one tradition describes.”

“Maybe that’s why my father said it.” Reason laughs. But then his face turns serious. He stops pacing and turns to me. “He always told me folklore comes from truth. If you trace something far enough back, you’ll find more history than you expect. What if the Society just protects
itself
from not existing?”

I blink at him, feeling dumbfounded. “Why would they do that?”

“Why else, except livelihood, preservation of the old ways, the bloodlines, and future generations.” He rubs his unshaven chin and comes to sit beside me again.

“Would you want it any other way? I mean, it’s a way of life for many people.” The thought of all of this overwhelms. But something tells me it’s a key to our current situation.

“No I don’t think I would, but Cassius doesn't know that.”

He takes my hand in his. The size and warmth of it feels so powerful. He might as well have covered me with all of himself. He will find a way...I’m starting to feel it in my heart—in that intimate place where I imagine belief gives birth to faith.

“Let’s go back to the ranch tonight and get some sleep. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

I don’t want to be here alone either, but this time it’s not because of ghosts.

“Do you think Brice took the letter? Or Cassius?”

He pauses before he answers. “I think Brice did it or had someone else do it for him. I still believe Cassius—as messed up and thick headed as he is—has honor. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

I don’t ask what he means, but I wonder even after we arrive at the ranch and he’s tucked me into bed in the spare room at his cabin. I fall asleep, still wondering what Cassius ever did that was honorable. Circling around behind that, I find another thought. Will the Gift remain with Reason when he wakes in the morning? Somehow, I know it will.

I awake to a roar. At least I think I heard a roar. I lie perfectly still, listening and squinting against the sunlight filling the room.

There—I hear it again. I throw back the covers. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I’m already grabbing my change of clothes.

It comes again while I hop on one foot and shove my legs into my pants. This time it lingers, a long and baleful sound. My mind races ahead of me as I struggle with my shirt and cram my feet into my shoes.

I’m already running for the door by the time I’ve got my coat on. I look through the window as I run by it, and I don’t see any sign of Reason out there. But I think I saw the barn door standing open.

I wrench open the back door and scurry down a long set of steps leading from the deck to the ground below. Thankfully, the snow has mostly melted, but it hasn’t dried all the way yet. I slip and slide over the hay that covers the ground, hoping I won’t bust it out here before I ever make it to the barn.

As I near the fence line, I realize I haven’t even seen a gate. Another roar rips through the open air, louder than anything natural should be. It carries a percussion that slams into me and it sends goose bumps prickling up my arms. It definitely came from the barn.

“Aus!” Reason bellows, but then his rich laughter spills through the barn door like musical notes drifting.

That’s nice
. I nearly break my neck getting out here because I think something bad has happened, and all the while, he's out here totally enjoying himself. Another thunderous roll of laughter spills through the door. I can’t help but smile at the carefree, unfettered sound of it.

“Reason, what are you doing?” My chest warms as I try to imagine what sort of sunrise will shine from his face with such beautiful laughter.

His head suddenly appears in the open doorway. I’m surprised to see him shirtless. Despite the forty-degree morning, he glistens with perspiration. Beads of it shimmer across his golden skin, as the muscles in his arms and chest ripple beneath his smooth skin.

“Come look!” His smile widens when he sees me. He points to the gate I missed before.

I enter through it, making sure to close it behind me. He’s already disappeared inside by the time I cross the last few feet of hay covered ground.

I nearly scream when I step through the door. A large tiger stands on its hind legs, reared up. It faces Reason with its massive front paws resting on his bare shoulders. I feel the blood drain from my face as it sees me and tosses back its enormous head. Another roar rips through the barn, and I instinctively cover my ears.

“Platz!” Reason orders.

The tiger obeys, lowering its front paws to the ground.

“Erin, meet Alice.”

I can’t speak. Alice sashays toward me. And I’m terrifyingly—no—
painfully
aware she can kill me in five seconds. My legs tremble.

“Don’t be afraid.” Reason cautions. “She’ll sense it.”

My eyes don’t leave Alice. “Are you kidding me? Don’t be afraid?” My voice sounds shrill like a siren.

He chuckles. “I’m just kidding, Erin. She won’t hurt you. I promise.” He walks over to me.

Unbelievable
. I vow to punish him for this, just as soon as I don’t have a tiger sniffing my hands. Alice moves to my face and continues sniffing. Finally, she takes one last delicate whiff. Her whiskers twitch. I hold my breath. Without warning, she nudges against me like a massive house cat, rubbing the length of herself on me, from her head to her tail. Except she’s not a house cat, so it nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Easy there.” Reason puts his hands at my waist to stabilize me.

Alice turns and comes back for a second pass. As she does, I run my hands along her body. I’m hypnotized by thrill and terror, a sharp clash of opposing elements. Adrenaline surges through my veins, making my senses acute and strangely lucid.

“There’s always truth in folk tales.” He puts his hands over mine, gliding my fingers through her fur.

For a moment, I have no idea what he’s getting at. Then I remember the rumors about the Wildlands: the stories of a man who lived out here with wild animals—tigers.