The air was sweet, heavy with the scent of ripe, cloying fruit. The sound of buzzing near the pomegranates that swayed and hung low in the heat was distracting me enough that the woman’s pulse thudded against mine, the salt of her blood splashed its way down my throat like stolen refugees running for asylum in the new land of a foreigners body, was background noise to the glare of the sun. 

It felt like my pores were squinting from the distorting glare of the sun’s touch on the barren sand, yet such a thing was known to be fertile enough to birth mirages and delusions aplenty. 

It was killing me.

But I didn’t care for the moment. I just focused on the syncopations of our pulses and the crescendoing buzz near the pomegranate tree as the blood that fed me slowly got thinner. 

Releasing the bite, I let go of her and her body crumbled to the ground, groaning almost inaudibly from weakness. I grabbed the swath of fabric I had discarded to be able to feed, shaking the sand free of it, and wrapped it around my body, veiling my face, covering my head, and keeping my head low to protect my face against the sand being tossed about by the slowly creeping, sharp wind. Soon, the sand would cover the body of the woman. I was satisfied for the moment. The pomegranate tree with its buzzing companion and sticky, sweet, scent faded like a whisp of smoke, an offering to the rising gibbous moon.   

Walking with a sure step to my destination, fed enough that should that bulbous, jolly bastard try to offer me some of his wife’s cooking, I’d have a good reason to decline. I hated this. I had to do this every fucking year and I was about sick of this … trek for the sake of duty.

The sand became snow in a matter of seconds as I wrapped and warped reality around me to teleport to the other biome where he was in his domed, igloo-style castle-like fortress. Smoke sailed out from the top of it, I almost pitied the elves. They were enslaved here and I could do nothing for their wellbeing, no matter how much I longed to. They were not my problem, he was.  For a brief moment, I wondered if I should go through with it. If I should go through with that idle fantasy that I had entertained more often than I should have.  

Kill the Infamous Santa Claus. 

Everyone knew that if you took his life, you’d have to take his place, and I’d be horrible at his job.  The first thing I’d do is ask that old hag for a divorce and make enough venison steak, salted and preserved, to last me for at least a few months, and then I’d set them free. The elves.   But what of the humans, you wonder?

Fuck them.  

They are greedy, spineless, sheep on two legs. They have high-maintenance bodies and an entitlement that led them to behave in a wasteful way that is no good for anyone, most of all themselves. 

Snow is nothing but wet sand, so I endured it despite my heavy thoughts until I got to his front door. The elf butler answered the door, adjusted his glasses to look up at my tall form, stumbled for a bit but then stepped aside and let me in the abode. Then, dipping my head and morphing my size to shrink a few inches to fit comfortably through the door, I made my way in.  

“Stay here, please. I will go get Master Claus,” he said in a nasal voice, then trotted off toward one of the hallways in a cartoonish way. I knew it was elven magic that gave him speed, but the size impairment that came with his servitude or slavery made it look absurd.  Elves were a majestic race once, tall and elegant as nature, willowy or thick like trees, and a manner as fierce as the storms that raged this earth. 

We were allies in kind once. Then Mankind happened. The elves were enslaved and turned into this absurd form, making them smaller than the average height of a human. Like a child, so it was easier on their conscience to dominate, enslave and hold them in service. Basically exploit their feral magic to make Mankind satisfied, making toys for their spoiled young,  frivolity that’s not worth the majestic legacy they held inside. 

The djinn would never bow to any other Species, Mankind included.  They had tried and failed several times.  So they went to the others and made us watch the charade of puppetry that could have been our own fate.  And what did we do? Nothing. Well, not just nothing. We waited. We, Djinn, are a patient folk. Until we’re not.

After a moment, the round man waddled his way into the foyer to greet me. He was a bear of a man, not just a chubby jolly old timer like the human tales have him to be, no. He was as broad of muscle as he was jolly jiggle of belly. His face was always flushed from the exertion of carrying all that weight, nothing jolly about that, only an overworked heart and possibly a skin condition that he tried to rectify with rouge makeup.

“Saffron, it has been too long!”

“Not long enough, old man.”

That laugh he rumbled then tasted more like awkward anxiety than mirth. He cut a glance to the butler, who bowed and then left us alone in the foyer, and the charade of jolly ceased.  “My answer is still the same. Why do you waste time making this trek here every year? I am not changing my answer. You might as well not come back next year, you won’t convince me no matter what you do.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, old man.”

“I’m not surrendering my livelihood. What will become of me if I do? Capitalism keeps the people strong and unified.  They need holidays like mine, Valentine’s and even ol’ Pumpkin Jack’s to keep their society afloat and thriving.”

“Don’t insult me.  Capitalism is a Leech and a Malicious Virus.  The only ones benefiting from it are cretins like you.  It serves no one but the Psychopomp of Profit, a Soulless Servitor too big for its britches.  You surrender and then Valentine and Pumpkin Jack will follow suit. You continue this obstinate oligarchy, then you’ll have to answer to the justice of the Djinn. And not sure you remember, but we are not known for our mercy.  We aren’t elves.”

I smirked to myself, catching that microexpression of fear before it blossomed into anger. 

“I think you should leave.”

“Listen to me, Kringle. I walk out that door, you’ll regret not listening to me.”

“You say that every year.”

“No, you misunderstand. Remember what year this is.”

“Leave, Shadowmonger, or I will feed you to my reindeer.”

That was not a threat but I chose to let him believe it was one. I  took my leave.  It was the same with Pumpkin Jack and Valentine.  They would not budge from their position of power. I lamented returning back to the Liminal Court as a failure again. So I took a detour,  maybe this mission would not leave me so empty-handed like the last times.

Rumor has it there was an exiled Wraith from a far-flung constellation seeking asylum in the Strait of Snowshard - in the Territory of Sedna. It was on the way.  So  I will see if they could offer any guidance.

Deep in the icy domain of Sedna’s Territory, there was an old relay station turned pub and diner. There was a giant radio array on the top left side of the building’s roof and a low barbed wire fence around the territory.  Stepping over it and into the wards of magic that protected the land,  I walked into the narrow door and found a seat at the pub part of the establishment. 

A young cyclops bar wench was cleaning a glass mug. “Cinnamon water,” she offered without looking up or stopping what she was doing.  

I blinked. “With a sprig of mint please, yes.”

“Spear, Pepper or Wintergreen?”

“Spear, thank you.”

Then, I watched as she poured water from a kettle into the mug she had been cleaning and took a clipping or three from a hanging mint plant that was in a woven basket above us.  She mumbled a prayer over the leaves so they started to glow as she sprinkled them in the water like garnish and then put a cinnamon stick in the warm, steaming water and stirred it a while before handing the mug to me.  “First drink is on the House. Who are you here to see anyway?”

“Lyra the Wraith”

“Why?”

No one came here just for the drinks or food anymore. There was always another reason and the bar wench knew that.  She knew a lot of things.   

I thought about my answer.  If I was too vague I would be denied an audience. If I was too specific, I could be denied an audience as well.  “It is about the same thing I was here about before,” I answered.   A Djinn was only here once before, too long ago that she may not remember. It was one of us that brought Lyra here. It was only one of us that could do so.  Everyone else could not handle the All that she Was by her very nature.  She held the gravity of a black hole in her bones.  It was why she was hiding as a stellar refugee in this star system,  “slumming it with the sapiens,” as she called it once.

The Cyclops looked up at me then, her giant eye dilated, gaze scanning me over like a laser scan and she frowned.  “Turmeric, why didn’t you say it was you?”

Fortunately, most djinn look so similar to each other that we are confused for each other all the time. I used this to my advantage. Glad it worked this time.

“Who else do you serve Cinnamon Mint water to, Goliatha?"

She gave me a toothy grin then. “You’d be surprised.”  Then she nodded her head to the right.  

“Through there.  You know the way, I expect.”

“Unless you did some decorating on the place since I’ve been here last...” I slurped the water down through the cinnamon stick with a moan of pleasure. “I suspect I still know my way around.” I completed my thought, getting up off the pub stool, the cinnamon stick still in my mouth as I crunched lightly on the raw, sharply sweet spice of it. I made my way down the narrow hallway to her quarters, hoping I picked the right door, as I am not Turmeric. He went on assignment in the Congo six months ago, something about the Dhampir Belgian Royal Family needing a safe escort out of their Colonized Territory, the uprising of natives threatened their very livelihood.  Humans are vicious, barbarous animals.  The Djinn, known for neutrality, are called upon to help keep the peace between their petty, but sometimes lethal, disputes with our kindred of the Paranormal Species, the Primal Races that were here long before humans walked upright.   

There was this heavy feeling behind one door and when I went to knock on the door, it opened before my fist hit the wood. There was a small figure looking up at me. She frowned.  

“You are not Turmeric. Who are you and what do you want?”

Yep, right door. This had to be Lyra.

“I’m Saffron”

“The Courier.  Yes, Salt told me about you. I can’t help you in your quest”

I had come all this way for nothing.  I couldn’t give up.  “Are you sure? If they plunge themselves into a worse state your safety is compromised as well. This planet would no longer be the asylum of hiding you’ve come accustomed to.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “It ceased being that a long time ago.  Humanity has run out of time. They are on their last leg.  I care not for their fate, it’s the other species I’m worried about. The humans need to be eliminated and then the planet can start over. I have kept my eye on these beings for centuries.  I have my eye on a select few human bloodlines that I will spare, but Gaia needs a stronger champion than anything Mankind can produce for a while. Not while those despots sit fat on their Egregoric Empires.”

I nodded in agreement, then she took a deep breath and I felt something in the air change.

“You know, since you are here, Courier, maybe there is something you can help me with. And in turn, it may help your Quest in the long run.”

“I’m listening.”

“There are Four Seals I have planted in the world.  A sort of Last Resort Thing.  One by one,  you unlock them, like a Test, a gradual culling of Mankind. I am hoping we won't have to unleash all the Horses of Pandora, but if that is what it comes to, then so be it.”

“What do the seals unleash and where do I find them?”

“The Seals Hold the Power of Four Very Destructive Forces that are Unique to this Planet.  If Mankind wants to poison itself with chemicals and ignore what is good for them, then let them do it en masse.  There is a Seal of War, Pestilence, Famine, and then finally, Death itself.”

“And the rest of the species are being spared, will this only affect Mankind?”

“That is the hope.  But those forces are natural among all the species native born here, so they will carry on undeterred, there will just be more of it now.”

“And the Human Bloodlines you’ll spare, how will they remain Immune?”

“That is for me to worry about.  Will you serve me and unlock the seals or not?”

“I will. Which should I unlock first?”

“War. They are used to that one. Then Pestilence or Famine maybe, your choice. Save Death for last”

“As you wish...”

“And you’ll need a different name. This will no doubt be noticed by their media outlets. They will want to capture it as news and Saffron is not who you are when you do this work.”

I lowered my veil and smiled then.  “What about… The Ghost of Christmas Past?”

And the Wraith smirked back at me, “That works.”