10

“Lucky?” I said incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, at Christmas, everyone comes to Fenster’s,” he said with elaborate casualness.

“Huh?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” Now he was exasperated.

“Um, Christmas shopping?” I guessed in confusion.

“You mean you don’t know about the hijackings we’re being accused of?” he said. “Where have you been? It’s all over the news!”

“Yes, but—”

“And OCCB sure ain’t hovering around this place because they suspect Santa of loan-sharking.”

“No, but—”

“With the cops snooping all over our business, who’s going to catch the bozos who are actually pulling these heists and getting away with the swag while everyone’s busy casting unfair aspirins on the family?”

“Aspersions,” I said. “You cast aspersions, not—Never mind. What family do you mean? The Gambellos?”

“What other family would I mean?”

I took a steadying breath. “Wait. Back up a step.”

He did so.

“No, I meant . . .” I cleared my throat. “Let me see if I have understood you correctly.”

“We ain’t got time for that!”

“We’ll have to make time for that.”

“No, we gotta get out of here before I’m recognized. I just been waiting for you.” He added accusingly, “And you sure took your sweet time! What the hell were you and Detective Lopez doing? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. None of my business.”

“Wait!” I said as he grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the door. “I have to clock out.”

Lucky hovered impatiently while I did so, then pulled his cap low as he led the way into the hall after checking to make sure the coast was clear. Then we descended to the ground floor via the stairs, at my insistence, rather than taking the elevator. At the bottom of the stairs, with no one else around, Lucky unzipped the coveralls and stripped them off, revealing winter clothing underneath.

“Ah, no wonder you looked so stocky,” I said.

“Let’s go.”

We exited the building through the employee entrance and started heading toward the subway station. It was damp and cold out here, but I was glad to be outside, under the real night sky, and not dressed as an elf who never felt the cold.

Alberto “Lucky Bastard” Battistuzzi was a semi retired hit man in the Gambello crime family. Due to the strange twists and turns of fate, he was also friends with me and Max.

Lucky had acquired his nickname due to surviving two attempts on his life as a young man, both times because an attacker’s gun jammed. Earlier this year, I had been present on a third such occasion, too, when a killer stuck a gun in his face and pulled the trigger—and the gun jammed rather than firing. This old guy really was lucky.

“All right,” I said, “let me see if I interpreted your garbled comments correctly back there. You’re telling me the Gambellos are not responsible for hijacking those three Fenster shipments—”

“Three?” he repeated in surprise. “There’s been a third heist?”

“Yes, there have been three, not two,” I said, looking at him with interest. “It’ll probably be in the media soon.”

Apparently the cops hadn’t revealed the first heist to the Gambellos. Lucky’s surprise about the number of trucks seemed to confirm his claim of the family’s innocence. But I hadn’t thought he was lying about that, anyhow.

Oh, sure, if I walked up to Lucky and asked him if he or his associates were committing felonies, he’d lie to me and deny it. Of course he would. But it would make no sense for him to risk waiting around for me tonight in a place where he might be seen and recognized by an OCCB cop like Lopez, all so he could lie to me about something he certainly knew I would never hunt him down to ask about. (I did not make a habit of prying into Gambello business, after all.)

I continued, “And you’ve evidently come to Fenster’s to investigate this matter, because you don’t think the cops will solve the case as long as they keep looking at the wrong perps, i.e. the Gambellos.”

“Yeah.” Lucky pulled a knitted wool cap out of his pocket and put it on his head as we walked along. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s not at all what you said, but I guess I got the gist of it anyhow.” I added, “So you infiltrated the staff by impersonating a maintenance man?”

“That disguise was a mistake,” Lucky grumbled.

“Because you don’t know how to fix things?” I asked.

“No, because it don’t seem like those guys ever fix things.”

“Ah. Yes, that much is true.”

“I couldn’t get much investigatin’ done today, because every place I went in that store, as soon as anyone saw me, they practically did a full body tackle to get me fix something for them.” Clearly scandalized, he added, “That place is really falling apart, Esther. You should be careful there.”

“You don’t say?”

“Then, late in the day, some big prop on the fourth floor went haywire—”

“I know.”

“—and everyone on maintenance was rounded up for that. When I got there, I looked around for you. Stella told me you’re working in Holidayland until she’s got more hours for you.”

“It’s Solsticeland these days,” I said.

“It didn’t used to be like that,” he said in a negative tone.

“Nondenominational?”

“Dark. They should call it Gloomyland. I liked it better the way it was back when we used to take my daughter there.” Lucky was a widower, with one grown-up daughter who lived in California with her husband. “Oh, by the way, before I forget. I ate at the restaurant yesterday. Stella sends her love and says right after New Year’s, she’ll have plenty of shifts for you, so hang tight.”

“Okay.”

“Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah, Gloomyland. So I spotted you, but I couldn’t get near you, because you were with OCCB’s golden boy, the one who solved them doppelgangster killings in spring.” He added, “Well, you, me, and Max solved them, actually. But your boyfriend did a pretty good job, too. Made his bones at OCCB, and all that.”

Since Lucky had been around on the day Lopez broke up with me, he knew he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. Lopez hadn’t ever been my boyfriend, really. We had only gone on a few dates. But I let the phrase pass, rather than distract Lucky from his account by digressing into that subject.

“And what with the OCCB so unjustly determined to pin these hijackings on the Gambello family, I didn’t exactly want to announce my presence in Fenster’s to the cops.”

“They could so easily get the wrong idea,” I said. “What with the Gambello family’s history with the Fensters, and all. How petty of the cops to cling to that old stuff.”

“Yeah,” Lucky said indignantly. “It would be just like them to think I’m casing the joint for the next hit, instead of trying to find clues to expose the perpetrators.”

With so many maintenance men milling around in the general confusion after the enchanted tree had attacked, I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t noticed one who was keeping a low profile and trying not to be seen by my companion. And Lopez was certainly observant enough that it was wise for Lucky to stay out of his sight.

“And, Esther, was that a zombie I saw you talking to?”

I frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. “Oh! No. That was Elspeth Fenster.”

“That dead-looking girl is a Fenster?” he said in amazement. “Jeez, old Connie was really losing her grip on things in her declining years, wasn’t she? Back in her prime, no way would she have let a family member go around looking like a messy corpse!”

“It’s the goth look, Lucky. It’s a thing.”

“It’s a creepy thing. I got a strong stomach and I ain’t scared of corpses, but I swear if that girl snuck up on me in the dark, I’d scream like a girl.”

“You called her grandmother Connie,” I noted. “Did you know Constance Fenster?”

“Only by reputation—and that old broad had quite a rep, let me tell you.”

I paused at the entrance to the subway station. “I’m going down to the Village. I have to see Max.”

“Ah. Right. About the . . . whatever it is that’s haunting Fenster’s? Good idea.” Seeing my surprised look, he said, “Oh, come on, sure I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I grant you, it’s not obvious in the public parts of the store, where you work—”

“Oh, actually, it’s gotten very obvious in some instances.”

“—but sneaking around in the empty back halls and guts of that place, like I was today, you feel it real quick. Well, I did, anyhow.” He nodded. “There’s something at Fenster’s that didn’t used to be there. Something that don’t belong there.”

I recalled that Lucky’s grandmother had been a white witch back in Sicily, and that he accepted supernatural phenomena with equanimity. I supposed he was more sensitive to mystical energy than I was; I hadn’t sensed anything until the enchanted tree had tried to eat me.

“Yes, that’s what I’m going to see Max about. Whatever is . . .” I nodded, realizing that Lucky had used the right verb. “Whatever is haunting Fenster’s, it’s very dangerous. It tried to kill me today.”

“What?” His eyes widened in alarm.

“Or if it was just trying to scare me, then it certainly did a great job of that.” I added, “It also terrorized one of the Santas today, and I think it may have threatened a little boy.” Considering what had happened to me, I was no longer at all sure that Jonathan had been frightened by a harmless gnome statue due to his overactive imagination. It seemed entirely possible that what he’d described to us this morning was exactly what he had seen.

“We gotta go see Max,” Lucky said with conviction, all business now. He took my elbow and accompanied me down the steps of the subway station. “I won’t put up with something evil threatening Santa Claus and little kids. That’s crossing the line.” After a moment, he added courteously, albeit as an afterthought, “I won’t put with something killing you, either, kid.”

“Thank you, Lucky. I’m touched.”

* * *

Zadok’s Rare and Used Books occupied the first floor of a charming old townhouse on a quiet street in the West Village. Max lived on the second floor, and his laboratory was in the basement.

Specializing in occult books, the shop had a small but devoted clientele. I didn’t think it earned much money, but it was only a sideline for Max, in any case. His real work—his lifelong vocation for over three centuries—was confronting Evil in this dimension. And although I was unfamiliar with the specifics of his financial situation, he certainly seemed to have a healthy cash flow. I supposed that if he had invested prudently back in the eighteenth century and then let his assets grow, he was reaping comfortable dividends from that strategy by now.

Although it was getting late, the shop was still open for business. As Lucky and I approached it, we encountered a couple of people leaving, their arms loaded with their purchases. Apparently Max was enjoying some good holiday trade.

We were about to enter the shop when Max toddled up to the front window to hang up the “Closed” sign. His face broke into a smile when he saw us, and he opened the glass door.

“My friends! What an unexpected pleasure. Come in!”

Dr. Maximillian Zadok (Oxford University, class of 1678) was a short, slightly chubby man with innocent blue eyes, longish white hair, and a tidy beard. Looking at him now, I wondered if his resemblance to Santa Claus played a role in Lopez’s overall suspicion and dislike of him. I found this an intriguing theory, which merited further exploration at some point.

Fluent in multiple languages, Max spoke English with the faint trace of an accent, reflecting his origins in Central Europe centuries ago. Although he was nearly three hundred fifty years old, Max didn’t look a day over seventy.

“Come sit! I’ve made a pot of tea,” he said. “Unless you’d like something stronger?”

I agreed to accept a cup of tea and some cookies. Lucky didn’t want anything but a chair.

Alerted to our presence by her trusty canine hearing, Nelli came trotting down from the second floor to greet us.

Nelli was Max’s mystical familiar. She had emerged from another dimension in response to his summons for assistance in fighting Evil. A relatively new arrival in this dimension, she was still working out some of the details of her partnership with Max—such as the conflict between her pleasure in chewing on his things and his desire that she should refrain from doing so. And once Nelli chewed on something, the game was pretty much over, since her jaws seemed big enough to fit around my whole head. Fortunately, though, she was a sweet-natured beast. Well, unless she was confronting Evil. Or possessed by a dark spirit. Or facing a boa constrictor. Or encountering a mystical phenomenon which she found threatening. Or . . .

“Hello, Nelli!” I patted her head. “How are you?”

Roughly the size of a Shetland pony, Nelli was well-muscled beneath her short, smooth, tan fur. Although her long, square-jawed head was very large, her immense, floppy ears nonetheless seemed much too big for it. And when she wagged her long, bony tail with reckless abandon, no one was safe.

Nelli greeted me with a burp and drooled a little.

“Oh, dear,” Max said over his shoulder while pouring a cup of tea for me. “I’m afraid we’re out of cookies, Esther. That’s odd. I could have sworn . . .” Realization dawned, and he turned to look accusingly at Nelli.

She returned his gaze innocently, wagging her tail. Then she bounced around a little, greeting Lucky with delight. He was a favorite of hers, and he hadn’t been around for a visit lately. Her long, pink tongue hung out of her mouth as she presented him with her head, imperiously waiting for him to scratch her behind the ears.

Lucky and I sat down in a couple of comfortable, prettily upholstered chairs that were near the gas fireplace. Max rummaged around in the little refrigerator where he kept refreshments for customers, hoping to find something else to offer me in place of the vanished cookies. The fridge sat near a large old walnut table that had books, papers, and other paraphernalia on it.

Max said, “A chocolate muffin perhaps, Esther?”

“Oh, yes, thanks,” I said eagerly. I was hungry.

“It may be just a tad stale . . .”

“I don’t mind.”

The shop had well-worn hardwood floors, a broad-beamed ceiling, dusky-rose walls, and rows and rows of tall bookcases overflowing with volumes about all aspects of the occult. Some of the books were modern paperbacks, but many were old hardback volumes that smelled musty, and a few were rare leather-bound books printed in dead languages. I typically found this store a comforting place. Partly because it was nice to be surrounded by books in such a cozy, comfortable setting. And partly, of course, because this was Max’s home.

“Esther, I’m glad you stopped by! I was just thinking about you today,” Max said, pulling a chair up to join us near the dormant fireplace. “Christmas is in just a few days. And since you are a person of the Hebraic faith—a religion whose emphasis on learning has always won my most enthusiastic admiration—it occurs to me that you may not have plans for that day.”

“Oh, right,” Lucky said, nodding. “Christmas is probably kind of a bust for you, huh?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “No, I have no plans, Max.”

“Then I hope you will join me in the Saturnalia feast which I propose to host?”

“The what feast?” Lucky said.

“Saturnalia,” said Max. “It’s the ancient Roman festival from which Christianity has derived many of its Christmas customs. Saturnalia, of course, was derived, in turn, from even older mid-winter festivals whose periods of celebration clustered around the solstice—literally, the days when the ‘sun stands still.’ Since before the dawn of history, people in many cultures and societies have sought to ward off the frighteningly long, dark, cold nights at this time of year with festivals which celebrate light, fire, life, and the imminent, longed-for return of spring as we—”

“I would be delighted to be your guest,” I said, knowing that he could go on in this vein for some time if I didn’t distract him. “What time does your feast start?”

“Why an ancient Roman festival?” Lucky asked with a puzzled frown.

“It seems suitably ecumenical,” Max said. “Although I was baptized as a Christian for simple reasons of self-preservation . . . That is to say, the world used to be an even more intolerant place than it is now—”

“That’s true enough,” said Lucky, who believed Max to be roughly a contemporary of his. “Ain’t no denying some things is a lot better now than they was when I was young.”

“In any event, while I admire a great deal about the teachings of the individual commonly known to history as Jesus Christ, and whereas I have the most sincerely profound admiration for those who actually practice what he preached—which includes, of course, far, far fewer people than call themselves Christians . . .” Max paused for a moment, trying unravel his own syntax. “Er, well, the fact is, I do not and have never considered myself a Christian. Indeed, although I have traveled far from my origins, I was actually raised in the Hermetic tradition, rather than in any—”

“You were raised as a hermit?” Lucky asked.

“No, my family practiced Hermeticism.” Seeing our blank looks, Max explained, “It is a collection, one might say, of philosophical and mystical beliefs, albeit with an emphasis on the healthy spirit of inquiry, largely based on writings somewhat loosely attributed to Hermes Trismegistus.”

“Oh, him,” I said. “Of course.”

“I considered hosting a Hanukkah feast, since that would be in keeping with Esther’s inherited traditions, but then I realized that the Jewish festival of lights is already over.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lucky asked me, “Why does that move around so much? I never know when it’s supposed to happen.”

“Jewish and Muslim holidays are determined by lunar calendars,” I said. “Christian holidays are determined by a solar calendar. And eastern and western Christianity use different calendars, too.”

“I always find it so confusing,” Lucky complained. “They couldn’t all get together on this? Would that be so hard?”

I replied, “Oh, I think the calendar is a fairly minor matter in the things that Christians, Jews, and Muslims have never really all been able to get together on, Lucky.”

He gave a sort of Talmudic shrug in acknowledgment of this point.

“So I thought that Saturnalia would be a fittingly inclusive theme for my holiday feast, since the Romans celebrated it on the same day that Christmas is now celebrated.”

“A Jewish elf, a Hermetic mage, a pagan festival . . .” I nodded with approval. “It works for me. I think it’s a lovely idea, Max.”

“Would there be any chance,” Max asked Lucky, “of a Roman Catholic joining us for this celebration?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Lucky said with a pleased smile, “my daughter and that schmuck she married aren’t flying in for the holidays. And since I can’t go out there this year, on account of I gotta clear up this problem the Gambello family has got with Fenster’s . . . Thank you, Doc. I’d love to come. I’ll bring the cannoli.”

“Excellent!” Max said, pleased that his guest list was shaping up.

“Speaking of Fenster’s . . .” I said.

“Ah, yes,” said Max. “How are you faring at Fenster and Company, Esther? And, Lucky, what’s this about a problem between your famiglia and the store?”

“Actually, Max, something pretty strange is going on there. Something . . .” I glanced at Lucky, wondering exactly where to start the story.

“I was thinking about this on the subway,” Lucky said to me. “And I got a theory.”

“Well, since I certainly don’t,” I said, “the floor is all yours.”

“Doc,” he said to Max, “do you think it’s possible that Constance Fenster, the Iron Matriarch, is haunting Fenster and Co.?”