THE REAL SANTA CLAUS

LEIGH PERRY

My friend Leigh Perry’s favorite character is Diantha, the half-demon niece of the mostly demon lawyer Desmond Cataliades. In After Dead, I say that Mr. Cataliades drops in on Sookie just before Christmas every year. In this story, set while Sookie is pregnant with her third child, the lawyer’s pre-Christmas visit reveals that things aren’t merry in Sookie’s household, and Mr. C tasks Diantha with finding out why.

—

“Maybehesanelf,” I said.

“More slowly, please.”

“Talkingordriving?”

“Both, I think.”

“Suresuresure. I mean, sure.”

My uncle, Desmond Cataliades, was in the backseat of his new black Lexus while I drove at a fraction of the speed I should have been going. I like working for Uncle Desmond, but he’s got rules. One of them is for me to try to avoid getting more speeding tickets.

“Anyway, Santa Claus,” I said. “Maybe he’s an elf. I read that story—‘The Night Before Christmas’—and it says he was a right jolly old elf.”

Uncle Desmond said, “Indeed?” which was what he said when he wasn’t really listening. He’s way polite. He says manners help him control his demon-ness, which is important because he’s mostly demon. I’m only half demon, so I don’t need to be that polite.

Even though he wasn’t listening, I kept talking because driving that gorgeous hunk of car at the speed limit was putting me to sleep. “The thing is, I’ve seen an elf or two and they didn’t look anything like Santa Claus. Their ears were funny looking, their hair looked like fur instead of hair, and they weren’t fat. Plus they both had these pointy teeth that I thought were kinda hot, but they’d freak out any human kid who tried to sit in their laps.”

“Almost certainly.” He kept tapping away at his laptop, working even though it was Christmas Eve.

Not that demons really go in for celebrating the birth-of-Christ thing, but a lot of the people Uncle Desmond does business with do, so we non-human-American types take the time off and have our own parties. After all, who doesn’t like getting presents?

I said, “I bet the guy who wrote that story never even saw an elf.”

“I suspect you’re right, Diantha. Elves rarely leave survivors.”

“Besides, all the elves have gone back to Faery, and kids keep getting presents, so . . . he can’t be an elf.”

“Well reasoned, my dear.”

“That lets out most of the rest of the fae, too—the really powerful ones are gone and the part-fae like Sookie don’t have the juice to pull it off.”

“Indeed,” he said again.

“Maybe a vampire. He only comes out at night, and hanging a stocking or putting up a sign that says Santa Stop Here is kinda like an invitation into the house, and nothing hides bloodstains like a red suit. Those sugarplums dancing in the kids’ heads? Vampire whammy power.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Of course, you almost never see a fat vampire, but hey, what would a vampire look like after gorging on sleeping kids all over the world? He’d get bloated, right? There’s still the reindeer, but maybe they’re were. Did you ever hear of a werereindeer?”

“I don’t believe I have.”

“Shifter Sam could change into a reindeer.”

“I must remind you not to call Sookie’s husband Shifter Sam. When one speaks rapidly, as you frequently do, that sounds uncomfortably like Shifty Sam, which Sookie would certainly take amiss.”

“Suresuresure.” I didn’t do it on purpose. Sam didn’t always like it when we came to visit, but he wasn’t shifty. “Maybe Santa is a shifter like Sam—he could shift into something small like a cockroach to get into the houses and have other shifters around to turn into reindeer.” I liked the idea of a cockroach Santa but had to say, “Nah, a bug wouldn’t be able to carry presents down the chimney, and the reindeer would need a talisman or something for flying. No, wait!” I snapped my fingers.

“Both hands on the wheel, my dear.”

“Suresuresure.” It wasn’t like I didn’t have fast reflexes, especially when we were going so slooooow. “What about a witch? A spell to teleport into the house, a magic hold-a-bunch-of-stuff bag for the toys, and either bespelled reindeer or an illusion. It would have to be a powerful witch, but it could happen.”

“It’s within the realm of possibility.”

“But why would a witch have anything to do with Christmas? They’ve got their own holidays. And why give away all that stuff? Witches charge through the nose for every little spell.”

“When have you done business with a witch?”

Burningcrap, I’d finally gotten his full attention. “Not me, a friend of mine. A were I met. From Albany.”

“I see.”

I could feel him staring at the back of my neck, which is scary. I work for him, and we’re family, and he likes me, but still. Mostly demon. Finally he started back tapping on his laptop and I relaxed.

I hadn’t bought the hex anyway. It cost too much just to play a trick on Uncle Desmond’s daughters even though Eudokia, Kallistrae, and Myrrine deserved it. They were such asshats.

I spent the rest of the drive to Bon Temps going through the supe roll call trying to figure out what Santa really is. A maenad would have parents doing a lot more than kissing under the mistletoe; ghosts wouldn’t be able to make toys; goblins don’t care about humans and don’t have the right look anyway; Britlingens are all about fighting; and whatever Dr. Ludwig is, she’s definitely not Santa Claus.

When we finally made it to Sookie’s house, which is in the middle of nowhere, even for Bon Temps, I jumped out and ran around the car a couple of times to get the kinks out before opening the back door for Uncle Desmond. While he was still climbing out, I got the trunk open and grabbed a bunch of wrapped presents, making sure to only get the ones for Sookie and her family. The packages for my cousins and their kids had to be bigger and fancier because one time they’d noticed that Sookie’s presents looked as good as theirs.

“Careful, Diantha,” Uncle Desmond warned. “Some of the gifts are fragile.”

“Suresuresure.” I keep telling Uncle Desmond that it would be faster to buy gift cards, but he says that lacks the personal touch. At least he doesn’t make me do his shopping since that time I got into a hurry at Macy’s and broke some things. I don’t like waiting in line.

I do like going to Sookie’s house because I like Sookie. She’s human but treats me nicer than a trio of cousins I could name. I particularly like going at Christmastime because her house isn’t so dull then. Sookie and Sam put up colored lights outside and decorate inside the house, too, with a big Christmas tree and garland all over. It’s still not as colorful as my place, but it’s a lot better than it usually is.

Only when I looked at the house, there were no lights. Of course, it was still daytime, so I wasn’t expecting them to be flashing, but they should have been up. There was a wreath on the door, but it was solid green. Dull.

As soon as Uncle Desmond got most of the way to the front door, I went knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. And waited. I was thinking Sookie wasn’t there because it took forever for her to open up, but when I saw her I understood why she was going so slowly. She was as big as a whale!

“You’re having another baby?” I said. Sookie and Sam the shifter had two kids already, which seemed like plenty.

“Well, hey, Diantha,” she said, sounding kind of exasperated. Probably because of being so big. “You guessed it—I’m pregnant.” She looked over my shoulder. “Hey there, Mr. Cataliades.”

“The warmest of seasons’ greetings, Sookie,” he said, with a little half bow.

Uncle Desmond is Sookie’s sponsor, which is like a godfather only with no god involved. Another reason I like Sookie is because my cousins hate their father being around her worse than they hate him working with me. At least I’m half demon. Sookie’s mostly human. Uncle Desmond gave her telepathy when she was born, which would be cool to have, but I like having speed better. Besides, she can’t read supe minds, and why would I want to waste time reading human minds?

Sookie said, “My, you’re looking festive today, Diantha.”

“ThanksgoingtoapartyandIwantedtogetintheholidaymood.” I took a breath and said, “Thanks. I’m going to a party and I wanted to get in the holiday mood.” I wear short skirts and leggings because they don’t get in my way while I run. These leggings were green and red striped and my skirt was red with white polka dots. I couldn’t find a red or green shirt so I wore a purple tank top under a white faux-fur vest. My hair was more orange than the red I’d meant to dye it, but it didn’t show much because I had on a Santa Claus hat with leopard-pattern trim and green and gold sequins. My sneakers were plain silver sparkly high-tops, which are blander than I like, but they go with everything.

“Well, you sure nailed it,” Sookie said. “Would y’all like to come in?”

Uncle Desmond bowed again while I went on inside.

“Sookie, you want me to put this stuff under the tree?” I looked around. “Where’s the tree?” Not only was there no great big Christmas tree, but none of the other decorations I was used to were up, either. No tinsel in sight.

“Sam hasn’t— We haven’t had time to put it up yet.”

“Isn’t Christmas Eve, like, now?”

Sookie’s smile was looking kinda forced, but she said, “There’s still time. You can just leave those on the table.”

“Sure thing.”

“You’re looking radiant, my dear,” Uncle Desmond said, which was a lie. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair was hanging like something dead. “I was so pleased to hear about the new addition to the family. Diantha, you recall me telling you and the rest of the family the good news at Thanksgiving?”

“Suresuresure.” I was lying, too. He’d given a long drawn-out speech or toast or something, but I’d been busy eating.

A minute later, I heard what sounded like a crowd slamming down the stairs, so I jumped in front of Uncle Desmond. Not that I thought Sookie would have hellhounds in her house, but better safe than sorry. But it was just Sookie’s kids, Neal and Jennings. Neal knew me well enough to give me a fist bump, but little Jennings would only look at me. I think he was trying to read my mind—Uncle Desmond had given him telepathy, too—but it wouldn’t work on me and the kid was confused.

“Jennings,” Sookie said in the tone Uncle Desmond uses on me a lot, and he stopped trying. “You probably don’t remember, but this is Mr. Cataliades and this is his niece, Diantha.”

“Pleasedtomeetya!” I said, and stuck out my fist. He thought about it a long time, but he gave me a quick bump in return.

“Would y’all like something to drink?” Sookie asked, and when Uncle Desmond said something polite, she said something polite back.

Uncle Desmond and I sat on the couch, Neal followed after his mother, and Jennings stood and stared at us. I stared back until I got bored. By then Sookie was back with apple cider and cookies. Sookie makes great Christmas cookies, but these were Oreos. Not even the winter ones with red stuff in the middle—just plain old Oreos. Of course Uncle Desmond ate them as if they were petit fours or something like that.

“How have you been, Sookie?” he asked.

“Oh, fine,” she said brightly, but even I could tell she was lying.

Uncle Desmond raised one eyebrow, which was his way of reminding her that he could read her mind, even if she couldn’t read his.

She got kind of red in the face. “Boys, why don’t y’all go upstairs and play while we grown-ups talk.”

They did, but Jennings kept staring at me as long as he could. I stuck out my tongue at him ’cause I was a grown-up and he wasn’t.

Sookie said, “I should know better than to pretend with you, Mr. Cataliades. To tell the truth, it’s been a rough month.”

“Vampires attacking?” I asked. “Weres? Fae coming out of that portal in your backyard?”

“What? No! Just normal things. Normal human things, anyway. Sam’s had a bad cold since Thanksgiving that he can’t seem to shake, and the doctor doesn’t want me working this late in my pregnancy so we had to hire a new waitress, and business at Merlotte’s has been slow. We usually do well around the holidays, but not this year. Sam has been working extra hours even though he ought to be resting, and so a few things have slid.” She kind of shook herself. “But here I am whining on Christmas Eve when I ought to be thinking about how lucky I am. The boys are doing great, and soon we’ll have a new baby.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s a girl. I’m going to name her after Gran.”

“And the pregnancy is going well?” Uncle Desmond said.

“Just the usual swollen feet, and being tired a lot.”

Just then the front door opened and Sookie’s husband, Sam, came in. “Sookie? Is somebody here?”

Sam looked even worse than Sookie did, but where she was big he looked like he’d lost weight. His hair is always reddish, but this time his nose was, too, and he sounded stuffed up. That explained why he hadn’t known it was Uncle Desmond and me—normally he’d have scented us as soon as he got out of his pickup.

“Hey,” he said, sounding about as welcoming as my cousins did when I came over. He’s not overly fond of us, but usually he fakes it better. “I brought some food for y’all to have for lunch—figured the boys could use something other than a sandwich for a change.” He held up a paper bag that said Merlotte’s.

Sookie looked like he’d slapped her and said, “I was going to make them some soup.”

“Now you can save that for later,” he said, maybe sounding kind of sorry. “I didn’t know we had company or I’d have brought more food.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Uncle Desmond said, “but as a matter of fact Diantha and I were just leaving. We just stopped by to drop off some presents, but I’m afraid we have to be on our way. Christmas is such a bustling time.”

“Too bad,” Sam lied. He put the bag on the table and said, “I gotta get back to work.”

“Can’t you stay long enough to eat with us?” Sookie asked. “I thought you and the boys could go out in the woods after lunch and pick out a tree.”

It sounded pathetic, and Sookie isn’t like that usually. It made me mad, and from the way Uncle Desmond’s jaw tightened, it made him even madder.

But Sam just said, “I can’t—we’re short a waitress for the lunch rush.” And off he went, not even kissing Sookie good-bye.

I knew Sookie was trying not to cry, so Uncle Desmond and I left so she could be alone.

As we went out to the car, I said, “I could go find a tree and chop it down if you’ll tell me what to look for. Wouldn’t take long.”

“No, there’s more wrong here than a missing Christmas tree.” Uncle Desmond was quiet in the car, not even opening up his laptop. When we were in what passes for downtown Bon Temps, he said, “Diantha, pull into that McDonald’s parking lot.”

“Since when do you like McDonald’s? Whoever calls it fast food is totally lying.”

“I’m not interested in the menu. I’m concerned about Sookie.”

“Being so big?”

“Her size is normal for her stage of gestation. It’s her marriage that concerns me. Sam working long hours, not having the time to assist her in the decoration of her house, the monetary shortfall. I fear that he may be straying.”

“You mean screwing around?”

He nodded. “Normally, of course, Sookie would detect any such activities, even with the unusual thought patterns of a shifter, but while she’s pregnant, her powers are not up to their usual level. Sam could easily be concealing a paramour.”

“Then he really is Shifty Sam.”

“We don’t know that, but if he is, steps will have to be taken. As Sookie’s sponsor, I would be remiss in allowing such disrespect.” Uncle Desmond may be polite, but that doesn’t stop him from taking people apart. Literally. “Were it any other time, I would investigate the situation personally, but Eudokia is expecting me at their holiday ball tonight and I would rather not disappoint her. Would you be willing to stay in Bon Temps overnight and see what you can find out?”

“Suresuresure.”

“It would mean missing the ball.”

“Great! Your daughters are asshats and Eudokia’s parties suck.”

“I fear that you may be right, but family comes with certain obligations.”

Since I wasn’t going to be at the sucky party, Uncle Desmond gave me my present early. It was a leather messenger bag made up of a zillion different-colored pieces, and stuffed with all kinds of things that might come in handy while I was delivering messages and doing the other kinds of work I did for him. Demons aren’t big on hugging or fist bumps, so I slugged him on the shoulder to thank him.

Then he gave me a bunch of money and a credit card for expenses, told me to call him as soon as I knew anything, and climbed into the front seat.

My first stop was Merlotte’s, the bar that Sookie and Sam owned. Uncle Desmond had offered to drop me off on his way out of town, but I said I’d rather run. The weather was perfect for running—dry and a little chilly—and I could get there faster on foot anyway.

The bar’s parking lot was mostly empty—so much for the lunch rush Sam was talking about. The lot itself looked bad, too—it had potholes and the lines that showed the parking places needed to be repainted. The employee lot was even worse, with grass coming up between the gravel. I could have ripped out all the weeds in ten minutes, five if I went really fast, but Uncle Desmond had said I should be discreet.

I found a tree that would give me a good view of the front window and climbed up. My fab messenger bag had been stocked with a pair of binoculars—sturdy in case I dropped them—so I could do the discreet thing. I could see okay, but not as well as I should have been able to. The window was dirty, and the inside of the restaurant looked grubby.

A couple of parties came in, and the waitress was painfully slow to talk to them—not just by my standards, but by human Southerner standards. When they got their food, both parties called the waitress back over. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they didn’t look happy. One table took four trips back and forth to get their order right. No wonder Sam wasn’t making any money.

But he was there, not climbing into the wrong bed. I could see him the whole time: drawing drinks behind the bar, bringing out food, answering the phone, wiping tables. Poor guy looked dog tired, too. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to go tromping in the woods to cut down a tree. I kept watch for a couple of hours, and Sam kept on working. He didn’t make any calls, text any pictures of his parts, or do anything else like a man getting some on the side would.

Something was weird.

I thought about calling Uncle Desmond, but he was probably still on the road because he goes like a glacier, and he didn’t like to talk on the phone while driving. Besides, I didn’t have enough to tell him. What I needed to do was to get inside Merlotte’s without Sam knowing it was me.

I put away my binoculars, slipped down the tree, and ran toward town, looking for what I needed. Or rather for who I needed.

There! A car with North Carolina plates had just pulled into the Grabbit Kwik for gas, and I saw a curvy redheaded woman in tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and a short leather jacket scooting for the restroom like she’d been holding it in for hours. I waited a minute before following her in, and was standing at the mirror messing with my hair when she came out of the stall and gave me a sideways look that reminded me of my cousins. I stared her down in the mirror, which made her nervous, and while she was edging out of the restroom, I snatched a couple of her hairs so quick she didn’t even notice.

I went out of the bathroom long enough to make sure she was gone, then went back to lock myself in a stall while I held the hairs in my hand and said the right words. When I came out again, I looked just like the woman who’d needed to pee so bad. The humans at the Grabbit Kwik didn’t even notice that “I” had already left the building once.

Since I looked like I was wearing stupidly high heels even though I was really still in sneakers, I tried to keep it to a normal pace until I was sure nobody was watching, then zipped back to Merlotte’s. Sam looked up when I came in the door, but his stuffy nose kept him from recognizing my scent, which the magic hadn’t changed.

“Just have a seat wherever you like, ma’am.”

“Suresuresure.”

He gave me a look.

“I sure will,” I said, trying to sound like Sookie. I must have been good enough—he went back to wiping whatever it was he’d been wiping and I sat at the bar where I could keep an eye on him. He gave me a menu but his smile was a professional bartender smile, not a come-hither smile. That was one point for Sam.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke, and while I was waiting, I tried to flirt with Sam. Okay, I’m not the biggest flirt around, but I can stick my chest out, make suggestive comments, and give eye-sex. But not only did Sam not respond appreciatively, he seemed too sick to even notice.

Another point for Sam.

At least I was going to get some good food—I’ve eaten at Merlotte’s before. Only when the food came, the fries were cold and greasy, the burger was dry, the lettuce on top was wilted, and I spotted a lipstick stain on my glass. I ate it anyway—I am half demon—but in between bites, I did a little figuring. I couldn’t speak for how long that lettuce had been hanging around, but I’d heard the burger hitting the griddle and smelled the fries while they were cooking. The meat hadn’t cooked long enough to get that hard and dry, and the fries should still have been hot enough to scorch my tongue.

Something was really, really weird. Plus I was catching the scent of something wrong.

I stuck around for a while and kept trying to flirt, but mostly just watched other customers come in and listened to them complain about food that couldn’t have gotten that cold that quick. Not one customer was completely satisfied. One party refused to pay, and Sam didn’t even seem to have the energy to argue with them. Those who did pay left lousy tips.

I also saw the waitress on duty drop two glasses that she had a firm grip on, spill more salt than she managed to get into the shakers she was refilling, and wipe tables that were stickier after than before she wiped.

Around five o’clock, the last party grumbled its way through their meal, and Sam sent the waitress and cook home early for Christmas Eve, even though the place was supposed to be open until six. He gave me a hopeful look, too, but I just asked for another refill on my Coke.

As soon as his back was turned, I ran to lock the door and put up the CLOSED sign. Then I hopped back on my bar stool and whipped off my vest and tank top. Or maybe it was the leather jacket and shirt worn by the woman whose appearance I was using. Magic is weird. The important thing was that when Sam turned around, he wasn’t going to see my boobs, which aren’t that big anyway. He was about to see the boobs of that other woman.

That doesn’t make much sense, but magic is like the Internet—I don’t have to understand how it works to use it.

So Sam turned around, blinked, and backed away with his hands held up as if I was aiming something a lot more lethal than a pair of C cups. “Ma’am, I think you should leave now.”

“Seriously? I’m nearly naked and you’ve got something better to do than jump my bones?”

“I’m a married man, ma’am. Now, why don’t you put your top on and head home?”

“You sure? I’m not looking for a commitment. You give me a quick ride and I’ll be on my way, no questions asked.”

“I’ve got a wife and two kids at home, and they’re waiting on me to come put up our Christmas tree. I’m not interested in any quick rides.”

“Oh. Okaythen. MerryChristmas.” I grabbed my stuff off the floor and headed for the door. “Wait, I haven’t paid my check.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “It’s on me.”

“No, no, you’ve got that wife and kids.” I reached into my pocket to pull out a couple of twenties and put them on the bar. It was Uncle Desmond’s money anyway.

“Ma’am?” Sam said as I was unlocking the door.

“You change your mind?”

“No, I just thought you might want to get dressed before you go outside.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

As soon as I was out the door, I zoomed off and ducked behind a tree before Sam could notice that I didn’t have a car in the parking lot. He locked the door pretty emphatically, and a few minutes later, I saw him come around the back, look around nervously, then get into his truck and drive away. I didn’t bother to follow him to make sure he was going home.

Before I put the rest of my clothes back on, I’d caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window—or rather that other woman’s reflection—and I looked pretty damned good. If Sam didn’t want a piece of that, then Sookie didn’t have anything to worry about.

But something was still hinky at Merlotte’s. I broke my spell so I would look like myself again and started sniffing around the parking lot. Uncle Desmond says my sense of smell is better than most weres, which can be good or bad depending on what’s around to smell.

The edges of the parking lot were okay other than a couple of spots where drunks had decided to pee before they got into their cars, but the closer I got to the building, the worse it smelled. There were whole layers of stinky, but it wasn’t just the garbage in the Dumpster.

Somebody had cast a curse on Merlotte’s. Worse! They’d cast a crapload of curses.

I moved away before I barfed up that burger and started counting out the number of curses I thought had to be in effect. First up was something to make food go bad quick. Another must have made clean surfaces sticky even after cleaning. There was also either a clumsiness spell, or a spell to make waitresses tired enough to be clumsy. Maybe something to make people cranky, too, but that could have been a side effect of the other spells. Plus I spotted a colony of rats living around the foundations of Merlotte’s that hadn’t been there when I’d visited before, and I didn’t think it was just because of the bad food. Finally, something was keeping Sam sick enough that he couldn’t smell the curses or the rats.

That was somewhere between five and seven curses, and there might be more I hadn’t caught. It would have taken days for a witch to cast all those spells, which was bad luck for her. It meant she would have left her scent around. I cast around for a while but with weather and normal outdoor smells, it was too diffuse outside. I was hoping I’d have better luck inside, and fortunately for Sam’s windows, one of the other presents in my Christmas bag was a set of lock picks that were better than my old ones and maybe a little enchanted. It didn’t take me any time at all to get inside the back door, and I was glad to see I’d flustered Sam so much he’d forgotten to set the alarm.

It took over half an hour of sniffing to finally isolate the scent of a person who’d been around a lot but that didn’t match any of the stuff in the employee lockers. On the good side, it gave me the chance to catch a couple of overconfident rats. It had been a long time since lunch.

Once I had the scent clear in my head, it was time to go hunting. If the witch hadn’t been local, I’d have been out of luck, but I was betting that any witch who came to Merlotte’s over and over again had to be in Bon Temps. So I ran up and down all the streets in town, one by one. It was nearly ten by the time I caught the scent in a cheesy split-level house with yellow vinyl siding at the end of a cul-de-sac.

The name was on the mailbox, so I used my smartphone to access Uncle Desmond’s private database of info about supes. It gave me everything I needed to know about Ms. Marietta Singleton.

There were no lights on in the house, but I rang the doorbell until I heard somebody stomping down the stairs. I’d have picked the lock, but I figured a witch might have house protection spells so nobody could screw her the way she’d screwed Sam. Marietta opened the door only as wide as the door chain allowed. “Who’s there?”

“I need a witch.”

She cursed under her breath, but it was the four-letter-word kind, not the turn-me-into-a-toad kind. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know—I want to buy somebody a spell for Christmas.”

“Right now?”

“Well, duh. Santa Claus comes tonight.”

“It’s going to cost double.”

“So?” I said, as if I didn’t care. Which I didn’t, since it was Uncle Desmond’s money.

She started to unhook the chain. “Just so you know, I’ve got protection spells that’ll blast you to dust if you so much as pull my hair.”

“Understood.”

Marietta was dinky, but that didn’t mean she didn’t pack a nasty punch, spellwise. According to the database she was in her thirties, but she looked younger in the cutesy-poo flannel sleep pants with kitty cats on them and an oversized T-shirt with still more kitty cats.

“Come into my consulting room,” she said.

She’d converted a spare bedroom into what looked like a low-rent doctor’s office, complete with flimsy wood paneling and beige shag carpeting. Beige! It was a good thing she had those spells to protect it all—I wanted to rip it up to keep from having to walk on it.

She handed me a pen and a clipboard with a piece of paper already on it. “If you’ll just fill out this form.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“This is how I work. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” I grabbed the thing, read the form, and in the section that said Service required—be specific and use back of form if needed, I wrote, TAKE ALL THE CURSES OFF OF MERLOTTE’S NOW. Then I handed it back to her.

As soon as she saw that, I could feel her starting to pull magic to herself. So I said, “I work for Desmond Cataliades.”

She knew the name, and she paused, but started up again.

“I’m his niece.” And I smiled. My teeth aren’t as sharp as an elf’s, but they’re sharp enough to show which side of the family I’m on.

That stopped her. For one, everybody who knows anything about Uncle Desmond knows that he takes vengeance very seriously, and for another, spells don’t always work right on demons.

“I didn’t know Merlotte’s was under Cataliades’s protection,” she whined.

“Now you know. I want every single spell, hex, curse, or hidden talisman taken off. Tonight.”

“It’s not that simple. I signed a contract to keep those spells maintained for six months. A blood contract.”

“Then I’ll get the contract canceled. Who’s the client?”

She looked prissy. “I guarantee confidentiality.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a knife with a serrated edge that Uncle Desmond had given me and smiled again.

“I can’t tell you,” she stammered. “Confidentiality is part of the contract.”

Crapcrapandmorecrap. Even if I tortured her, she wouldn’t be able to tell me. I could have called Uncle Desmond and asked him what to do, but when he gives me an assignment, he expects me to carry it out. He doesn’t get mad often, but when he does . . . Hoo boy.

Who had it in for Sam, anyway? Sure, there’d been trouble when the shifters and weres first came out, but that was old news. Besides, if it had been any kind of human motive, Sookie would have winkled it out with her telepathy. That made it a supe, but then what? I knew for a fact Sam wasn’t in the local were pack, but he had good connections with it. The local vampires left him alone because Sheriff Ravenscroft had told them to. Another witch would have cast the spells herself and not hired Marietta. Who did that leave, and how could I get any more information out of the witch when she was bound by a blood contract?

Blood contracts were powerful—both parties had to sign in blood and the penalties for breaking them usually meant a lot more blood. The only way to break a blood contract was for both parties to agree or for both of them to die. I didn’t have a big problem with killing Marietta after eating that awful cheeseburger, but I wasn’t sure I could work around all her protection spells and I didn’t know who the other party was. But I had an idea.

“Hey, a blood contract can’t be done over the phone or the web, can it?”

“Of course not.”

“So that means your client came here?”

She nodded slowly, as if she weren’t sure if the contract would stop her.

“Into this office.”

She nodded again.

“Then don’t move, don’t cast any spells, don’t call anybody, don’t text anybody.” Then, because it was Christmas Eve, I said, “You can take a nap if you want.” I didn’t expect her to take me up on it, but at least I’d made the gesture.

Sookie had said Sam got sick around Thanksgiving, which meant Marietta’s client been at that house less than a month earlier. So I was hoping that the witch wasn’t a very good housekeeper and that she hadn’t had a holiday rush of clients needing spells. I started sniffing my way through the office, starting with the guest chairs, then going down the hall to the front door and even onto the front stoop. There was something, something kinda familiar, but I couldn’t get enough to ID it.

I went back to the office and saw that Marietta hadn’t moved, which was a good thing for her front teeth. I was trying to think of a question she’d be able to answer when she asked me one. “Do you need to go to the bathroom? I keep one just for clients. It’s the first door on the right.”

“Marietta, you are officially forgiven for this carpet. And the sleep pants, too.” I went to a door I’d gone past before and went into the bathroom. The first thing I noticed was that I’d forgiven her a minute too soon. The bathroom was in beige—even the toilet was beige. The second was a scent that was entirely too familiar.

I grinned and went back to the office. “I’m going to go now and make a phone call. A little while after that, you’re going to get a call from your client, and she is going to tell you to cancel your blood contract. You can do that part over the phone, right?”

She nodded.

“Good. As soon as that contract is canceled, I want you to go to Merlotte’s and wipe all those curses clean. And throw in a heavy-duty protection spell while you’re at it.”

“I have to have you here for a blood contract.”

“Don’t need it, and don’t need this kept confidential. In fact, I want every supe around to know that Desmond Cataliades is paying for this. You send him a bill and it’ll be taken care of. Got it?”

She nodded.

I thought about offering a fist bump to seal the deal but didn’t think she’d take it the right way. “I don’t think it’s going to take long for your client to call, so you better get dressed so you can get right to work.” I let myself out because she still hadn’t moved from her chair.

I called Uncle Desmond while I ran back to Merlotte’s, and even though his voice didn’t change exactly, I could tell he was so mad I wouldn’t have been surprised if my phone had caught fire. What I should have figured out as soon as I found all those spells is that there aren’t many people who can afford to pay for that much magic. Of course Uncle Desmond could—he’s rich. And so are Eudokia, Kallistrae, and Myrrine.

His daughters, who bitch about him spending time with Sookie and hate him buying her and her family presents. And right around Thanksgiving, when they were starting to plan their ball, they must have started thinking about how Uncle Desmond was going to be shopping for the Stackhouses again and they’d probably been paying attention when he’d told them Sookie was having another baby.

They’d known they couldn’t do anything to Sookie directly, and Uncle Desmond would have spotted any curses put on her house the next time he went to visit. But they could sure hurt her indirectly by messing with Merlotte’s. Uncle Desmond never goes there because Sam doesn’t like him much.

The low-rent part was that it wasn’t like the curses would kill Sam, they’d just ruin his business. They’d spent all that money just to make Sookie miserable. If it made Sam and the kids unhappy, too, all the better.

What asshats! There were a couple of choice items in my bag that I’d have loved to try out on them, but I figured Uncle Desmond would take care of that. It didn’t take long, either.

I got back to my tree at Merlotte’s and had only played Angry Birds for half an hour when Marietta drove up in a Honda—beige, of course. She went right to work saying words, waving stuff around, blowing smoke around. She was in the middle of a chant when I sneaked up behind her, and I waited until she was done to say, “Did you get them all?”

She screeched and jumped, which was what I’d been going for.

“That was the last,” she gasped.

“Cool. Stay here while I check.” I zipped around the building a couple of times, then picked the lock again so I could check inside. No bad smells, no sticky tables, not even a stray rat, though that was kind of disappointing.

Even though Marietta was watching for me, I got another jump-and-screech out of her when I went back. “It’s clear—you’re good to go.” She hopped in her car and gunned it out of there without wishing me a merry Christmas or blessed be or anything.

Uncle Desmond had told me to head for a good hotel when I was done and charge it to him, but the night was clear and the streets were empty, so I decided I’d take another shot at making a sonic boom while I had a chance.

But on the way out of town, I zipped past Sookie’s house and crept up so I could peek in the window. Breaking the everlasting mild cold spell on Sam meant he already looked healthier, and Sookie and Sam were making out on the couch. They hadn’t gotten all the decorations out, but they’d gotten their tree up and had it covered with shiny balls and tinsel and stuff. As for the outside lights, they were so busy with each other that they never heard a thing while I picked the lock of the shed behind the house, pulled out the lights, and got them put on the house. I plugged them in and then ran for it before they could come and see what had happened.

I was halfway home when I realized what I should have realized all along. I knew what Santa Claus had to be. That kind of power, that kind of speed, being able to figure out what people wanted.

The real Santa Claus was obviously a demon.