“Now, you roll them out like this!” Young Sophie Elf stretched to her tiptoes, even atop the two-level stepping stool, so she could advance the rolling pin as far outward as her still-short arms could reach. One advantage, as far as her mother had been concerned, to the invasion of the werewolf DNA into her system had been the super-slow-down of her aging process. Usually, elven children aged a typical human year every human decade until they were fully grown—and afterward, the aging process stopped dead in its tracks. After Sophie’s tiny legs had been ravaged by the were-deer’s antlers, however, that decade had stretched by ten into a century. Nearly four centuries had passed, but to Willa’s eyes, Sophie appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a child of ten. In fact, it was due in large part to the three young sisters that Willa had been able to gradually overcome the culture shock of her first year at the workshop.

“Don’t roll the dough too thin,” Maggie scolded, stepping closer to the massive kitchen island. Although she had reached the human equivalent of seventeen, even she still seemed to have a touch more maturing to undergo.

“We should do a re-roll just to be safe,” Sadie advised, scooping the pie-crust-thin layer back into a ball. “These are Willa’s first Christmas cookies, to be delivered to children all over the world, after all.”

“And press just like this.” Sadie laid her hand, still childishly chubby, atop Willa’s as she placed the full-bodied Santa cutter over the dough. Her mother stifled a giggle, unsuccessfully, from her seat at a table a few feet away.

“I do believe I’m in fine hands, Suzibelle.” Willa returned a giggle of her own.

“We have hundreds of years of practice.” Sophie grinned, still sporting a gap by way of her missing left canine.

“Indeed you do.” Willa used the index finger of her free hand to smear gingerbread dough on Sophie’s pixie-snub nose, covering a sprinkle of golden-brown freckles.

“But you still haven’t been baking cookies nearly as long as me, Little Sister.” Maggie ignored the pink flash of tongue Sophie extended in response as she used a silicone spatula with festive holly sprigs painted on the handle to carefully transport the cut shapes onto a parchment-paper-covered air-bake pan.

As the four of them loaded one of several massive ovens with cookie sheets, filling all twelve baking racks, Suzibelle strode over to join them, retrieving a silver teakettle from one of the lower shelves and filling it with water. “I’m going to put on some Gingerbread tea for everyone. I daresay it will complement the flavor of the cookies once they come out. After all, we must sample your hard work before Santa makes your deliveries to children all over the world.” Upon taking note of Willa’s confounded expression, she added, “Don’t worry, Willa, even with your new…umm, disposition…you can take a small nibble…or several if you don’t mind spitting them out.”

“Sophie!” Sadie’s voice came out shrill and a few decibels higher than usual. “You can’t do that! Don’t you remember? That’s Santa’s secret.”

“Sadie, get away,” her little sister snapped a small hand around her wrist in an attempt to prevent the theft of the cookie she been working so hard at decorating. “This one is just for me. Just to eat!” Her voice finished on a fierce note as the scuffle between the two escalated.

“Girls! What did I say about fighting? Especially so close to Christmas?” Suzibelle planted her lithe body between the feuding siblings, each hand taking a wrist captive.

“But, Momma…” Sadie started.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sophie insisted.

Suzibelle’s gaze transfixed on the cookie her youngest daughter had created. “Sophie, is that the only cookie you decorated in such a manner?”

“Yes, Momma, I promise.” Little Sophie signed an X with her fingers over the left upper corner of her blue-and-white pinafore.

“Well, you just make sure you eat it up fast after you finish your dinner.”

“But, Momma, can I not just eat it now?”

“Momma! We should throw it in the fire!” Sadie insisted. Both girls started squirming in an attempt to escape their mother’s grip.

“You are both going to your room until dinner while your sister, Willa and I finish decorating these cookies since you are both having such a hard time behaving appropriately.” She pinched the ear of each daughter firmly between her thumbs and forefingers, leading them away. As they reached the massive arch earmarking the entrance to the workshop’s kitchen, she turned back briefly. “I am so sorry for the disruption, Willa. Ever since the girls inherited the Were-DNA, their tempers can be a touch more volatile.”

“P-please, don’t give it a second thought,” was all Willa could think to say as she watched the emerald elf lead two of her little helpers away.

“Well…I guess it’s just you and me,” Maggie said, shrugging her shoulders.

Willa’s dark eyes roamed over the overwhelming stretch of icing-deprived cookies laid out before the pair. Her focus trained on the last confection Sophie had embellished. The girls all possessed cookie-decorating skills to rival Martha Stewart. Each line of colored icing had been placed with artistic flair. Still, Willa could see clearly why Sadie and her mother had been troubled so by that particular rendition. Perfect in size, shape and scale were painted two vampire fangs, each tip coated with a splash of Christmas red. She’d even piped the slightest of scarlet rings around the periphery of each ice-blue iris—simulating perfectly the visual state of Santa’s eyes when he became his most ravenous.

“Wow…that’s scarily accurate.” Willa’s voice was edged by a slight tremble.

“Sophie has always been all about the details.” Maggie shrugged her skinny shoulders. “Even so, she is not allowed to tell the world’s children their Santa is a vampire.”

“I can certainly see how that might be a very bad idea,” Willa responded.

“The world thinks Santa is good…but vampires are bad, well, if they believed vampires were real in the first place.”

“Not our vampire.” Willa shook her head aggressively. “He has so much light in him. He is so giving. Just because he drinks a non-fatal amount of blood now and then…”

“The entire world should see him through your eyes colored by love,” Maggie mused. “If they could, there would be no cause for hate. He delivers no death, brings only happiness and joy.”

“The light inside both of us is so firmly entrenched, due in large part to you, our elves. You are the ones who feed him…who feed us.”

“Perhaps those he serves should feed him now and then in recompense for all the delight he brings to the world?”

“Perhaps…”

“Well, I say there can never be too much joy and magic in the world; wouldn’t you agree?” Maggie moved like a kite caught up in a tornado wind while decorating the remaining cookies…and Willa followed suit.

“There, all done.” Maggie stepped back to admire their handiwork, a soft smile on her face. “They are beautiful; don’t you think?”

“Ugghh, you should’ve seen the ones we made when I was little. Complete disasters. Blobs of red and green icing with no rhyme or reason to them. My mother wasn’t really a Christmas person.”

“Oh! That sounds so sad.” The young were-elf touched her hand lightly to Willa’s upper arm in a gesture of sympathy. “Well, you’re here with us now, and your cookies certainly don’t look like blobs,” Maggie noted enthusiastically.

“It just takes the right teacher,” Willa responded.

Maggie twisted her head from side to side to ensure her mother or sisters’ prying eyes hadn’t returned to the room. “Since this is your first batch of Gifting Cookies, I’ve been working on a spell, one which will make these the best tasting cookies ever known to mortal kind.” At Willa’s fallen expression, she corrected, “Not that these were not wonderful to begin with! I just thought that your first batch should be a little something extra special.” She winked one of her odd, pupilless sapphire eyes at Willa conspiratorially. “Generations to come will speak of the magnificent Christmas cookies created by the new Mrs. Claus.”

Willa blushed—both at the implication of her new title, ‘Mrs.’, and the thought of her cookies inspiring a pleasant brand of gossip on a global scale. Her parents had been mostly-neglectful during the space of her brief time with them, so even the enamored attentions of the elves had overwhelmed her when she’d first arrived at the workshop.

“Well…I suppose it would be alright…”

“Hooray!” Maggie leapt a considerable distance off the ground, propelled by the mix of elven and were magic infused in her blood. “I’ve been practicing for months.” She took Willa’s hands into her own. “Now, just concentrate on your deep desire for the children of the world to love your cookies…their fierce desire to gobble them up.”

The only fierce desire Willa felt was the horrible one to gobble dear Maggie up. “Maggie, perhaps you might allow me a…just a small sip…before we begin? I’m feeling a touch hungry after using so much energy to decorate all those cookies so fast…”

“Of course I will feed you, Dear Willa; only give me a moment as the spell has been set in motion.”

Another fierce desire took over…and he appeared in the doorway to the mammoth kitchen. “Wilhelmine, are you well, My Love?” As he spoke the words, Maggie uttered the last syllables of her spell in a language Willa had not yet firmly grasped. She could only make out the words “desire” and “satisfy.” A green swirl of magic tempered by a scarlet border flew throughout the room touching each of the three sentient beings before settling over the cookie Sophie had so carefully rendered…which worried Willa momentarily…before the sparkling light moved on to the others, easing the young Mrs. Claus’ demeanor in the process. Her worry returned…and intensified…when all of the 170,000 cookies—with several batches to come—flashed in her vision, each replicating the vampiric version of Santa Sophie had created. But after she’d blinked her eyes, each had returned to its original shape—reindeer, bells, angels, Christmas trees and saintly Santa Clauses.

“I’m fine, My Love,” she assured him as her eyes focused on his stable reality. He always seemed to sense her hunger. And always hurried to her side to ensure that hunger was satiated.

“Maggie, would you be so kind as to feed Mrs. Claus?” Both his eyes and tone were equally strained.

“Of course, Santa. We were just…ummm…putting the finishing touches on the Christmas cookies for the children.” Her eyes begged Willa briefly to keep quiet about the enchanted enhancement.

His ice-blue orbs swam with suspicion. “What are you two up to?”

Willa rushed to his side and pressed her ruby-tinged lips to his pale cheek. “Nothing, My Love. I believe Maggie is merely nervous about the Vampire-Santa cookie little Sophie made.”

Santa moved toward the edgy elven girl, his Nordic strides sure and swift. His large hand swallowed up her golden-brown head in a gesture of reassurance. “There is nothing to worry your lovely head about.” His young bride didn’t miss the creases of worry troubling his brow. “We will simply ensure right now that this particular cookie will never be delivered.” He lifted the creation and Willa couldn’t help but wince when he dented the glossy red icing making up the bulk of his famous white fur-trimmed cap. He paused at her reaction. “Why, no one would believe such a thing to be true anyhow, right? A vampire Santa? Ho-ho-ho.” His deep laugh reverberated throughout the room. “I am going to keep this special cookie on the mantel of our fireplace in our bedroom. It is simply too perfectly-rendered to throw out. Would you not agree, Mrs. Claus?”

Willa smiled at him warmly and squeezed his arm in gratitude. “I do, Dear Husband. Let me wrap it in some cellophane.” She whisked the creation off to a far corner of the kitchen while Maggie rushed to wrap their other ‘special’ sugary creations in clear plastic membranes.

“Be careful, My Love!” That Christmas Eve would be the first long night Willa and Nikolaus would spend apart since she had consented to his dark proposal a year previous. Even with the aid of the elves’ time-warping magic would make his extended absence seem no more than the space of one night for his new bride, it would serve as the first significant mark of time the couple would spend apart. Even though Willa lacked experience numbered by years, Nikolaus could see the proof of her old soul in the understanding she offered him concering the necessity of being left behind—snug in their bed under the thick red-and-green comforter embroidered by skillful elven fingers to create exquisite swatches of scenic Christmas magic—elaborately-decorated trees, quaint snow-covered houses in a Christmas village and elves forever immortalized in the act of woodcarving or painting an expertly-crafted toy. They had discussed the possibility of her accompanying him but had decided the distraction would slow him down too much. With the overwhelming number of children in the world, Nikolaus couldn’t afford to be distracted for more than a few seconds…literally. Neither would take responsibility for disappointing a single one of the world’s children.

“The time will pass as only the space of one night for you…if that is any consolation.” Santa chuckled after he spoke. “I will suffer the amount of over twenty times your sleeping hours—even with the time manipulation magic. It will seem an eternity to me, My Love.”

“I’m sure you will count those hours as a happy blessing, bringing such joy to children everywhere.” Still, she did think back to the time he’d taken her along for a few rides before she became Mrs. Claus. One of the wise elf maidens had told her, “Once a wife, always an excuse.” But she knew in her heart if she’d begged to go along he would concede immediately, and she could ride in the magical sleigh to visit the nighttime wonder of the world on any other night of the year...excepting for the first days following the holiday, of course! Her place should be in their home at the helm of operations during his absence, not as the ‘little woman’ but serving as top cog in the collection of operational gears. “All will run smoothly at the workshop in your absence,” she assured him.

Willa offered him her wrist in what would serve to be the traditional Christmas Eve feeding for millennia to come. “From all who love and support your cause…” She downed the contents of a monstrous goblet filled with a few drops of life’s blood from every elf—and one dwarf—in the workshop. The mix would intersperse with her own altered blood to offer a strength he’d never known during previous flights since his soulmate’s essence would be added to the current mix.

He took in her offering, sinking his fangs and drinking deeply from her wrist, the blood from the 3002 willing donors infusing every cell with vibrant energy and his silent heart with joviality—accompanied by a touch of trepidation he hadn’t known for thousands of years. Influence from the elves, a pinpoint of worry over the unfamiliar absorbed from Willa, all comingling with his own emotional makeup.

After tearing himself away and bestowing one last soft kiss on Willa’s full lips, Santa snapped the leather reins lightly, just enough to let the were-deer know the hour for takeoff had arrived. As the red-and-gold vehicle rapidly gained altitude, Santa thanked his lucky stars, spread out like a million backlit jewels across the ink of the arctic sky, for the mixed luck brought to them by the happenstance that was the werewolves’ attack on his team.

He would never banish the pain tied to the deaths of the elves who had fought bravely on that day, but the wolves’ attempt to destroy his workshop had backfired. Since the reindeer had become immortal creatures, the elves’ magical ability to slow surrounding time, while drastically increasing Santa’s speed inside, would adhere to and follow the workshop’s newest supernatural creatures anywhere around the globe. Since he’d been allowed to travel so much more extensively after the incident, the elves had even modified his toy bag, creating a wormhole connecting the bottom to the workshop so that the elves could fill it with a steady stream of toys intended for the resident children of the city in which Santa had arrived. Without such a dark blessing, his deliveries might have remained confined to the United Kingdom forever. At times, weighing the loss against the gain nearly drove Santa to madness, but the other elves insisted that the ability to deliver joy to all the children of the world gave their fallen brothers and sisters’ deaths meaning. He’d never considered the implications of creating an immortal team himself; otherwise, he would most certainly be drawn along by eight vampire reindeer at present.

As the radiating cobweb of scarlet-and-emerald bolts along the surface of the time-warp tunnel gave way to night sky and the sheen of slate roof tiles, Santa pushed all consideration, other than the placement of the appropriate toy under the multitude of adorned trees or inside the ornate stockings he would lose count of by the time his arduous journey had ended, far from his mind.

“Willa, I am home.” She felt the familiar tickle of his golden beard along her jawline as the implication behind his whisper materialized in her foggy head. She had lain awake just before dawn, an hour after the Christmas Eve responsibilities of the workshop had been fulfilled, imagining each hour of the night stretched into the enormity of days in an attempt to better empathize with the magnitude of his task at hand. At present, the sun must have been initiating its morning stretch, reaching fingers of cruel, burning luminosity up and over the horizon, given the hour of the morning. The appearance of the bright ball of light had lulled her into sleep expediently.

“Were the deliveries difficult for you, My Love?” she queried as the last remnants of brief sleep had flecked away from her brain like old paint fleeing the surface of a wall.

“No more so than usual,” he assured her. Tossing aside the heavy fur coat and pants, a protection from the frigid cold he hadn’t required in centuries, he collapsed on their emperor-size bed—Willa had dubbed it that upon her first sight of it, twice the size of her parents’ king-size version which had taken up residence in her former home.

Willa could feel the exhaustion wafting out through his pores like heavy fog on a fall morning, could sense the utter depletion of energy and life in his body. His state of being terrified her, utterly. “Shouldn’t you feed, Nikolaus?” She shoved her wrist against his lips a little more aggressively than she’d intended, drawing unnecessary blood.

“The elves will gather to replenish me in a few days…”His voice registered barely above a whisper. “They know my body requires rest first…” His voice became lost amidst the heavy sub-reality of sleep. All Willa could do was hang over him like some unnecessary shadow from a world he no longer remained a part of in that moment.

Finally, her heart could no longer bear the suspense, given his state of such suspended animation. She ran to find Pax, to seek his millennia’s worth of wisdom.

“Santa is fine,” he soothed, running his warm hand over her waist-length hair. “Every Christmas Day, Boxing Day… Oh, that one is a Canadian holiday, the day after Christmas,” he clarified upon noting the confusion in her expression. “The three days after he returns from his Christmas Eve deliveries he lies deep in sleep. Do not trouble your heart any further, Dear Willa, for he will awaken once the damage done by the utter exhaustion has healed.”

“Damage?” Willa’s tone was shrill, worry infesting its tenor.

“He will heal, Willa. He will heal.” He patted her arm in a manner she found annoying.

“Without blood? How?”

“Slowly, but, rest assured, he will heal. He is Santa, after all. At the moment, he requires sleep more than anything else.” When he caught sight of her doubt-darkened countenance, he added, “As he has done for hundreds of years before you were ever born…ummm to this life.”

Willa huffed out an exasperated sigh. The elves were always treating her that way—as if she were a child who knew nothing of life…or her true love. Pax may have observed the process on Christmases past, but could he feel Nikolaus’ hunger—down to the very death-chilled marrow—as she could?

“Trust me, Willa. Life will return to normal in the space of a very few days, a mere speck upon the landscape painting of your immortality. Come; you must return to bed. The sun has surely risen fully by now. I will send a company of elves to you shortly so that, should Santa awake, you will be—errr, better equipped—to provide him with a meal.”

He ushered her back into the room lit only by the flames of a few red-and-green candles and the one in the fireplace, extending his care so far as to tuck her in under the thick quilt. After his soundless exit, she stole a last glance at her slumbering vampire husband. She supposed it could have been the spotty light thrown by the candlelight, but the shadows under his eyes offered the momentary flash of childish fear that she might slip into one, never to be heard from again. Willa’s dark eyes squeezed shut, banishing the irrational scenario to the dark forest behind her eyes that was her vampire mind and fell into a fitful sleep devoid of genuine rest for her worry-laden body.

The white-hot jolt that rocketed Nikolaus to consciousness originated in the blood…his blood. Had three days passed by so quickly? And who had fed him...for someone most definitely had; his blood buzzed with the fleeting energy of living cells. And not just any cells… He knew this feeling, this rush, one strictly forbidden in the vampire world.

“Willa…” He shook his bride out of uneasy sleep. “Did you happen to feed recently?” It was the first time she’d ever hear the tremble of trepidation in his voice. “Did you…go outside…to feed and then attempt to feed me?”

Her eyes grew large and wild before she answered. “No, Nikolaus. I have been sleeping here by your side since you returned from your deliveries.”

He calmed visibly. “Good, good, thank the stars above. If you did not, however, who did? Who fed me?”

“You must’ve been dreaming. I could sense no one entering the room, and I couldn’t fall into a deep daysleep. Besides, Pax assured me it was sleep you needed first. He insisted…though…I did argue rather strongly you should be fed immediately. Maybe he listened to me after all? He is more stealthy than a ninja, that one.”

“Perhaps…” Santa sprang from the bed with far more vigor than he should possess on Christmas Day. *When have I ever been awake on Christmas Day in four centuries’ time?* He asked himself the question even though he already knew the answer. Not once. Ever since his team had planted their hooves in the realm of the immortal, the extended ride had sapped his strength to the point of near immobility. Not wishing to alarm Willa further, he bent back toward the spot where her form sat upright and rigid in the bed. “I need to check in with Pax, My Love. Go back to sleep. There is nothing to worry over. I believe you are correct in your assumption regarding my dreams. The stress of the trip must be taking its toll.” He knew she’d never witnessed the true level of fatigue his Christmas Eve ride inflicted on his near-indestructible body—he could only go without fresh blood for so long. She wouldn’t recognize his too-quick recovery for the anomaly it truly was. But he knew someone who would…

“Pax.” He fought to control both the volume and level of panic in his voice as he slipped through the double French doors to his bedroom suite, closing them behind him in an effort to further protect Willa from the truth he was about to unleash upon his right hand.

“Santa?” His voice lilted forth, carried upon a cloud of disbelief. “How…how…”

“Walk with me, Pax.” He wished to initiate the dire topic of necessary conversation with his oldest and most trusted friend away from Willa’s perceptive ears. Once the pair had reached the stables at the opposite end of the compound, and Pax had shooed away any prying ears, Santa bent to whisper in his ear. “Someone has somehow fed the blood of a child…perhaps, many children…to me, Old Friend.”

Pax’s gasp of unadulterated horror crept into every pen, sending the normal-for-the-moment reindeer into a frenzy, the whites of many an eye rolling into sight as some pawed at the ground in desperation, others tossing dangerously-tipped antlers about in a haphazard waltz of vulnerable fear.

“Well, let us hope he does not realize what has occurred and come for us…”

“Mommy! Mommy! I’m bweeding!” four-year-old Laura cried out in the early-morning hours nearing dawn. That outburst was followed by a series of panicked cries. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…” screamed out in rapid succession until Mary roused herself from sleep—suddenly certain the cries weren’t coming from inside the confines of her own nightmare—and stumbled, drunk on sleep, to her daughter’s bedroom.

“Mommy! Vampire,” Laura insisted when she crashed into her, just a few steps inside her daughter’s room.

“Laura, not that again. How many times do I have to tell you there’s no such thing?”

“Santa dwank my bwood.”

“Laura, it was just a nightmare. Now, now…we’ve talked about this nonsense, this overactive imagination. There are no vampires. You’re being…”

Laura held up the Santa cookie. Its mouth covered with crimson ooze. “Laura, did you scratch yourself on that…” Before she said the word “cookie,” she managed to realize how crazy she sounded. “…or something else?” Mary moved closer to her daughter with the intent of examining the chubby arm she was unconsciously rubbing, along the inside of her tiny wrist. “Now, let me see your arm.”

Night lingered outside the window, heavy enough to necessitate switching on the little Christmas-themed lamp situated on Laura’s night table. The tiny halo of light revealed two minute wounds, little more than a couple of pinpricks but both smeared with freshly-drawn blood.

Laura’s mother flicked her light-green eyes, exact copies of her daughter’s, away in confusion. What could’ve wounded her daughter as she slept…and that cookie’s bloody mouth… That was about the time her eyes fell on the gingerbread Santa again. She snatched it up in alarm. “Does this cookie have…fangs? Where did you get this? This isn’t one of the gingerbread men we made.” She gripped at the toddler’s shoulder a tad more aggressively than she’d intended, causing Laura to wince.

“Santa bwought it, Mommy.”

Mary could feel her temper flaring and fought to dampen its flame with calm. She wanted to scream, “Laura, there is no such thing as Santa!” but instead redirected her focus into rationalizing the situation. “Go and stand over there for Mommy.” Her fingers swept in the direction of Laura’s toy box at the far side of the room. Her brain ran in desperate circles as she tried to solve the mini-mystery set out before her. Had Laura’s obsession with the blood-sucking creatures reached an unhealthy level? Could it be possible she’d used a stolen sewing needle or the safety pin holding one of the child’s torn dresses closed to inflict the wounds herself? Mary ran her fingers gingerly over the top of the table, the cooled surface of the sheet, checked under the pillow and even on the floor beside the bed.

When she raised her eyes to Laura’s she found fear dwelling inside…almost like an admittance of guilt. She waged another internal battle to keep her voice even when she spoke. “Laura, did you stick yourself with something? Did you take one of Mommy’s needles from her pincushion? Tell me the truth, now.”

“No, Mommy…” The little girl started to cry, her blonde ringlets falling over her face. “De Santa cookie bit mine awm.”

Mary stood, towering over her daughter in a way she hoped might be coercive, her arms crossing in an authoritative fashion over her chest. “Laura Lavana…” The use of the child’s middle name would let her know she meant business. “Cookies can’t bite someone’s arm. Cookies can’t do anything but be eaten because they can’t move like you and me. Right?”

“No, Mommy. Not dis cookie. Dis cookie bite me. I sweaw; I sweaw!”

Maggie had fed the magically-enhanced cookies through at the last stop so to be sure to gauge the recipients’ reactions since the night’s task of feeding treats and presents through the wormhole had come to its end. *Hours for you, days for Santa,* she reminded herself. The teenage elf retrieved one of the special viewing crystals tied to the time-warp spell from a pocket in her skirts and settled into one of the red-cushioned kitchen chairs to bear witness to the added enjoyment brought to the children by their treats from Santa that year. Dawn was creeping closer, so Willa had been forced to decline joining her, but Maggie could play the scene back for her once she awoke that evening. The young elf only wished she’d been able to find the time to enchant a few other batches of cookies—being unable to pull off the casting of another spell under the watchful eye of her mother, who she was positive wouldn’t approve. But those thoughts lingered for only the short span of time it took for the children in the bottom left corner of California to begin waking up…

All across San Diego, traditionally Santa’s last stop on Christmas Eve for more than ninety years, mayhem descended to rule in the early pre-dawn hours. Some children relegated the attack to the stuff of nightmares. Others were too young to voice their concerns in any way other than to wail in terror and despair. A whispered “Just a sip…” by a female voice played inside their heads…for it was Willa who had saved them all, unbeknownst to her, innocent as she was in the whole affair.

Eleven-month-old Jeremy backed away as fast as his hands and knees would deliver him. The determined Santa cookie advanced on him, growling with a menace the tot might never imagine the real Saint possible of emitting. He batted his baby arm at the animated sweet bit only to have surprisingly-sharp canines scrape over his skin. His inexperienced mind swam with confusion. Cookies had always been for eating; they had never advanced on him while trying to accomplish the same. Even though he knew how to coo, “Mama,” when she was standing right before him, he hadn’t quite mastered calling out those two syllables in a way which might summon help.

“Mama, mama,” he whispered. The gingerbread Santa vampire grinned malevolently and sprang toward him, drawing sweet, untainted blood as it sank teeth, originally created from a bit of sugar, butter and milk, into the soft flesh of the babe’s wrist—as if his skin were made up of just as insubstantial a mix of ingredients.

Two houses down, five-year-old twins, Brie and Jack, stumbled backward down the upstairs hallway outside their room in an attempt to escape their own magically-animated sweets. The recreations of Sophie’s original, transformed by the catalyst that was the children’s presence, pursued the astonished pair, advancing on them despite the thick carpet and the cookies’ stiff and staggered gait. A voice inside Brie’s head advised her to call out to their mother, but the coupling of fright and disbelief had thickened both throats, preventing the passage of spoken word.

Brie did scream when the back half of her right foot landed on empty air. Thrown off balance, the child stumbled, arms cycled wildly through the empty air around her so that she nearly took Jack along on her tumble down all sixteen steps to land on the hardwood of the first floor. Despite his young age, the resounding crack that sounded when his sister’s head struck the dark boards dropped a leaden ball of unease into the boy’s belly. Her demented Santa leapt and landed, not bothering to pierce her skin as it needed only to lap at the pool spreading across the polished surface. Jack’s attention was captured so solidly by the macabre spectacle that he didn’t protest in the least when his own cookie fell upon him, biting the top of his bare foot and piercing his medial plantar artery with icing-sugar fangtips hardened into enamel by well-meaning, but misguided, elven magic.

Most of San Diego’s children were fortunate. The punctures inflicted by the miniature vampires, driven by enchantment to collect Willa’s great desire for her other great desire, for the most part, prompted the small humans to roll over or, at worst, whimper in their sleep. But there were also those who were poor sleepers like poor Brie, Jack, Laura and Jeremy…and, of course, they weren’t the only ones afflicted. After all, Christmas Day was the day one awoke early to reap even greater rewards than Saturday-morning cartoons…usually.

Across town, Little Tom was sure Big Tom had snuck into his room again to inflict some new form of torture. After daring to defend his mom against his brutish father the previous afternoon, he’d been expecting retaliation. Last week, his brand of eight-year-old bravery had earned him the privilege of serving as a living ashtray for the evil man, jolted awake by the tiny circle of fire pressed into a rib under his lifted pajama top. Cigarette stench had assaulted his olfactory senses, delivered by the meaty hand pressed painfully tight over his nose and mouth, smothering any attempt to summon help.

The new sensation was different, more like getting a shot at his mean ol’ pediatrician’s office…but he felt this stick close to his ankle instead of the meaty portion of his upper arm. Before jumping up to investigate, he paused to wonder briefly whether Big Tom might be poking him in the leg, like his father did so often to the inside of his own elbow. He always acted funny after he did that. Little Tom definitely did not want to behave the way his father did, springing away from the imagined needle and any chance of its turning him into the looming, amped-up terror his father always became.

The golden fingers of moon reaching in through the window alighted on…nothing. A small movement caught his attention, and when he turned toward it, Little Tom found the cookie Santa left him every year. Big Tom said there was no such thing as Santa, but his son knew better—his mom didn’t bake, unless one could call slinging a pan of fish sticks and fries in the oven baking.

When the cookie advanced on him again, Little Tom required the passage of several seconds—and a savage pinch to his thigh—before he realized his state of wakefulness was real…not some foul dream. The baked good looked like Santa…but two very sharp-looking teeth protruded from its mouth, driving a frosty spike of fear into the child’s head. When the shot of adrenaline poured forth into his veins, Little Tom answered its call in his usual manner—fight-or-flight had never seemed to present him with a choice as he always had responded automatically with the former. But his young mind did register a hint of relief when the cookie latched onto him again, confirming there had been no needle, which he considered to be the greater evil. Before his fist balled in rage—why was there always some hurt in the world waiting to assail him?—Santa’s face twisted into the scowling visage with which he’d been cursed to become far too familiar. His defensive blow struck true on the back of its head filling the air with the scents of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves and shattering the effigy of one of his few hopes left in the world into several large pieces. The chunks shimmied in his vision like parking lot pavement in summer, the lines of edging forming new shapes. Little Tom flipped an elongated piece over to find the small red ball at the tip of the reindeer cookie’s nose. He flipped and pieced the remainders together hurriedly—Rudolph? He’d been sure he’d seen Santa. No matter. He gathered each crumble expediently, shoving them into his mouth where he could grind them into harmless dust and banish them to the depths of his stomach and intestines where they could move along and, ultimately, leave him behind forever.

“Maxwell! W-we have not enjoyed the p-pleasure of your company for two-hundred y-years, has it been? We all welcome you to the w-workshop.”

Maxwell didn’t miss the way Pax’s tongue stumbled over his words, telling him his inkling something had gone awry with the year’s deliveries was correct. He’d decided to make the trip the day after Christmas, Boxing Day in Canada, when he felt the tickle in his own blood, telling the vampire king one of his children had misbehaved…and the one he’d least suspect, the one most compassionate toward the human life on Earth.

The stunningly-handsome vampire wore the charcoal Armani suit well—he’d come dressed to take care of business—and he didn’t waste words on idle chatter or pleasantries. “I felt the quickening in your blood, Nikolaus. One which can only be roused by the blood of the most innocent, specifically, a child…or, perhaps, many children?” His gaze of disapproval traveled the length of the red pajamas from top to bottom. “Did you slip, My Friend? After all these centuries…”

“I did not, Maxwell. Surely, you know me better than that. I love the little ones; I would die before I would harm a single one. We have the Krampus to deal with any naughtiness. I left my gifts and disappeared as I always do.” He cast his ice-tinted irises down toward the floor. “But, like you, I did feel the quickening in my veins. Sadly…” He lifted his chin, his eyes focusing on Maxwell’s. “…I have no explanation for how such a thing could occur.”

“We do need to figure this out quickly. My sister, Aldiva, was taken by the Pacific Rainforest Elves…Gregor too…”

“Ah, yes, we did hear the terrible news. We are so sorry for your loss,” Pax interjected, happy his clan—elves of more delicate and shorter stature and greater capacity for magic, given that their blood was well-mixed with pixies—had made the choice to become companions and helpers to the vampires. His smile was a stretch of solid overcompensation.

“Thank you, Pax, but we do intend to retrieve them before too much time is lost, but my sister’s temporary absence has allowed me to entrust the care of my newly-born mate to one of my more tolerant…and less jealous…family members a short distance from here. But we must be expedient. She does greatly detest the climate. She believes she can still truly feel the cold.”

“I understand, My King. The barren exterior took some getting used to for my bride as well.”

“Where is dear Willa? I would very much like to meet her before I take my leave.”

Santa caught sight of her pale face peeking around the corner, causing her to retreat toward the direction from which she’d emerged. Before she could escape further, her husband called to her. “Willa, there you are. Come here, My Love.” He beckoned encouragingly when he saw the fright grow stronger in her dark eyes each time they flicked in their visitor’s direction.

She came forth, her steps weighted by timidity, her troubled state further evidenced by the fact she had left their bedchamber still clad in her red satin nightdress, belying her modest nature. When she reached the small group and crossed her arms over her exposed skin, Santa removed his own robe so he could settle the light, Christmas-tree-green fabric around her delicate shoulders.
Maxwell rested a fingertip just under her chin, his touch the lightness of dragonfly wing. “My, but are you not a beauty. Put me in mind of my own lovely daughter. ” Willa felt a phantom blush creep under the skin covering her cheekbones, a leftover sensation from her fleeting time as a human. “I am overjoyed you were able to save her this time, Old Friend.” He chuckled when Willa’s eyes sprung wide. “But we must return to the matter at hand. It would wound me deeply if I felt we must shut down the workshop out of necessity.”

It was both Santa and Pax’s turn to adopt Willa’s expression of astonishment, the lips of all three popping open in surprise.

“Maxwell, you cannot. Think of the children of the world. We represent the last kindness, the last hope for so many. We alter so many hearts. You know…”

“Nikolaus, you know how much I value what you do here. Even if no one knows what you truly are, the kindness you proliferate throughout the world lends compassion and kindness to our race. My only stipulation has ever been that you spare the young ones your bite. They are so easily drained. You know our laws…”

“And for every minute of every day have I abided by them. Search my heart, My King; you will see I speak the truth. I will allow you access to my mind.”

Maxwell advanced, but could see the truth in his friend’s eyes before he delved deeper to examine his most profound thoughts, laid open to him of the former saint’s own free will. “What sorcery brought this into being?”

“Mine, I’m afraid,” came the strained, high-pitched voice from the entrance to the stables.

Maggie’s mother followed close behind, the circle of braids atop her head offering the illusion of a golden halo. “Maxwell, do not judge my daughter too harshly. She meant no harm and has only begun to experience the effects the were-curse has thrust upon her elven magic.”

“She only wanted to help me,” Willa moved toward the pair of elves and stood, instinctively, with Suzibelle in front of Maggie in a defensive posture. “If you need someone to blame, blame me.”

“But, Willa…” Santa’s bride silenced the young elf with a look of warning.

“I do not understand.” Nikolaus inched in her direction cautiously, and she found the trepidation in his voice to ring particularly bothersome in her ears. Would the vampire, on whom she’d never laid eyes, dole out punishment to the entire workshop over a spell gone wrong? “How could you possibly be to blame for any of this?” Meager hope mixed with the fear in his question.

“Yes, Willa… Please, explain to me exactly what has brought about the current state of your husband’s blood and your hand in such events.”

What indeed? The trio had only been allowed the space of the walk necessary to reach the stables during which to discuss the unfortunate turn of events revealed to Maggie by the viewing crystal. “I-I-I wanted the children to like the cookies I made for them. This was my first year baking cookies for Santa’s ride, and I wanted to make sure…”

“I cast a spell,” Maggie interjected.

“She just wanted to make sure the children enjoyed my first ever batch of cookies,” Willa insisted.

“So, this was not your idea?” Santa breathed with relief.

“Yes,” Willa said.

“No,” Maggie offered immediately after.

Finally, Maxwell spoke, shaking his head and chuckling almost inaudibly. “You defend one another fiercely. A vampire defending an elf…and vice versa…”

“Now, Maxwell, I thought you said you had cast any prejudice against my elves to the wind. You know they do not harbor the same animosity toward our kind as the woodland breed of no pixie blood. Do not allow this unfortunate business with Aldiva and Gregor to cast misplaced guilt upon my companions.”

Maxwell mulled over his old friend’s words in silence for a moment. “You do make a fair point. Still, there is magic of a very dangerous brand at work here. You must admit the truth in that.”

“I do…but I am just as confounded by how young Maggie could have accomplished this as you are.”

Maxwell stepped toward the trio. “You say you wanted to ensure Willa’s cookies were well received. What was the exact wording of the spell you cast, the precise words?”

Maggie dutifully began to repeat the spell back to the vampire king, drawing a gasp of alarm from her mother before she finished.

“Maggie! You made a grave error in the construction of your spell. I do not believe Willa’s ‘greatest desire’ to be her wish to have the children of the world love her cookies.”

“But, Momma, I told her to concentrate on how much she wished for just that as I spoke the words.”

Willa cleared her throat softly and admitted, “I was pretty hungry at the moment.” Her full lips twisted up in a cringe.

Suzibelle planted her dainty hands, like the petals of a lily, over the flow of green gown down her hips. Her tone emerged as sharp as the broken edge of a glass Christmas bulb when she asked, “What do you believe Willa’s greatest desire actually could have been at the moment you cast that spell, My Daughter?”

It was Maggie’s turn to cringe. “Oh no! I suppose I should’ve fed poor Willa before we started…”

“No,” Suzibelle corrected, “you should never have attempted such a reckless course of action in the first place!”

“I’m still confounded,” Maxwell insisted. “Even if blood were Willa’s greatest desire at that moment, how did the blood collected from the children end up inside Nikolaus instead of the one who added her need to the spell?”

“Finish speaking the remainder of the spell…being careful not to draw any magic into it, please.” Suzibelle ran a hand over her firstborn’s back, offering reassurance. When Maggie completed the spell, she shook her head, a morose expression taking over. “My Dear, I wish you had come to me…”

“I knew you wouldn’t allow me to cast it,” Maggie blurted out.

“Well, you are certainly right about that!” her mother countered.

Maxwell took a step between the two, towering over the pair who stood nearly two feet shorter than the tall vampire. His dark eyes, glittering like onyx, penetrated Suzibelle’s emerald-hued ones, making her feel as though he were darkening a small portion of her soul with his irritation. “Mistress Elf, I would ask that you discipline your offspring after you have fully explained the consequences of her actions to the rest of us.”

“Y-yes, Sir Maxwell, I am deeply sorry about this whole thing. I hope you will not condemn my daughter too harshly; she is still quite childlike as far as her judgment is concerned…”

“Please, just decipher the rest of her spell for me,” Maxwell forced out through clenched teeth.

“Of course…” Suzibelle blinked nervously in rapid succession. “It would seem that Maggie called upon the cookies to deliver Willa’s greatest desire from the children to whom they were delivered. Willa was filled with the desire to…errrr, eat…and I believe Maggie attempted to return the desire intended, the delight brought by the taste of the cookies, back to Willa’s heart so that she might be filled with an extra touch of Christmas joy.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” Maggie insisted.

“But…I didn’t feel anything like that,” Willa said softly, placing her hand over her heart in automatic response.

Suzibelle smoothed Maggie’s hair. “Sadly, My Dear, you did not accomplish what you set out to do.” She raised her sparkling eyes to Maxwell in defiance. “You asked the reaction resulting from your spell to return but not to Willa’s heart. You are still learning to speak the original elven tongue. The word for heart differs only slightly in pronunciation to the one for love…as in another person, my love. You missed the inflection for the word heart on the third syllable.”

“So, Maggie returned my desire for blood to my love…Nikolaus.”

“Precisely.” Suzibelle nodded, her expression grim as she searched Maxwell’s eyes for his reaction to her daughter’s mistake.

“I just don’t understand why all the cookies became vampire Santas. They were all different shapes—trees, bells, stars and reindeer—but when I watched to see how the children would react, each turned into gingerbread Santa vampires as soon as Santa left them behind.”

“Maybe it had something to do with Sophie’s cookie? It was still in the room when…” The two elves and her husband turned their heads simultaneously, warning screaming from each expression. Willa remembered too late the forbidden nature of young Sophie’s design.

“What was that? Sophie, she is another of your offspring; is she not?” Maxwell inclined his head in Suzibelle’s direction. “You seem to have a penchant for breeding troublemakers.” The ancient vampire chuckled after he spoke, but none of the room’s occupants missed the underlying current of menace carried along in the sound.

Suzibelle gasped, and Nikolaus stamped his feet forward until his nose was an inch from his vampire king’s. “You need to check yourself, Max. We have been friends for a long time, but I will not take kindly to anyone insulting my other group of lifelong friends. Do not forget they are my family, as dear to me as yours is to you.”

Maxwell’s expression softened…just a touch. He laid a placating hand on Santa’s beefy shoulder. “I am sorry, Old Friend. Alin constantly warns me to keep my tongue in check, but you must understand. I am responsible for guarding our secret, for keeping the vampire world safe. This kind of disturbance, a supernatural event of such inarguable proportions… Why, one of my San Diego informants received word a human child lost her life.” He fixated on Maggie. “Is that true, Child?”

“Y-y-y-yes.” Maggie’s bottom lip began to tremble, more so when her mother’s face contorted in horror. She backpedaled quickly. “But a cookie didn’t drain her to the point of death…”

“I just wanted a sip.” Even though Willa whispered, the other vampires heard.

“She fell down the stairs.”

Maggie’s mother stared at her hard. “She fell down the stairs because?”

The sapphire coins strayed from her mother’s face, their pupilless focus sliding to the stone floor. “Because one of the cookies was coming after her.”

“Do you see? How can we endorse such calamity, Nik? You cannot tell me you do not see the potential for disaster. It might be our very undoing. Perhaps, you and your elves should lay low for a few decades. Give the current blunder sufficient time to fade into myth and legend.”

“You cannot mean to shut down the workshop!” Willa’s stilled heart felt a palpable ache she knew couldn’t be imagination. It was that same feeling which had assaulted her every time her parents had been too busy to offer her anything, not even a glance, when she’d needed them the most.

“Perhaps, we should call your right hand here to offer his opinion.” Nikolaus crossed burly arms across his thickly-muscled Viking chest.

“Alin has always been far too softhearted. He lacks the resolve to do what often needs to be done,” Maxwell stated matter-of-factly.

“He’s fair-minded,” Nikolaus dared to offer.

“Which is why I chose him to be my general during Wallachia’s many skirmishes with the Turks.”

“I believe he has steered your mind in more favorable directions for many years to follow since that time…and continues to do so, if I may be so bold as to state the fact.”

“You may, of course.” Maxwell gripped his chin with thumb and forefinger, his focus redirected toward some inner consideration. “He is always telling me I set my standard for expectations unreasonably high. I just want us to be better…and to be safe, which is why I feel the situation to be exceptionally dangerous, the likelihood for discovery of our existence too high. That is why I feel…”

“Wait!” Willa interjected. “I really think we just need to get rid of that cookie. The likeness of Santa Sophie made.”

“Yes!” Maggie added. “It was still lying on the table when I cast the spell.”

“Spells can take on a life of their own, just as I have warned you,” Suzibelle scolded. “The easiest way to accomplish what you were asking would have been for each cookie to take on Santa’s form which could collect that which Willa desired.”

“But there was no need for them to do so until the catalyst to incite the spell was introduced…the children,” Maggie realized aloud.

“I did see all of the cookies change for an instant,” Willa admitted. “They all looked like Sophie’s cookie, but I just assumed it to be a trick of my eyes because I was hungry. And I did wish to see Nikolaus quite badly at the time.”

“I did feel as though you had called me to the room in some unspoken manner,” her husband said.

“Santa entered the room while I was still casting. His essence, especially being a part of Willa’s desires, must have been pulled into the spell. And there was a perfect rendering of him lying right there.”

Pax, who had listened intently to the conversation up to that point, finally spoke. “Why in the world would you fail to destroy such a likeness immediately? We all know the rule about creating any type of effigy which might lend credence to the truth of what type of creature our Santa truly is. Better not to even plant such a seed in mortal minds. We all know how judge, jury and executioner most of the race can be.”

“The elf raises an excellent query. Why not devour the confection or simply toss it into the fire?” Maxwell countered. “Did you fail to inform the child of the rule?” His steely gaze fell on the fair-haired elf.

Indignation broad-shouldered its way past her trepidation, pushing each sprinkle of golden brow inward toward its neighbor. “Of course I taught her to obey that rule. She is a child. Children continually push the limits, break the rules. Surely, your own daughter did the same, many times over.”

Maxwell took noticeable pause to mull over her statement. “She still behaves so as a teenager. But where is this errant cookie now?”

“You can place the blame on me, My King. Little Sophie is quite the artist. The likeness was incredible. My vanity took over; I was so flattered by her creation that I felt compelled to keep it for myself.”

“Well, there is no use to destroy the cookie now. Even as we speak, the last wormhole to the outside world in San Diego is collapsing. Soon, there will no longer be any magic traveling in either direction. The cookies will return to their original forms in the mortal world, and the original vampire cookie here at the workshop will no longer feed you any more of the children’s blood,” Maggie explained.

“How exactly does that last part work, anyhow?” Maxwell asked.

“Well, the blood collected by all the little Santa surrogates flows along the tendrils of elven magic making up our tunnel to the outside world. It collects in the body of the one from which all the surrogates were copied. Consider the way a voodoo doll serves as a vessel for some original target. It’s almost as if this perfect copy and Santa were one body. The transfer is instantaneous. It is strong magic.” Maggie raised her chin slightly with pride.

Her mother pinched her arm. “You have nothing about which to boast! Your magic cost a child her life.”

“The Krampus steals the lives of several children every year; yet, I never hear anyone complain about his bad deeds,” Maggie pointed out.

When Maxwell’s hands, the cold of them penetrating the velvet of her frock, settled on the teen elf’s shoulders, her chin, along with the rest of her body, sagged in defeat. “The Krampus delivers much-needed justice to those who would grow to be the worst of the worst. Ironically, he spares so many more lives than he takes. His brand of magic ensures balance. Now, about the matter at hand…”

“Hold up a minute.” The wise Pax had been listening intently for most of the conversation, his mind scrabbling over the details like a colony of ants over a corpse. “This might yet become a happy accident. Just like that business with the werewolves.”

“How so, Pax?”

Maxwell twisted Santa’s question, his tone edged with skepticism. “Yes, Pax, how so?”

“Now, hear me out before you pass any judgment. Every Christmas Eve, you are trapped outside our world, passing many days and nights, never ceasing in your work, driven to the brink of starvation. We could perfect the spell. If you delivered a few of Maggie’s magic cookies to key cities throughout the globe, her spell could keep you well fed the entire ride. I imagine you would finish your task much faster than usual and return to us in a better condition than near the end of your immortal energy as in past years.”

“By feeding on the blood of the world’s children?!” Suzibelle gasped in shock before her words emerged.

“Suzibelle, consider Pax’s words. Have you ever seen me up and about the workshop before at least three days have passed? Some years, I have barely the energy to make the journey home. The world’s population of children grows, exponentially, every year. If there were some way we could alter the spell—with your help of course—to make it safe for the children. Frankly, I am astounded by this feeling rushing through my veins… Why, I almost feel alive again, almost human again.”

“You can’t mean this, Nikolaus. You’re the one who told me feeding on the blood of a child is absolutely forbidden in our world.” Willa clutched at his sleeve, fixating on the wild light in his eyes she did not recognize.

“A child died this night!” Suzibelle exclaimed, her voice shrill with incredulity. “There will be no Christmas morning for that little girl. Christmas will forever be a day of mourning for her family. Why would you ever want to risk that kind of tragedy again?”

“Yes, Nikolaus, why would you?” Maxwell shook his head again, disappointment playing at the corners of his perfectly-shaped mouth. “You are high on the blood of the innocent, the most dangerous intoxication a vampire can suffer. Once you taste the delicacy that is a child’s blood, you will not forget the experience easily. The euphoria will most certainly lead to addiction, presenting the real danger of an attack by you during the course of your Christmas Eve ride—which would contradict the pristine example we have perpetuated since you first began your missions of giving. Would the existence of vampires, god forbid, ever become common knowledge, the example you represent as a vampire who has behaved with utter benevolence for hundreds of years, never tempted to drink from any of the occupants of the many houses he visits, might cast the lot of us in a more favorable light. Even if we are never discovered, surely you can understand the necessity of maintaining your saintly image. I believe you require what the humans refer to as a detox, a little time at the mansion in North Vancouver to erase the unfortunate consequences of this night. A couple of centuries should suffice. You may bring your bride along, of course.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Nikolaus,” Willa urged softly, her fingers kneading the unyielding flesh of his arm, Suzibelle nodding her head in overeager assent at her side.

“No,” Santa growled stubbornly. “I will not abandon the children who have come to depend on me. For some, I represent all the hope there is left in the world.”

“I agree…” Pax began.

“Well, unfortunately—or perhaps, quite fortunately—the decision is not yours to make. You will accompany me back to my home…”

At first, Willa was certain her love meant to attack his vampire king—a forbidden act. Her terror wafted from the pores of her alabaster skin like an unseen fog but to no avail. Santa, more burly and less than a century younger, forced the dark-haired vampire into the corner at their backs. He raised his muscled arm, his other hand tearing back the red sleeve of his silk pajamas, his fangs extending to open his skin before he shoved the bleeding holes beneath Maxwell’s nostrils, forcing the scent of his master’s own former addiction to flood his senses. “All I ask, Old Friend, is that you stop to think about the implications for a moment. There is no other blood which offers us more vigor and power. Power enough for you to govern a world full of vampires, power enough for me to ensure I can continue giving to an exploding population of children. Take one sip. Just one and tell me you cannot see the possibilities stretch out before your mind’s eye as well.”

Furious struggle flared in the eyes as dark as cruelty itself before he succumbed to temptation at the same moment Suzibelle and Willa cried out, “No!” They lurched at the pair like two who shared the same firing of brain synapses. By the time each of them caught up a handful of Santa’s nightshirt, the blood cocktail crafted from more than 700,000 children was sparking new life through Maxwell’s veins like an endless succession of Fourth of July firework finales.

“What have you done?” he cried as Santa backed away carefully, pulling each of the women at his side under the protection of an arm.

“He did not force the blood into your mouth,” Pax pointed out, taking a number of steps backward himself to a safer distance.

“Think about it, Max. No rule has actually been broken. Not one child was pierced by the fangs of any vampire. The agents extracting the blood are just that…agents, not living bodies. They felt no need to take more than Willa’s desired sip. No brand of addiction exists for bits of sugar and flour. We would be ruled by limitation of the minuscule amount each agent retrieves, so there is no danger of losing control.”

“We?” Maxwell queried, his eyes glazed over like a Christmas ham.

“And when those minuscule amounts wear off?” Suzibelle stretched as tall as her tiptoes would allow.

“Why, then, I will be back home with all of you and no longer have to worry about going hungry.”

“I don’t like the idea of this, Nikolaus.” Doubt pulled at Willa’s typically cheerful features.

“Take a sip, Willa, and tell me again you think this is a bad idea.”

“No…” Her expression communicated a wisdom far beyond her scant eighteen years on the planet. “…I won’t. I’m going back to our room. You don’t need to wake me up when you join me.” A slice of white-hot anger cut the glitter in her dark eyes as she whirled and fled the room.

“Pax, perhaps you should escort Suzibelle and Maggie to their rooms as well?”

His honey-colored brows knit together with genuine concern. “But would you not rather have me present to…argue the finer points of the arrangement…”

“That will not be necessary, Pax. Run along, now, the lot of you,” Maxwell commanded. “But before you retire, Dear Pax, be a good fellow and bring young Sophie back to us. I am quite anxious to see if she can render my likeness as well as she did that of your Santa Claus.”