Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“ The Santa?!” Zee sat bolt upright, knocking a few fluffy cushions off the bed. “ The Santa Claus? The jolly red giant?”

“So it would seem,” Victor confirmed, then added. “Although, I don’t believe he’s a giant?”

“I thought you said Santa was a human myth?” I asked.

“I believed so, but when the veil weakened, letting untold numbers of Lost Ones through, there’s no knowing what arrived. Perhaps Santa Claus has always been real, but resided in our world. Now he’s trapped here with the rest of us, all year round. I’ve seen the claw marks, and with you hearing his distinctive laugh, Adam, I suspect Santa is indeed who we are dealing with.”

Zee flopped his head back. “Ugh. And now this jolly beardo is on a killing spree the same night we go shopping, because why the fuck not?! Fuck my life. If you put this in a book, nobody would believe it.”

Now there was an idea I’d revisit later... A series of books based around our insane lives at the hotel. Zee was right though; nobody would believe it.

“You said he didn’t have claws.” Zee pointed at Victor. “You said, and I quote: He is called Santa Claus. He does not have claws.”

“I admit, occasionally—rarely, you understand—I have been known to be...” Victor swallowed and glanced between us. “Wrong.”

“It’s fine. We’ll just stay here in this nest until morning.” Zee grabbed a purple grinning-devil-emoji cushion and hugged it.

“What is Santa?” I asked Victor softly. “What are we dealing with?”

“A leshy, I suspect.”

“What’s a leshy?”

“Shape-shifting forest dwellers with a penchant for eating children.”

“Hence the claw marks over the crib,” Zee muttered. “We’re safe though, as we’re not tiny human spawn. Why we gotta get involved? I just came for a dick plant and meatballs.”

“The staff were not small humans,” I said. “I don’t think Santa cares who he eats.”

“We should stay here, have fantastic sex, and sneak out in the morning,” Zee suggested. Nobody has to know, or die, and someone else can do the save-the-world-from-Santa thing.”

“Sure.” It sounded easy enough—stay in bed, wait it out, escape in the morning.

“Ugh,” Zee groaned. “You’ve got the face.”

“No, I don’t.” I frowned.

“There it is.” He circled a finger at my face. “The face .”

“I don’t have the face.” I looked at Victor, who winced. “Do I?”

“It’s your yeah-but face,” Zee explained. “Daddy Vampire knows the face.”

Victor didn’t deny it, even as both his eyebrows lifted. “You do have a unique and telling frown that indicates you’re thinking something we’ll likely not enjoy.”

Oh. I had a face. “Well, I was just thinking that if more people die, and we walk away in the morning, won’t it look suspicious? As though maybe we were somehow involved with Santa? Especially if more humans die.”

“Do we look like we’re involved with Santa? I’m an internet sensation, Vampire Daddy looks like a lawyer, and you’re... boring you. I think we’re good.”

“If we do nothing,” Victor rumbled. “We’ll have to sneak away prior to the checkouts opening, and we will not be able to purchase the items we need for the hotel, including your phallic cactus, demon.”

“Leave my spiky dick out of this...” Zee flopped back and blinked at the ceiling for a few beats. “Do we have to stop Santa?”

“I think we do,” I said.

He rolled his eyes and head dramatically and sat up. “Alright then.” He hopped to his feet, grabbed the spork, and gave himself an all-over shake. “Let’s fuckin’ cook.”

Victor and I both blinked at him.

Zee glared back. “Are we gonna save Christmas, or am I just standing here looking pretty for free entertainment?”

“We should formulate a plan,” Victor, our voice of reason said.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, or we could go find Santa”—Zee counted on his fingers—“get our funk on, have amazing sex, raid the meatballs, and be done by morning.”

“That’s not a plan,” Victor grumbled. “It’s a wish list.”

Zee cocked his head and fluttered his lashes, then planted a hand on his hip. “Say it. Say you wanna save Christmas.”

With a reluctant sigh, Victor got to his feet and offered me his hand. “I don’t believe it needs to be said.”

“Say it, Fancy Daddy. We all know you want to.”

“I’ll say it.” I grabbed Victor’s hand, got to my feet, and grinned. “Let’s go save Christmas!”

Victor took a deep breath, and with the world’s smallest, tightest smile he said, “Indeed.” Which was as close to him saying we were saving Christmas as we were going to get.