Do You Feel What I Feel. a Holiday Anthology Page 7

  Felicia nodded, but remained on the stairs as Gina parsed a few details back and forth.

  “So, where were we?” Gina asked after the call was complete.

  Felicia looked out across the stairwell. “I think the ghost of the present is calling us. Sounds like they’re putting up decorations in the office.”

  When Gina listened, she heard the random shouts from the office space. Her face dropped in disappointment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We should head back.”

  Felicia stood first, then turned around to extend a hand to help Gina to her feet. She smiled as she touched Felicia’s finger, then watched as Felicia’s green eyes lit up and she took a step closer. For a brief moment, the space between them disappeared—and so did the sound around them. It was just them, in the stairwell, and Gina was sure that if they left right now and ran away, no one would notice.

  “So,” Gina said.

  “So,” Felicia mirrored. “You don’t have to be Santa, okay?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You don’t have to be Santa Claus,” Felicia repeated. “Before I left the meeting, I told Sam he should do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. I told him he was getting chubby, and he’d do a much better job.”

  “And he bought it?”

  “Well, only one way to find out, right?” Felicia smirked. By the time they reached the second floor, Felicia was a few steps ahead. She leaned into the hallway to catch a glimpse into their office space, before glancing back at Gina. “I think you’re safe, though.”

  Gina followed Felicia’s line of sight. Sam walked around the office, Santa hat half skewed over his head. He laughed and grabbed his small paunch, and Felicia stifled her giggles.

  “Yeah, you’re definitely good. I’ll have to take in some of the measurements on the suit for him, but I think he’ll still be into it. He’s Santa now—your torch has been passed.”

  “Thank you,” Gina said. “I really mean it.”

  “Not at all. Merry early Christmas,” Felicia said with a nudge.

  “Yes, same to you.”

  A week later, Gina showed up at the office on a snowy, Friday night with a drink in her hand. She had brought a small bottle of chardonnay as some kind of holiday good will gesture, though she really just wanted to be rid of it. She had squeezed into her version of the “little black dress” most women in their thirties have. The skirt came down just above her knee and the straps were a bit skimpy. She paired it with a black cardigan and long, black boots.

  “Well,” she said as she gazed at herself in the mirrored surface in the front foyer. “You certainly don’t look like Santa anymore.”

  With her black purse around her shoulder, she also didn’t look very festive. She took the bow off her chardonnay and placed it over one of her dress straps instead, fixing her hair in the same reflected surface. Not great, she noted, but better. At least it doesn’t look like you’re attending a funeral.

  Gina smiled at her reflection, gave herself one last look, and then turned to the elevator. The working elevator. She let out a huge sigh of relief as she got on, pressed the button for the second floor, and waited. When the door opened, the low din of the crowd drifted out along with the Elvis Christmas music Jay had fought for—and clearly won. It was only an hour into the party, and most of their outside clients had already shown up. Gina’s plan was to show up late, talk to one or two people, drop off her gift—evidence she’d been to the party—pick up her bonus, and then go home. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could slip into PJs and watch Pitch Perfect on Netflix before midnight. Not because she really loved the movie, but because it was the least Christmas thing she could think of.

  She nodded to herself as she entered the party. Yes, that sounds good.

  “Ho ho ho!”

  Gina turned to see Sam in the old Santa suit, without the beard since he had grown his own out. “I have a present for you, dear Gina.”

  “Oh? I think you may have already given me so much.”

  Sam made a tsk-tsk under his breath and handed her the standard envelope containing her holiday bonus. Her name Gina DiMarco was written in fine handwriting with a small Christmas sticker in the corner.

  “Thank you, Sam. I truly appreciate it.”

  “Not at all! I have to say—I owe Felicia a huge thank you for fixing up the Santa suit for me. I didn’t realize how much fun this would be.”

  “Especially with some Christmas cheer,” Gina added, handing over the bottle of chardonnay. Sam made a pleased noise and tucked it into the bottom of his bag.

  “For later. I’ll be naughty after I’m nice.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Merry Christmas, Gina,” Sam said before departing. She barely had a chance to wish him the same before he disappeared into the crowd.

  Gina tucked her bonus into her purse and felt another wave of relief wash over her. She was here, wearing what she wanted, and she wasn’t Santa. Maybe she didn’t have to run away so soon. Maybe Christmas, with whatever new family her work staff had formed, wasn’t too bad a fate after all.

  She moved to the table full of sweets and ate a couple gingerbread cookies, before she felt a small tap on her back.

  “Felicia,” Gina greeted, smiling wide as they came face to face. Felicia wore dark, tight jeans and a large, hideous-looking sweater that made Gina gawk. “Oh my goodness—what are you wearing?”

  “You like it?” Felicia asked, pulling the sweater taut so that the image—a cat dancing around a tree with some festive mice—was stretched out and more visible. “I found it when I was out looking for fabric, and I thought it was perfect. Reflects how I feel about the holiday.”

  Gina was about to ask exactly what that meant, when Felicia suddenly let go of her sweater and pulled out a gift from her shoulder bag. “Here,” she said as she pressed it into Gina’s hand.

  “For me?”

  “Yes. You. Open it! I want to see.”

  Gina furrowed her brow. The gift was light, but wide. The shape normally made her think of a box of chocolates, but it didn’t have the heft of something like that. Also, Felicia looked much too eager for it to be a standard collection of cherry chocolates.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you! Open it.”

  Gina undid the bow and let the ribbon fall over her wrist. It was a good look, she figured, especially since she wasn’t nearly as festive as Felicia—and she suddenly wanted to be. Gina undid the red tissue paper next and revealed a white box.

  “Well, open it. You’re moving far too slow for me.”

  “Sorry,” Gina said, blushing. When she opened the box, she saw red, familiar fabric. The velvet kind that belongs in a Santa suit. Her stomach dropped, but Felicia’s excitement renewed her interest. Gina continued to dig through the box, finally pulling out another red Santa suit—except with a skirt. Not a suit, Gina corrected, but a Santa dress. Past the outfit at the bottom of the box was a small kerchief with white lace instead of a hat.

  “What is…?”

  “It’s Mrs. Claus,” Felicia said. She smiled, but it soon turned crooked as Gina remained silent. “No good? I figured if you ever missed being Santa, you could be the missus. I think it would fit you better, anyway.”

  “You…made this?”

  “Yes! I went to the fabric store to make alterations on Sam’s suit, saw the pattern, and realized how much better this would look on you than me. You have the legs for a skirt like that.”

  Gina glanced down, blushing slightly. “You have nice legs too.”

  “Oh? You were looking?”

  “No. Um.” Gina’s face went as red as the suit. She placed it in the box again, and then felt Felicia’s hands glide over hers.

  “It’s okay to look,” Felicia insisted. “Especially when I just admitted the same.”
>
  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” Felicia winked slightly, then glanced around at the party. Most people had been sucked into their own peer groups—and Alexa, who Gina assumed Felicia came with, was clearly too busy talking to James to notice much of anything else. Sam was done handing out gifts and was drinking while talking to some clients. Felicia looked back at Gina, her smile even wider now. “You wanna get out of here?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Gina said.

  Felicia tugged on Gina’s hand and led her toward the elevator. As she pressed the button and waited, Gina glanced at Felicia’s outfit, then back at the Santa dress in the box.

  “Were you going to make this for yourself?”

  “Yes, but like I said—you’ll do it much better.”

  “But what if I wanted you to also be Mrs. Claus?” Gina’s heart skipped a beat, surprised she was being so bold. “What if I didn’t want to be alone, up at the North Pole?”

  “Well, I do have more fabric back at my place. I have lots of ideas for clothing, really.”

  “Do you?” Gina’s breath hitched. Felicia bit her lip as she looked up at Gina, sneaky and mysterious.

  “I think right now, I’m more like an elf than anything. Good with my hands and at making things. Besides, when you wear heels, you’re so, so tall.”

  “Oh, well.” Gina was about to bend over and unzip her boots, when the elevator rushed open. Felicia grabbed Gina’s hands again and pulled her inside. Gina watched in mock horror as Felicia pressed all the buttons—from the ground floor to the eighth at the top.

  “What are you doing? What if it stalls again and we’re stuck?”

  “Well, I know exactly what I want to do to pass the time.” Felicia took a step forward, placing a hand on Gina’s waist. “Do you?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Gina slouched just enough for Felicia’s mouth to meet her own. They kissed chastely, the height difference making it a little difficult until Gina learned to forget about it. With the elevator stopping with a ping at each floor, Gina expected to be disturbed. But each time she opened her eyes between kisses, she found an empty floor. Everyone in the Lederman building was on the second, partying away for Christmas. So Gina finally opened her mouth for Felicia, feeling her tongue slide close to hers with glee.

  “How was that?” Felicia asked, pulling away from the kiss but keeping their hands connected. “Good?”

  “You have…no idea.”

  Felicia smirked, then brought their lips together again. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus.”

  Gina’s heart skipped a beat. “Merry Christmas…my small elf?”

  Felicia laughed again. “Sure, sure, I can be called that. But we’ll work on some cute pet names later.”

  Later, Gina thought. This was going to be more than a Christmas fling. Maybe this year coming up would be a lot more memorable—for other reasons—than the last. Felicia placed her lips on Gina’s once again, the height difference and their nerves no longer a problem. When they reached the top floor, Felicia parted with another sly smile.

  “You ready to go down?”

  “Yes…yes, I think so.”

  “Good. My place or yours? You know, when we reach the ground floor.”

  “Hmm,” Gina said. “Surprise me.”

  With a grin, Felicia pressed all the elevator floors—but the second—and then moved back into a kiss.

  A GIFT OF WORDS

  by Patricia Penn

  For Summaia, who wanted to experience Christmas for the first time.

  The warehouse was swarming with Fianna. They all brimmed with adrenaline after the fight, scratched and bruised and in just as much need of a healer as the humans they’d saved. Breathing hard, Hekate surveyed the carnage around her. It appeared that she was out of a job for a moment; her partner, Tamoh, was holding his bleeding shoulder, so they wouldn’t be allowed to escort the prisoners to headquarters. Some of her colleagues were securing the exits, making sure that none of the human survivors escaped before their memories were wiped—and that none of the humans living in this neighborhood had come to investigate the ruckus. Other Fianna manacled the prisoners and checked the pulses of the enemy demons on the ground. The Fianna were the peacekeeper squad of the Boston demon clans, but these days, peacekeeping mostly translated to attack and try not to get killed.

  Hekate threw the dead body closest to her a grimly satisfied look. Across the hall, her friend Cal Iveragh gave her a thumbs-up and smirked as if to say congratulations. Hekate rolled her eyes and huffed. She hadn’t missed any of her targets, no; that went without saying.

  “All right.” The gravelly voice of Balor, their commander, rang through the room. “Turns out two of those bastards escaped through a back door. I want four teams of two out in the streets. Search the area until you find them. Lester and Crooks, you go up to the North End…” He rattled off names, then paused when his eyes fell on Hekate’s partner. Tamoh grimaced apologetically through the pain. “Lorca…” Balor addressed Hekate. “You’re with Iveragh, check Downtown. After all, I hear you two are inseparable these days.”

  Hekate glanced sharply at Cal. But no, Balor couldn’t know about the two of them. They were among the strongest telepaths in the entire demon community of Boston. It was impossible that they could have given anything away.

  Cal looked straight ahead, ostensibly busy tucking her rune stone—her weapon of choice—into the neckline of her sweater.

  Very well. Seemed like they’d spent the rest of the night on the job.

  It hadn’t been their first raid during this clan war, not even the first one this week. An informant had tipped them off about a group of vassals of the mutinous clan Dayville setting up camp in an abandoned warehouse down on Hanover Street. They had been luring unsuspecting humans into their lair, torturing them for fun and absorbing their energies to get high. It was disgusting, despicable business, and the reason why Hekate had sworn allegiance to Cal’s clan Iveragh—so they could fight side-by-side.

  That was probably what had prompted Balor’s comment. Recently, too many had remarked on how much time she and Cal spent together. Hopefully nobody thought of them as anything but a young clan leader and her right-hand woman. Still, being partnered together on Fianna business wasn’t exactly a hardship for either of them.

  Roaming the streets of Downtown Boston, they soon became certain that the Dayvilles had to have left the area either through a portal or by taking a mundane human cab. Their muscles ached from the fight, and they grew more tired as the night progressed without Balor sending them new orders. Sadly, Cal’s status as leader of Iveragh didn’t excuse her from following her commander’s orders like any soldier. However, for Hekate working with Cal felt like breathing. They moved in synch, and when Cal came close, Hekate could sense her presence pulsating at the edge of her awareness.

  Hekate could still clearly remember what Cal had smelled like a week before, the last time they had snuck away together. She could almost feel her skin under her fingers, picture her lean muscular frame beneath her warm winter parka—so deceptively human looking, and yet so powerful. They didn’t talk about what they did with each other, though. They acted as if it wouldn’t happen again, as it was a mistake—because it was a mistake and it could never happen again. There were no words among demons for what they were doing with each other, for two women doing those things—not as far as Hekate knew, anyway. It scared her, not knowing what it meant.

  Hekate kept her eyes trained on the buildings and side alleys for signs of her prey instead of looking at Cal.

  They’d just covered Long Wharf when they paused briefly, cold hands shoved deep in their pockets. Air condensed in front of their faces with every breath as they watched the sun dawn on the horizon. It spread pastels all across the fidgety grey sea, beautiful despite the muted clouds in the sky. Still there was no sign of the Dayvilles. However, their rune stones—Cal�
��s around her neck, Hekate’s on her belt—hadn’t heated up to herald new orders. Their boss had to have special plans with those Dayvilles to waste this much man power.

  The streets started to fill with activity. As the patches of sky between the tall buildings transitioned further from dark to grey, more humans poured outside. At ten o’clock, Hekate noticed how many there really were. Some even bumped into her and stupidly ignored her angry frown. When Hekate was pushed against her, Cal smirked good-naturedly, amused as always when Hekate glared.

  By twelve, every traffic light produced endless car lines, and they had to circle around old people with canes, women with strollers, and person after person wrapped in scarves and gloves. Hekate slowly grew suspicious. Even though this was Downtown Boston, it was a work day, and the air was so icy that there would certainly be snow soon. Yet, on their way down the broad Atlantic Street, the crowd became thicker.

  They crossed the street and turned a corner, and suddenly, everything was packed with people of all ages and sizes. Cal came to an abrupt halt. Hekate had to fight an instinctual urge to reach for her rune stone when she followed suit.

  Cal whistled under her breath.

  “Look at that,” she said appreciatively. Though her reaction was dignified, her eyes shone like a child’s.

  Hekate followed her gaze to find that the entire area was covered in light chains. The streets had widened to transform into a pedestrian area—they’d reached Quincy Market. Rich whites and greens and reds and blues flashed around every tree growing along the street. Every lantern, and even parts of the historical market halls farther down the road, was dazzling. The crowd pushed through a funnel of booths and shops that had spilled onto the street for the occasion. Due to her height, Hekate had an excellent vantage point. The vendors wore costumes; elves and reindeers lined up left and right. A Santa stood at the ready to pose for pictures with children, and a Nativity scene with a mix of plastic and real animals was on display not far away. Hekate realized with a start that it was December 24.