The Lucifer Christmas Special 2016:
"I Saw Mommy Kissing Satan Claus"
Author's note
This is a work of satirical fiction based on the Fox television show.
I'm just playing in a sandbox built by Neil Gaiman, Sam Kieth, Mike Dringenberg, and Tom Kapinos, and I recognize that they have the right to ask me to leave. However, I hope that they will consider imitation to be the highest form of flattery.
December 28
As Detective Decker arrived at the scene, she could tell immediately that there were two things wrong with the truck's worth of coal at the abandoned lot:
First, it was a truck's worth of coal in sunny, ever-temperate Los Angeles.
Second, it had a dead man's head poking out of one side.
Not how she wanted to start her first day back from Christmas.
Uniformed officers were working with with the medical examiner, Ella Lopez, to free the rest of him. Their faces were already one-third covered with coal dust; hers was worse. Her oh-so-cute mistletoe hair comb looked to be a total loss. Banana-clipped over her forehead with care, in hopes that St. Lucifer soon would be there, thought Decker - the Christmas rhymes she'd been reading Trixie had really gotten into her head. It's ruined, but that's just as well - it's HR catnip.
Her civilian consultant, Lucifer Morningstar, was already on the scene but, mercifully for Decker, he was already interviewing a female witness, most likely the citizen who called in the tip. She stood fidgeting in her running gear, frozen in place by his weird charm. Just this once the Detective was grateful for that. The civilian was clearly shaken by her discovery, but Lucifer's sex appeal appeared to be acting as a useful distraction from her shock. The witness's face glowed with the slack-jawed fascination Decker had seen so often when Lucifer did his thing on interviewees. Decker hurried to his side before the witness's attraction spiraled out of control.
"Thank you, Debra. If you think of anything else, please give the department a call."
"Oh, Mr. Morningstar, I'm absolutely sure I will!" she said breathlessly, but her expression turned guilty when she made eye contact with the Detective. She sidled away, then jogged across the lot, averting her eyes from the pile of coal.
"Good morning Detective," called Lucifer. She winced internally. He had that giant Cheshire Cat that Ate the Cheshire Rat smile, always a bad sign. It was going to be a Morningstar Madlibs morning for sure.
"Whose card did you give her?"
"Why yours, of course."
"Oh, good."
"With my number written on the back, just in case."
"Lucifer! - Never mind. That was our caller?"
"Yes. The healthy young lass didn't have much to report. Her house is a couple blocks in that direction" - he pointed - "and her exercise class is on the other side of the lot, so most mornings she jogs through the lot there and back. She's had family visiting for Christmas, though, so she hasn't jogged since the 23rd."
"The body could have been here for four or five days. We'll have to see what Lopez can estimate for the time of death."
The two of them walked back to the pile of coal, staying carefully upwind of the coal dust still hanging in the air. Lucifer looked at the body and smirked. "I do so hope that's clean coal. That's really a thing, right? The coal companies all say so."
By now Lopez and the unis had uncovered the victim's entire body. He was naked except for Christmas boxer shorts. His ankles and hands were bound in red ribbon, each knot tied in a fluffy bow. A large Christmas present tag hung from his neck. Lopez opened it and read it to them. "For Gail, with all of the love in my heart. Merry bloody Christmas!"
"What can you tell so far?" Decker asked Lopez.
"Male, late 20s, coal-colored. He died screaming, judging by the fine powder deep in his mouth and throat. At least until enough of the pile got dumped on him, then it crushed his ribcage into his lungs. I think it was shovelled onto him gradually to lengthen the process - some of the coal has scratches and cuts that could be from a shovel. I can't do the time of death temperature test because I can't find his liver - I suspect it got flattened into pâté. Wait a moment …" Lopez wiped off the man's head, then turned it back and forth, looking at it hard. "I think I know who this is. Rapist. Rich man's son. Different precinct so we weren't involved, but I remember the case. I'll want to check it against the computer, but I'm pretty sure."
"Was he convicted?"
"Did I happen to say rich man's son? Just in case I didn't: rich man's son. They pinned it on him all right, but his lawyer put the victim through hell. He skated with a mistrial."
Lucifer gave them a bright-eyed smile. "Well you know what they say: Sometimes karma hits you like a ton of coal."
Decker gritted her teeth. "Do you have any useful observations?"
Lucifer's grin magnified. "Why, yes. I know who did this. Motive, means, and opportunity."
"Who?"
"Well, let's just say I think someone made Santa's extremely naughty list."
Five days earlier …
December 23, 1:00 PM
Lucifer's penthouse suite above Lux nightclub was perfect. His true home was the perfect place to lounge, to muse, to remember, to count his losses, to sulk, to drink alone, and currently to be entertained by the Brittanys.
Still, as Lucifer's father had found countless millennia ago, perfect did not necessarily mean flawless. The Garden had its snake. The penthouse had its phone, ringing annoyingly with the select tone for in-house calls.
"Hello? This had better be important. The Brittanys are giving me a mani-pedi. Mum told me I should get one."
"It's Mazikeen."
"She was being sarcastic. She said having well-manicured nails would help me to pull my head out of my arse. But still! I must say, it's really quite nice! In fact, if having three Brittanys didn't leave one hand free, I would have let the phone hang. I need a fourth Brittany."
"You need to get down to the bar."
"Now? Why?"
"Santa Claus is here."
"You're serious."
"I'm me."
"So, Santa Claus is in Lux."
"Yes. And I'm going to have to cut him off."
Lucifer exited the penthouse elevator at the balcony. From here he would have a good view of Lux's patrons, but if they looked towards him, the Morningstar would be hidden behind the glare of the spotlights. Currently there was just one customer - one who should have been drinking eggnog at the North Pole, not hard liquor at Lucifer's earthly home.
Lucifer was disappointed yet relieved to see that this was not the actual Santa Claus. He would never admit it, but during the brief ride from the penthouse, he'd felt actual apprehension at the thought of bouncing the archetypal character. Not that it was likely, since archetypes were by definition not real, but that didn't stop them from incarnating at Lux occasionally when they wanted a good drink or a better time. The Brittanys for example - the archetypal blonde, brunette, and redhead who walked into a bar. He may be Lucifer Morningstar, his Father's most favored angel, but the Jolly Old Elf … he was a boss, powered by centuries of love and hope poured out by millions of pure-souled children. He was owed respect.
The pitiful man below Lucifer may have been dressed in red, trimmed in white, and bearing a red sack, but he was neither jolly nor an elf. He was old, though, in the way that really mattered. Eighty years of despair radiated from forty year old eyes. He was drinking with money he didn't have, and Lucifer wasn't about to stop him.
Distractions aside, Lucifer lived for punishment, but punishment was the rightful, needful response to injustice. Those who caused suffering willingly or selfishly needed to themselves suffer as well. This man, though … Lucifer instinctively knew there was no justice in his suffering. The loss in Lucifer's heart resonated to this man's pain.
Lucifer's grand entrance down the stair was utterly wasted - totally a shame. The would-be Santa was too deep in his glass to notice. Lucifer sat down right next to him, and the man barely shifted.
"Merry Christmas, friend. What brings you down from the North Pole?"
It took a moment for the man to find Lucifer's face, not for lack of trying. He was thoroughly wasted, but still working on total self-annihilation. A verse sung by one of Lucifer's would-be followers, Ozzy Osbourne, came to mind. Indeed, this suicide would be slow with liquor.
Finally the man turned to him. "Ho ho ho ha ha. Who are you, and why do you care?"
"I'm Lucifer Morningstar - the one you've read about - owner of this fine establishment Lux, and this is my bartender-slash-personal-assistant-slash-bodyguard Mazikeen. As for why I care, call it professional interest: I seldom see anyone as dedicated to personal destruction as yourself, and I can't help feeling that you don't deserve it."
"I'm an alcoholic. If that bothers you, you shouldn't serve alcohol."
"Yet you say it with such clarity. I'm used to people lying to me. They won't own who they are. I have to drag it out of them. Usually with blood and fire. In their whole lives they don't get as far as you have … yet you're falling back."
"All due respect to you for your excellent booze, but I don't have long and you're wasting my time. In two hours I have to sit in my stupid little Christmas shack, listen to all those kids … while my own kids are who knows where with my ex. Somewhere better than here no doubt. Far away from me."
"I can make talking worth your while. I'll forgive your bill, on one condition: Tell me what happened to you."
The man tried to think … and went silent. Lucifer prompted, "Clearly you were educated, successful. Even drunk you speak like a businessman. What did you do for a living?"
"I was a software project manager. You'd know the company and you've heard of the projects I managed. I could do the impossible: I got the developers, the marketers, the builders, and the budgeters onto the same page. I could make the project fast, good, and cheap. And I didn't have to be shady about it; I just had to get all sides to understand that they really were on the same side - and track metrics that would prove to them whether they were really pulling their weight. OK, I wasn't curing cancer, but one of the apps I managed helps autistic kids talk."
He added, "Or it would, except they charge too damned much for it."
Lucifer was fascinated despite himself. "So, what happened? What went wrong?"
"We were all at a business retreat. The first day, one of the upper managers had a heart attack right in the middle of a team building exercise. I tried to do CPR, but it wasn't enough. I knew the man well, worked with him a lot. We were business friends. I couldn't save him.
"The whole week turned into an extended wake. I was in shock. I kept flashing back to my friend's face on the floor in front of me as I pushed on his chest. Everyone was drinking. Somebody put a drink in my hand. I don't know who or what. I drank it. I kept drinking.
"I'd never drank before that. I grew up in a religious family, never touched the stuff. Nobody in my family ever had.
"The next day, more grief everywhere, more drinking everywhere.
"By the end of the week I was hooked. If I didn't drink I felt physically sick inside, head to toe. And drinking kept me from flashing back to my dead friend's face.
"I got home, and my wife didn't care that I'd lost a friend. She was just mad that I'd gone away for a week - wouldn't talk to me. I didn't even have booze in the house, but I ached for it, and I got it.
"In a month she took the kids and the money and left. OK, I wasn't the best company, but I never hurt her. She said she had to leave because I couldn't be a good provider any more.
"In two more weeks she was right.
"I tried to do meetings, but … try not breathing. See how long you can last. It feels like that.
"Now all I've got is this stupid temp job. Sit there and listen to kids tell me what they want for Christmas. There's a hidden mic, so the parents can hear. I'm just a prop."
Mazikeen stepped into Lucifer's line of sight. "His shift starts at 3. There's a booth about two blocks away, at the city park."
Lucifer focused his will on the man. "Thank you, sir. Your tab for today is paid. I just have one more question."
"Yes?"
Lucifer looked into the man's soul. There it was, just behind his eyes. He reached out to it with his angelic gift. "What do you want?"
The man was drunk, but his immortal soul was not. It answered. "I want to be sober. Without that, I have no hope."
"Then accept the hope I have to give you," Lucifer replied excitedly. "If you really want to be free of that demon alcohol" - he savored Mazikeen's sour smirk at this pun - "then come back here after your shift. I'll be here all night. I have friends in the local addiction clinics. I can get you into the best ones. It won't be easy, but if you want it, I can help. Money will not be a problem. Not for me."
The man started to tear up. "But why would you do that for me?"
"To heal my own hurts, in a way. I've lost my family too, though in my case my unreasonable, neglectful Father broke us up. Then he disappeared. Some people even think he's dead. Only recently was I able to find my Mother again, and it's been glorious, even though it's not been easy. It makes me want to be … better … than my Dad.
"And, because of the injustice of it all. Random fate threw you into this hole, and it's not like Dad has extended a helping hand to you."
The man shook Lucifer's hand. "Thank you. You're a good man. I don't know what else to say."
"Wrong on both counts. Just say that you will return."
With that, the man bowed to Lucifer - or lurched off of his barstool, it was hard to tell. With difficulty he staggered up the stairs back up to the front door of Lux, the red pack over his shoulder swinging wildly the whole way. He waved to Lucifer with a smile, then shouldered the door open.
"You know, sometimes you are still an angel," said Mazikeen wonderingly.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I don't know."
He wanted to ask more, but his attention was caught by the sudden screech of heavy tires outside.
Lucifer ran to the stairs, shouting at no-one, everyone, or anyone in his angelic family who cared enough to listen: "No no No No NOOOOO!"
When he reached the street, he saw what he knew he'd see all along.
"Santa" laid on the street just outside of Lux. His limbs bent at angles never intended for human beings, or for that matter even angels. Even so, he was smiling. He'd died happily, or perhaps at peace.
A truck had stopped barely 10 feet away in the lane, the driver's head thrown down on the wheel.
Lucifer was suddenly acutely aware that he didn't even know the man's name. Now he never would.
Lucifer clapped his hands together in prayer and looked upward into the sky, or as he knew it, his Father's Throne. He prayed,
"My Father, who art in Heaven. How could You do this!
You Murderer. You Sinner.
This man wanted to reclaim his life, and You took it from him!
I had this covered! But no, You couldn't allow that!"
Suddenly Lucifer realized that the scene was frozen around him. Time had stopped - in fact, had been stopped the entire time he'd been outside. Which could mean only one thing. He spun in place and shouted, "What do you want? I'm talking to Dad!"
Amenadiel took a safe step backward and soothingly replied, "I know. He sent me."
"So, he still talks to you, but he leaves me in the dark?"
"No, I still listen. I'm still able. You're not - you don't want to hear him. He hears you though."
"Besides your angelic insanity, what makes you say that?"
"What is an angel's job?"
"In your case, to piss me off!"
"To bring you good news. 'Santa' isn't dead. He isn't even hurt. He passed out, sloppy drunk, right in the lane. I stopped time before anyone hit him. Even so, it was close."
"So, dear old Dad pulls your leash, and you come flying."
"No. Believe it or not, whether you know it or not, the two of you are working together."
"By the ashes of Hell, it's a Christmas miracle!"
"Yeah, it surprised me too. Luci, this man confessed. He literally unburdened his soul."
"To the Devil."
"To someone who gave him the opportunity. The first opportunity he'd had in a long time, I'd say. He examined his life and owned it. He turned his eyes towards good and resolved to be better. He accepted divine help - yours. Any port in a storm I suppose. You made it happen. Dad sent me to preserve it."
"Well, fine. Consider your divine mission accomplished. Fly away home to Daddy."
"No, Luci."
"No?"
"Well, first you need to help me move 'Santa' onto the sidewalk. I'll let time flow again. The truck driver will stop in a blind panic - she's already doing that. You'll calm her down with a bit of your glamour. We'll carry 'Santa' back into Lux after that.
"Here's the thing though. If this hits the news, they'll say that Lux served Santa alcohol well past any reasonable limit. More importantly, in about one more hour, a large number of children won't see Santa. They've wished to him, written to him, looked forward to sitting on his lap, but today it'll all fall through. For some of them, the disappointment will shake their faith enough that it will never develop properly. Santa isn't just Santa. For many children, Santa is their first formative experience of God."
Lucifer winced. "You're not saying …"
"Yes, Luci. For the sake of Lux, for the sake of the children, and just maybe for the sake of your own heart, you need to complete this man's work today. You, Lucifer Morningstar, you need to be Santa Claus."
December 23, 2:00 PM
With the help of the Brittanys, Lucifer carried "Santa" up to his quarters and removed his outfit. Even with his supernatural strength, awkward dead mass was still awkward, and the Brittanys were quite expert at removing clothing from drunk men. Usually not this drunk, but still.
Off came the red hat and fake beard.
Off came the red suit.
Off came the bulky padding.
All that was left was boxer shorts and a T shirt, both dirty.
"Oh, for the love of Dad … Brittany #2, get me a robe," he said, pointing to the closet door and not caring who reacted. Once "Santa" was sanitarily wrapped in it, Lucifer laid him out on the living room couch. "Now ladies, here is your job for the next couple of hours: Make sure my guest stays right here. Guest, not prisoner, but for his own good he has to stay. Use any non-aggressive means necessary. You know where to find the restraints, but if you use them, make sure he enjoys it. Changes are, though, that he'll just sleep." He reached out to them with his angelic will. "Do that, and I assure you, Lux and I will reward you." They cooed and all said something or other, but he really never paid much attention to anything the Brittanys said, and this time was no exception.
Mazikeen entered from a side door, dressed head to toe in red leather. Lucifer examined her outfit with disapproval. "Bustier and leather shrug? Steel tipped knee-high boots? Red wig? I said 'Elf on the Shelf', not 'Wench on a Bench'."
"It's what I had. Besides, it's more combat ready. Fate seems to be focusing on you today, which bothers me. Though I've got a Catholic school girl outfit … "
Lucifer sighed. "No. Leave that for Easter." He picked up the red Santa bag, into which he'd piled the Santa outfit. "Let's go."
Bringing Mazikeen turned out to be a wise decision. As the two of them walked to the park, Maze got all of the attention - lust from the men, jealousy from the women, fear from the children - but they all kept their distance. It was as if Maze's angry strut cast a convenient shadow to hide his identity. For just this once, Lucifer did not want to be the center of attention. Being forced into this role was not his finest moment.
At the corner of the park there was an area set aside for the season's religious displays. If one measured by quantity, then it was a fine display, with over fourteen different religions honored by symbols mounted on a grassy hillock. With special favor he noted the eight-spoked wheel for Bodhi Day, the Buddhist holiday commemorating the day that Siddhartha Gautama attained Enlightenment - at the moment Gautama, the Buddha, saw the Morningstar rise in the sky. Lucifer had tested the bounds of Hell a few times before escaping for good, and while he could not prove it decisively, he chose to believe the Buddha had witnessed one of those test flights.
Lucifer pointed out the symbol to Mazikeen. "See, that's what happens when Dad's pet humans look up to angels, rather than angels having to look up to them." She smiled a genuine admiring smile.
Also featured were the four candles of Advent, the seven colorful candles of Kwanzaa, the nine candles of Hanukkah, and a statue of Saint Lucia wearing a whole crown of candles. Maybe more candles is better, thought Lucifer, but the other Lucy is taking it well past the point of safety. A statue of jolly old Saint Nick, his pack full of presents, was on one far side of the grouping; a statue of ugly old Krampus, his pack full of bad children, was symmetrically located on the other. Definitely best to keep them separated, Lucifer thought, even though they work together towards the same goal. Crowded in amongst these were a decorated evergreen tree of Yule (not Christmas, with a set of stag's horns instead of an angel at the top, to subtly make the point) and a metal Festivus pole. Festivus, with its Airing of Grievances ritual - now that was a holiday he could celebrate! Finally, some jokester had thrown a pair of boxing gloves into the display. Lucifer wondered how many Angelenos got the joke.
In the center of the display area, taking up nearly as much space all of the other symbols combined, was the Nativity scene. Lucifer looked down at the figurine of baby Jesus with a hollow sense of anger.
"It's all about You, isn't it?
"And look where it got You. You tried to talk sense to Dad's pets. I tried to talk You out of it, but You did it anyway. They killed You for it. Even now, they distort the few words of Yours that they bother to remember. They hate, they cheat, they lie, they kill, and they use Your words as their excuse to do so."
A bystander with a portfolio folder stepped up to him. "I'd say 'Amen' to that, but it would be a bad pun."
"Well, quite." Lucifer took a breath and forced his face back into its public mode, a grinning mask. "I mean, just look at this Baby Jesus figurine. They can't even get that right. Anyone who thinks about it for two seconds will figure out that Jesus couldn't have been white. He was middle eastern, for Dad's sake. Dark and swarthy, not blond and pale. Same for his parents. But I forget my manners. You are?"
"I'm Steve, and I'm with the Foundation for Objective Rational Thought. FORT for short."
"Oh, so you're protesting this wide-ranging religious display?"
"Not protesting, just distributing pamphlets and trying to provide a teachable moment."
"Oh? What would you teach me, if given the chance?"
"Well, first, it's as you said: people throughout the ages have used the tenets of religion, any and every religion, as a ready-made excuse for anything and everything they were going to do anyway. Occasionally they did good things, but mostly much harm was done in the name of religion. FORT believes that religious belief drives out rational decision making. It's a case of Gresham's Law: 'bad money drives out good'. Literally, in this case."
"Go on."
"And there's no reason to believe in any of these religions anyway. Scientific neurological testing - MRIs, functional PET scans, EEGs, tests like that - shows that when people experience what they call the presence of God, it's because select areas of their brain are more active than usual. Stimulate those areas, and God 'appears'."
"So, because people have chosen to misquote tenets of religion, the tenets themselves are invalid, and because the brain is purpose-built to detect the divine Presence, the Presence can't be real when it's detected. Kind of like the eyes, which are purpose-built to detect light. If you were take someone and stimulate their optic nerve with a little jolt of electricity, they would see light, so photons can't be real."
Mazikeen smirked. Her master was showing off and she was loving it. Steve wasn't: "That's twisting the concept to the point of absurdity. Yes, I realize it's a negative proof, not a constructive one, but if there were a direct test for the Presence of God, we would be interested. Until then, we believe that the gods, goddesses, angels, demons, all the creatures of the supernatural world are in fact figments of the brain. Humans feel fear and anger because we have a fight-or-flight response. We train ourselves to overcome them. Humans feel lust because our bodies have a reproductive function, but we train ourselves to overcome that. The so-called Presence of God is another maladaptation of the brain, just like those. Some people will continue to wallow in the God delusion no matter how we try to help, but others will succeed in overcoming it."
"So the Devil, Satan, Prince of Hell, Robert Johnson's guitar teacher … he is not real."
"Of course not."
"Steve, what if observable proof were possible?"
"It isn't, but sure, let's say it is."
"It isn't? You've already made up your mind? Well, that's not very rational of you. What if there were observable proof?"
With that, Lucifer dropped his human glamour.
Steve opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Lucifer reached out to grasp his shoulder. He could see a reflection of his glowing red eyes in Steve's. No longer limited by his human form, Lucifer could speed-read Steve like a children's book.
"Pleased to meet you, Steve. Hope you guessed my name. What's confusing you, though, is your own stupid immaturity.
"There is a supernatural world. Hell is real. I ran it. Heaven is real. Dad is real. Mom too. They had sex. Out came the Universe.
"Oh, you modern atheists, with your pride and your bombast.
"You know, I can respect an atheist, even though in the long run they get it wrong. Some of you have the right goals. Bertrand Russell for example. He was a logician and philosopher. Based on his studies in those fields, he concluded that religion leads to fear, dependency, irrationality. His goal was a society that was fairer, where people could be nobler.
"If he were to 'score' his effect on people, he might do so by counting the number of people who were more civic and less afraid after reading his works.
"But you? You read some Dawkins and Rand and understood a quarter of it. You 'score' your effect by the number of people you can enrage on the Internet and how quickly you can shut up your parents.
"One of the other names for the Devil is The Challenger. After all, a great villain makes for a great hero; without the antagonist, the protagonist is just a boring guy sitting at home on his couch. Here is my challenge to you: Go to a Foundation meeting. Tell them what you saw today. See how rationally they take you. Do it, or deal with me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday I'll run out of chew toys. When I do, you won't want to have failed me.
"First though, you may want to change your pants."
Lucifer started to walk away, then stopped short. "Oh, I forgot!" He reached into the pants pocket of still-frozen Steve and pulled out his cell phone. Putting his arm over Steve's trembling shoulders, he pulled the two of them in a buddy pose and held up the phone. "Selfie!" Click-click.
December 23, 2:45 PM
A line of children, mothers in tow, had formed already when Lucifer reached the Santa shack. The faux gingerbread house, actually an enthusiastically decorated trailer home, was unmistakably the right place. The bouncer - the line manager, he corrected himself - saw the red bag, looked puzzled, but pointed to the blind side of the shack.
"What's that, Mommy?" asked a child who pointed at the great piles of sculptured white foam camouflaging the trailer wheels.
"That's snow, Timmy."
"Ah, Los Angeles," said Lucifer to Mazikeen, "where the prettiest things are all fake."
They entered the employees' entrance door, cutely marked "Elves only" in a twee script. More jealous and lustful stares greeted them from volunteers waiting in a small lounge. A technician watching a camera feed sat with headphones around his neck; for the moment, the screen showed a well-stuffed but empty chair. Ah, Lucifer thought sarcastically, my own throne.
"Is there anywhere I could slip into something more festive?" Lucifer asked the tech, who pointed to the door of the changing room, scarcely larger than a closet. A thought occurred to Lucifer. "Maze, you should probably cover Lux before the Brittanys get worried. If they get worried, they might try to think. If they try to think, they might hurt themselves." She gave him her default smirk as he closed the door.
Five minutes later, he emerged all in red, gave himself a look in the mirror, and said out loud: "The difference is, I make this look good."
A woman he readily identified as the stage manager said, "Yeah, about that. Can you lose the British accent?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Exactly. It's beautiful, but you don't want to sound like a Star Wars villain. When these children hear a British accent, that's the cultural reference they know. That, or maybe a few know Doctor Who."
"Not Ichabod Crane from Sleepy Hollow?"
"Of course not. Nobody watched that show after the first season."
"Let me try," suggested a college-age woman. She shook his hand. "Susan. UCLA major in linguistics and theater, which makes me your amateur voice coach. Try it: Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" Lucifer did. "OK, great range of pitch. You know how to convince."
"Well, if anybody ought to, it's me," groused Lucifer.
"But, with your accent, 'merry' sounds like 'mirrie'. American isn't English any more than it's Australian or Kiwi. Mostly the same words and syntax, but different sounds. The vowels are brighter, brassier. Make a big smile when you say 'merry'. Like this," she said, pushing his cheeks back with her thumbs. "If your cheeks hurt, you're doing it right."
Hmmm … 'American', thought Lucifer. The Devil knows how to speak every language … but he hadn't thought of American as a distinct one. That made all the difference. He brushed her hands away. "How about now?" he asked.
"Perfect!" she jumped on her heels and clapped. "Just one more thing. Open your heart."
"What?"
"Santa has a big chest, a big set of lungs, a big throat … and a big heart." She put her hand on his chest. "Push back my hand by puffing out your chest. Good. Keep it that way. Now imagine all of the energy at your heart center radiating out. Bright, warm energy. If can you do that, it won't matter if you talk Klingon. The children will feel it."
Odd, thought Lucifer. She's put her hands all over me, but she's not melting all over me. And I do feel the energy she describes - but it feels trapped. It's not just the suit. Is it the role? I don't understand …
He had no more time for musing, though. "It's go time," said the stage manager. "Follow me."
December 23, 3:00 PM
As Lux's newly interned "Santa" had told Lucifer, there was a microphone hidden in the high back of the chair. Even a word whispered in Santa's ear would be detected clearly. The mic broadcasted the sound back to a little alcove by the door where the parent could stand and listen. A Bluetooth earbud in his ear would relay to him anything said by the parent or the workers. A camera hidden in the opposite wall recorded the visits too, so parents could request a picture. Well, it figured. Intrusive 24x7 surveillance was part of the Santa myth, just as much as his serial trespassing and cookie gluttony. The Elf on the Shelf just made it worse - and made no sense anyway. If a child was so bad that Santa needed an informant, then Santa already knew which list the child should be on.
An old style pull bell by the front door rang. It jangled his nerves despite himself. The first one or two children would be difficult, he knew. After that he'd get a feel for rhythm of the act.
What he didn't expect, though, was that the first parent would be Charlotte Richards, the well-known lawyer - or as he knew her, Mum. His mother had been slumming in Charlotte's stunning body since the day Charlotte was murdered. That made Mum the second oldest undead person in the world named Richards - both with Satanic ties just for good measure. Lucifer hadn't seen Charlotte in line when he walked past, so he had to conclude she'd paid, pushed, or threatened someone to put her family at the front of the line.
He looked away from her, which worked for about two seconds. Then in his earbud he heard "Son? Lucifer? What are you doing?"
She'd been so difficult with him the last time they talked. It was tempting to push back on her through her family … but no, he had a task he'd sworn to perform. The children were running at him anyway, even before he'd had a chance to greet them. He could see it in their eyes: their mother and father never asked for permission, why should they? Rudely they grabbed ahold of him to fight their way into his lap, then both started shouting their demands at the same time. Their words ran together:
"Santa! Santa! I want a - Barbie Dream House with - a - Ken - Hatchimal - take good care of - Ken and his convertible car and - Ken - comes out -"
"So, have you been good little children this year?" he tried to fit a word in edgewise.
"Of course not," Mum said through the earbud. "They're your Father's pet naked apes, and they act like it. The only thing they deserve for Christmas is fire and brimstone."
The Richards children hadn't even stopped to take a breath. "- and a - Shaun the - G.I. Joe flaming - Sheep - launcher -"
"They're wonderful to hold, aren't they?" Charlotte continued. "You'll never know the awe of having a child suckling at your breast. Quite a handful, but wonderful. But then they start wanting, and they keep wanting, and wanting, and then you're never enough. Truly the feeling is sharper than a serpent's tooth. One serpent in particular. The Original." She stepped out of the alcove and raised her voice. "Come along children."
"But Mom … !"
"You have to leave some room on his sleigh for all the other children's presents." With that, she pulled her charges off of his lap and towards the door.
"Woah," said the stage manager, now dressed as an elf foreman. "If you could get through that, the rest of the day should be easy. I've got the 'Santa kit' for the usual kinds of issues."
"Such as?"
"Candy canes for the criers and screamers. Handy Wipes for the ones that pee."
"So, today I can expect to be urinated upon."
She smiled. "Oh yes, several times. Copiously. Don't worry, the suit's Scotchguarded. Same for the chair."
"I'm not worried at all - about those," he grumbled. Her smile became larger and far less sincere. A brief look behind her eyes and he read it clearly as "yeah, he's a diva, but I've had worse," which quite offended him: He was Dad's favorite, he was the best at everything! The bell at the door rang.
"Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" he called to an adorable little girl with her blonde hair in a ponytail. "What's your name?"
"Cindy Lou Who, and I'm only two!"
As she climbed into his lap, her mother spoke in the earbud. "It's Kathy, and she's six, but she just saw The Grinch on TV."
"So, what would you like for Christmas?"
"I wanna Grinch doll!" she said enthusiastically.
"But isn't the Grinch a mean old monster?"
"No … he's just lonely and sad. I'll love him and hold him and he'll never be lonely again. And it's okay that he's green because people on TV live someplace else where they're all differt colors. Not like my neighborhood." All her mother could do was give Lucifer an embarrassed, palms-up shrug to that.
Next on his lap was an eight year old girl who wanted a pony. "There's just no way," her mother prompted in Lucifer's ear. "We have an apartment. In the middle of town."
"Where are you going to keep him? In your bedroom?" Lucifer asked the girl.
"Sure!" she replied - no room for negotiation there. He tried another tack. "What do you like about ponies?" he asked her.
"They're beautiful, and gentle, and they run really fast and they jump."
"Yes, they do. You know what else they do?"
"No."
"They POOP!" Luci Claus exclaimed with a little jump in his chair. The girl giggled. "They POOP their own body weight very day! POOP everywhere! POOP all over your bedroom! And you're the rider, so you get to clean up all the POOP!"
"Ewwwwww!"
"Have you ever ridden a pony?"
"No."
"Where have you seen ponies?"
"On TV …"
"Well, it'd take me too long to grow a pony at the North Pole, but I know where there are ponies around Los Angeles. There are stables that give riding classes. There are even riding camps. I'll have my elves call your elves. In the meantime, would you like a book about horses?" From the alcove, her mom gave Lucifer a thumbs-up. As the girl walked away, Lucifer called out, "You know what the horses do at the camp? They POOP!" The girl stuck her tongue out at him, but she smiled.
The staff cracked up laughing as soon as the exit door closed. The stage manager turned to him. "You know, this is usually such an empty job. The only reason the city does it is so kids will drag their moms here, then they'll shop at the mall across the street. 'Think of the children' - yeah, right. But today it's a joy. You're fresh. I love it. I don't know how you're doing it, but keep doing it, please."
Suddenly there was outside noise in his earbud, and evidently everyone else's too. The door manager must have turned on his mic. "Elves, we need absolute quiet and calm for our next visitor to Santa Claus. Please take everything slowly. Thanks."
The door opened without the bell ringing. A mom entered, towing her frightened young son. He calmed once the door closed against the outside noise, but he scanned over the whole room, looking at everything but making no eye contact. His mom gave embarrassed nods to everyone, who seemed to understand. Finally, frustrated with waiting on her son, she gently but firmly steered him to the center of the floor, directly in front of Lucifer, then she stepped back to the alcove.
The boy stared through Lucifer as if he wasn't there.
Lucifer was tempted to be miffed by this disregard … but there was something very different happening here. Just this once, it wasn't about him, maybe.
His mother stepped forward again, scooped him up, and put him in Lucifer's lap. The boy wasn't scared, but he didn't relax into Lucifer's hold either. He felt softly rigid, like holding a doll.
"Merry Christmas," Lucifer said softly - and the boy looked at him briefly. Success! … but not enough. He tried again. "What is your name?" This time, the boy reacted by looking down. Lucifer took his head in his hand, gently turned it toward him, and focused his gaze on the boy's averted eyes. It was hard to see his soul - it was far back from the eyes, behind some thick blockage he had never encountered before - but he reached for it, pushed for it with all of his grace, and quietly asked his signature question:
"Young man, what do you want?"
The boy looked up at him, thought for a moment, then said, "I want a puppy."
His mother gasped.
The stage manager moved to her quickly. Lucifer heard their conversation through the earbud.
"Are you OK?"
"He doesn't speak. He doesn't speak! My son is autistic. He's never spoken a word."
"I'm so happy for you! Let's see what happens next."
Lucifer kept his focus on the boy. "What breed of puppy would you like?"
"I am not sure yet. Something smaller. I want to be able to hold him when I sit. I want him to curl up with me when I lie down. He can be my friend."
In the alcove, the mother was crying. The stage manager was saying into her mic "Keep the whole video - not stills. We're watching a miracle."
"What breed reminds you of you?" Lucifer prompted.
"Corgis. They are small and smart. They are handicapped, though, like me."
"Really? How so?"
"They don't have tails to wag, so no-one can see how they feel. They have to wag their butts. I have never seen that, but I read that. I am missing something too. Dad says so."
His mother's head snapped up in shock.
"When I go to Dad's house, he lets me sit in a quiet room and does not bother me. I use his tablet to read about dogs."
In the alcove, his mother's tears flashed to rage. "That bastard! He never told me!"
Lucifer smiled at the boy. "Does he know that you have his password?"
"No. He typed it in front of me. He thinks I do not see anything. Was I bad?"
"No, absolutely not. You were clever. Keep it up, young man. Keep learning. Do what you need to do to protect and respect yourself. Just never use your cleverness to hurt someone else."
"OK."
"If you had a tablet and a puppy, would you read to your puppy? Every day? Promise?"
"Yes."
In his earbud he heard the mother say "He'll get his puppy and his tablet. And my ex will never talk like that around him again, or I'll have his visitation pulled. I think I will anyway, leaving him sitting alone and unobserved like that! I promise."
"That's a good boy. Thank you so much for coming to see me. Now go give your mother a big hug for me." He did, and his mother broke into tears again. The stage manager handed him a candy cane, then popped a peppermint bonbon into his mother's mouth, saying "trust me, you need this". The technician handed her a thumb drive, and she pulled the boy out of the Santa shack and into his new world.
Lucifer didn't know how anything could be bigger than that. Then Trixie Decker bounded in, trailed by her mother, his Detective. His heart felt like it would jump out of his chest, until he realized that Trixie didn't recognize him. Oh silly me, he thought to himself, what am I afraid of? Trixie's good - she gets it from her mom - but I've played bigger players than this. Come on, you devil, just be cool. "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! What's your name?"
"I'm Trixie!"
"I'll bet you are!"
From the alcove, the Detective suddenly looked quizzical. Oops, thought Lucifer. Wrong type of humour for Santa, right type for Lucifer. I'm so busted. Keep smiling, talk your way out of it … "What would you like for Christmas?"
"I want pretty dresses and a backpack. And, I want you to bring something for my friend Maze. She lives with us. No coal! She thinks she's bad, but she isn't. I don't know what she wants, so you need to figure that out."
Detective Decker's hand went to her face in surprise, then he heard her over the earbud. "Lucifer! Lucifer!" Well, that's not distracting or anything …
Trixie went on. "Maybe pajamas. I don't think she has any. Get her Princess Elsa pajamas. Maze is like Princess Elsa: she's all cold, so she's unhappy with herself but she shouldn't be."
Lucifer had to smile at the thought of Mazikeen rocking Disney princess pajamas. In his mind's eye, the pajama bottoms had footies, the long-sleeved top had a hood, and she'd still found somewhere in the pajamas to hide her throwing daggers. And Trixie was probably the only person in this world or the next who could get away with giving Disney pajamas to Maze without Maze going homicidal. Yes, he had to get Trixie the pajamas!
Detective Decker continued prompting in his ear. "Lucifer! Do your thing." Your "thing"? He dared a look at the Detective and raised a peevish eyebrow. The Detective clarified, "Ask her what she really wants."
"Well, you've been a good girl this year and you're certainly easy to please. You'll get your presents. Especially the Princess Elsa pajamas for little Maisie. Is there anything else, anything at all?"
"Well … I know you can't do it, but … " She leaned up and whispered into his ear. "I want Mommy and Daddy back together again. I miss him, and Mommy's not happy."
In the alcove, the Detective let out a held breath, but looked sadder.
"Trixie my child, it's not a gift in a box. I can't have my elves bang it together with their little hammers. But I'll try. If you want, I'll talk to your Mommy about it right now. And maybe I'll have my elves bang on your Dad with their little hammers. Do you think that would help?" She giggled at the thought. "Now run over to my head elf. She's got candy canes, but she's really difficult about giving them out. You'll have to wear her down."
The stage manager smartly caught Lucifer's hint. She insisted that Trixie play a game of 20 Christmas Questions ("it's a reindeer game, like in the song," she told Trixie) to earn the candy cane. While Trixie was distracted, Detective Decker walked up to Lucifer.
"Thank you," the Detective said in an undertone. "We suspected that's how she felt, but she wouldn't talk to either of us about it."
"No, of course she wouldn't. That's very adult territory for a little girl. I think she's smart enough to know she doesn't understand it. You realize, I didn't have to 'do my thing' to get her to talk about it. She wanted to. She just needs you to show her that she can talk about it from her own child-age viewpoint without having to worry whose feelings she might hurt. Now, get in my lap."
"What?"
"You're doing it all wrong. First you get in my lap, then you ask for something. That's how it works. I'll let you do the steps backwards, because some people say that's how I should be studied, but I won't let you skip them. So: Lap. In you go. Don't be worried, it's Scotchguarded."
"Lucifer …" she rolled her eyes and shook her head. She turned as if to walk off, then suddenly bent down and put a kiss on his forehead. After a moment (in which Trixie won her candy cane) Decker turned back to the exit, collected her daughter and left.
The kiss …
He could still feel it burn on his forehead like a charism. It was a blinding light on his third eye. It hurt. Even, especially, on the level of his angelic senses. It hurt. He didn't want it to stop.
The stage manager asked him something.
"I'm sorry?" he replied.
"Our last mother there - a friend? More than?"
"Yes. I mean, we're friends, we work together, we've even saved each other's' lives. She is a police detective and I work with her as a consultant."
"Oh, that's fine then. It's just that our Santas don't usually don't ask the mothers to sit in their laps. It could get weird."
Weirder than the Lord of Flies playing Santa? thought Lucifer. Doubtful. Yet here we are.
The bell at the door rang again, and a couple entered with a baby wrapped in a blanket. They seemed out of place, formally well-dressed, with a quiet aura of dignity that clashed with the would-be North Pole kitsch of the Santa shack. Lucifer noted that this was the first time he'd seen a child's father.
"Merry Christmas!" he called quietly to them, trying not to disturb the child lest it was asleep. The mother simply stepped forward, placed the baby into Lucifer's arms, then stepped back again, out of camera range.
Lucifer looked down at the baby, whose eyes were open. Their eyes met. The baby's eyes, like every baby's eyes, were open and unguarded. Lucifer did not reach for the baby's soul, but he saw it nonetheless, and the floor dropped out from beneath him.
A soul without sin.
A soul without sin.
A soul without sin …
Brighter than the light of any angel's being.
A soul without sin …
Washed clean by baptism, the messy moral afterbirth of its parents' sins rinsed away by a sluice of Holy Water from a priest's hand.
A soul without sin …
He experienced it through the child's memory. He felt the water tickling his brow, then the oil tracing a cross over it, then his mother's kiss sealing it in place. He became lost in it.
The water became the oil.
The oil became the blessing.
The blessing became his mother's kiss.
His mother's kiss became Chloe's kiss.
Chloe's kiss became his Mother's kiss.
His Mother's kiss became his Father's kiss
which gave life to him, his Father's favorite angel,
and he looked into the Loving Eyes of his Father
and the water flowing from his own eyes
became the oil burning on his forehead
became the blessing
became Chloe's burning kiss
became his Mother's burning kiss
became his Father's burning kiss
became the Loving Eyes of his Father …
and it merged into one thing
and it was what he had lost.
He was aware he was crying, then he was laughing with the full throated Santa laugh, and the baby was gurgling and laughing with him.
A soul without sin …
He heard the stage manager directing the parents to stand on either side of the chair, putting the whole family into the photo.
A soul without sin …
Now the stage manager was taking flash photos. The flashes jabbed into his attention, but Lucifer could not look away from the child.
A soul without sin …
Graceful hands entered his fixed view. The mother gently reclaimed the child, taking it from his arms. He wanted to pull it back from her again, but then he remembered himself and forced himself out of the spiritual freefall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep your baby. It's just that …" He had no words to describe what he'd just felt.
She filled in his sentence. "It's just that there's one moment when you hold a child, and suddenly everything changes. It's the first time you realize, deep down, what a child is, what a child means. It's alright. I know the feeling. It's new for me too."
The man said to him, "So, you and Mrs. Claus … ?"
Lucifer admitted, "No, there is no Mrs. Claus, and it wouldn't matter anyway - I am not able."
"That's a shame," the man replied. "I know how that is. I wouldn't wish it on the Devil himself."
"Still, you could adopt," the woman suggested. "That's what we did. It's been a busy day. The adoption agency in the morning, baptism in the afternoon, and then on the way home it just suddenly occurred to us: Maybe if we visited Santa's Workshop they could take a picture of the whole family with Santa. Thank you for the opportunity. Our Christmas baby was beautiful in your arms. You even got him to laugh!"
As they started to walk away, the man added, "I sincerely hope that someday you find the happiness that we have today."
As they left, Lucifer's mind was still processing too much for him to manage a reply. His defenses were collapsed, his shell shattered. The baby's soul without sin shook his mind. Chloe Decker's kiss still burned on his brow. His angelic gift, usually used for manipulation, had healed a boy, even if temporarily, and that memory amazed him. He was amazed by himself. He was becoming part of something greater than himself that he could not contain.
A soul without sin
became the baby
became the children
became the mothers
became the kisses
became his tears
became his blood
became his pain
became his heart
and his heart became too full for a demon's heart
so his heart exploded.
His heart was open.
The bell by the front door rang.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur.
December 23, 7:00 PM
"Girly drinks. You're making girly drinks?" Mazikeen taunted Lucifer jokingly. Downstairs in Lux she was the bartender, but here, upstairs in the penthouse, he mixed his own drinks to his own taste. Which currently meant some violently yellow drink somewhere between a mimosa and liquid hellfire.
"No, it's mostly OJ and other fruit juices. And strawberry vodka."
"Girly drink."
"I need the fruit juices. I'm massively dehydrated. People have no idea how hot a Santa suit is! If they did, they'd make Yuletide sweating an Olympic sport." He held out the glass to her. "You want a glass?"
"You want a broken wrist?"
Mazikeen had surrendered the bar to Lux's human workers the second she saw him. Fortunately, before then, she'd had the Brittanys move "Santa" to a guest room then shooed them home (wherever that was). Lucifer was excited to the point of mania. He'd been talking a mile a minute since he arrived. Not that that was terribly unusual, but it was unusual unless he was terribly vengeful. His wrath was awesome and limitless. A single sentence spoken in rage by Lucifer could be life, death, thunder, and an opera merged into one moment of sound.
This, though, was worryingly different. He was worryingly different. He'd bounded into Lux like the man from It's a Wonderful Life (a horrible movie, except that she'd watched it with Trixie) and he hadn't calmed down since.
"Even with the sweating, and the shouting, and the peeing, and the beard pulling, I think I want to do it again tomorrow!"
"It was the baby, wasn't it?"
"It was all of them: Trixie, the boy trapped inside himself, the horse girl, the girl who loved the Grinch. Maybe not Charlotte's brats. But definitely the baby."
"You know, the world will get to all of them sooner or later," Mazikeen reminded him. "They'll all make the wrong decisions. You'll have to punish them, all those 'good little' children. As adults they'll deserve it."
He downed his drink in one swallow.
"Maze, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think it was Dad's will that I encountered all of them today."
"Lucifer …"
"No, really. You said it yourself, Fate seemed to be focusing on me. Look at the subject Fate kept bringing up: forces who think they are in opposition but they're really working together. 'Santa' said that he used to guide all of his squabbling teams to work toward the same goal. Amenadiel said that Dad and I were working together to save 'Santa', which I have to admit seems true. The religious display had St. Nick and Krampus, who are two sides of the same coin: one rewards good children and the other punishes bad children. And those things drove me forward like goads, drove me to the children, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do."
Maze stood up to face him directly.
"Our 'Santa' is named Klaus," she said. "Really. He woke up long enough for me to ask. And he told me, that's the only reason the temp agency gave him the job: Somebody thought it was funny. He wasn't a man to them, he was just a joke. Does that sound like your Father's will to you?"
Lucifer suddenly stopped in thought.
"Lucifer?"
"I think I understand. I really do. I think I see what Dad sees in them.
"The baby laughed with me. The girl could even love the sad and lonely Grinch. That's me. In real life I'm the Grinch.
"If she can love the Grinch, I think I can love her too."
Mazikeen's roundhouse kick launched him across the room.
His head hit the edge of the bar. His neck snapped forwards and broke, then it pulled itself back into place with a slow, bone-crunching sound. As it did, Mazikeen sped over to where he laid and drop-kicked him into the opposite wall. In a split second she was kneeling on his chest in her demonic form and punching him in the face with both fists.
"SNAP! OUT! OF! IT!
YOU! ARE! LU!-CI!-FER! MOR!-NING!-STAR!
THE! PRINCE! OF! HE-uugh!"
His eyes flipped open, flaming red, and a single punch to her collarbone sent her flying through the wall. Even as she landed in the next room, he grabbed her out of midair by her neck and held her dangling. He was in his demonic form now. This was no human crushing the life out of her. His eyes blazed with hellfire. His skin looked flayed and burned. His ears and teeth were pointed. His muscles were an animal's, and his fingers ended in talons. He was beautiful beyond words.
She didn't know if he would break her neck, kill her, or embrace her. No matter what he did, she was his and utterly deserved it. She had never felt so alive.
"Stop that," the master of Hell, her amazing master, growled ferally.
He set her down. Strangely, she felt disappointed.
"Thank you," he said to her and gave her a bow. "I needed you to remind me who I am. No matter what else happens to me, this is my nature: blood and pain. I owe you one. You know that those are not idle words."
"You are my master. I will protect you forever regardless of reward, in this world and the next, but I accept your thanks." She hugged him and he hugged back. His talons cut into her back and hers into his, making them one.
"You know what I want?" Mazikeen said, looking up at him. "My blood is roaring just from this little fight, but it's barely foreplay. You can't expect me to be satisfied by that. Let's go out to the desert, somewhere no-one will find us, and drop our human glamours. Let's wrestle. Let's brawl. No rules. With everything we've got. Really cut loose, not have to hold back. And when we're utterly exhausted, the winner will have their way with the loser. The snakes and scorpions will be our witnesses."
"Granted! Next new moon, so the darkness will hide us. I'm looking forward to it already."
They pulled away from each other. Mazikeen held one of his hands and examined it. "Wow. The Brittanys did a great job on your talons, even if they didn't know they were doing that. Good razor edge, and the point is perfect. I'll have to get them to do mine."
Lucifer looked at the chunks of wall everywhere. "Oh, my poor home! We'll need someone to repair this."
"Same guy as before?"
"Sure. He did a good job and was smart enough not to ask inconvenient questions. He even pretended to believe us about trying to train the rhino."
"A VIP pass tends to do that."
Then he noticed something odd out in the living room, laying on the floor by the bar, where Mazikeen had drop-kicked him. It was a crudely folded note. Maze's kick must have knocked it out of his breast pocket. Picking it up and unfolding it, he remembered how he'd gotten it.
The boy had been in his lap. "I want a truck."
"What type of truck? There are lots of types. Toy truck, ride'em truck, big pickup truck for your dad …"
"A truck!" the boy yelled. For some reason he was getting really upset, crying and shaking.
He pushed a crudely folded piece of paper into Lucifer's hand and ran away. Lucifer had put it into his breast pocket, like accepting a business card, not thinking about it as he did. He was much more concerned about what he'd done to upset the child.
Now he understood. The child's visit never had anything to do with a truck; that was just what he wanted his mother to hear. It was to give him the note.
Lucifer showed it to Mazikeen. It was a newspaper article. Above it was scrawled in a child's block print: "This man hurt my Mommy. He is a bad man. Please bring him a big big big big pile of coal." After reading the article, Lucifer knew the bad man had gotten away with it too.
For now …
Lucifer beamed at Mazikeen. "Finally, a gift I am uniquely enabled to give! Merry Christmas, Mazikeen! Merry bloody Christmas!"
Author's notes
My thanks to all the cast of Lucifer, including those whose characters I borrowed:
Tom Ellis as Lucifer Morningstar
Lauren German as Chloe Decker
Lesley-Ann Brandt as Mazikeen
Scarlett Estevez as Trixie Decker
D.B. Woodside as Amenadiel
Tricia Helfer as Charlotte Richards
Aimee Garcia as Ella Lopez
It's easy to write in the characters' voices when they're brought to life so indelibly by these actors.
Lucifer Morningstar is an ornery character. His opinions are not necessarily mine! If he gored your particular sacred cow, you have my apologies.
In this story I depicted several human conditions: alcoholism, post-traumatic flashbacks, and autism. If you suffer from any of these, I sincerely hope you feel that I used these respectfully and accurately, and I hope I've made your life a little easier by presenting these issues. Even though this story is a trifle, I didn't use them triflingly. I have experienced all three either directly or through a family member.
Finally, I really wanted for Lucifer, the actual TV show, to have a Christmas episode. That's how this story got started: as a discussion between friends of what the episode would include. C'mon, Fox … make it happen!