“I know.” He didn’t say it shyly or back away. He didn’t bend the night into a story that suited him or shove the ledger between us like a shield. There was no claim that our fight was my fault. I hadn’t earned it. Lucifer named what he did and left it there.
Judas save me.
“And the deal? Has it still changed?”
His jaw clenched again, but he did not lie. “Yes.”
I considered him for a long moment, and then nodded to the polar bear and asked abruptly, “Do you like it?”
The corner of his mouth quirked ever-so slightly. “Your poor choice in decorum?”
“My fine taste in holiday cheer? Yes. In fact,” I said and stepped around him to drag the final tote over to his feet. “You’re just in time to help me decorate the tree.”
Lucifer eyed the wooden fluff of perfection standing proudly before the only window in my living room just as New Kids on the Block rolled in with White Christmas.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed. “Tell daddy I said thank you! He must have known this is my favorite song to listen to while I hang the stockings.”
“I highly doubt He cares enough to ministrate your holiday decorating ceremony,” Lucifer quipped.
I threw a ‘are you fucking kidding me right now’ face over my shoulder and said, “Seriously, Luci, don’t kill my vibe. ‘Tis the season, bitch. Get festive or get lost.”
I tried not to track his movements through my apartment as I pulled the start of my garland from its box. It was impossible, however. As nonchalantly as I could manage, I wound the garland around the tree. Lucifer surprised me again when I found him waiting on the other side to grab the garland, drape it on his side, and hand it back off to me.
Lucifer Morningstar was helping me decorate my Christmas tree.
“What is this made of?” He questioned with a slight wrinkle on his nose. “This isn’t any sort of ridiculously gaudy human tinsel I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, this little ole thing?” I held it up for emphasis and then dropped the bomb. “Just a long string of intestines I worked really hard to harvest, dry, and sew together. Sooo, it is technically a gaudy human tinsel.”
I could tell by his pause that I’d caught him off guard.
Dany: one. Lucifer: zero.
I grinned and hoped it was as evil as it felt.
“I never pictured you as the domesticated type,” he murmured, the sound so quiet it took a minute for his words to register in my brain.
“Erm, which part of hanging intestines on an evergreen tree surrounded by taxidermied rodents wearing jingle bells screams ‘domesticated’ to you? Unhinged or psychotic, maybe, but definitely not domesticated.”
We’d wrapped the garland in comradery far enough around that it was getting to the point where I couldn’t reach it anymore.
“Hold this for a second,” I said and draped the end of the shriveled intestine over his shoulder.
Lucifer’s lip twisted into a small sneer as he asked, “Where are you going?”
“To get a stool,” I answered matter-of-factly with a slight edge of ‘duh, dumbass’. “I can’t reach the top.”
I ignored his sigh and opened my hall closet door with a matching huff of irritation. The handle of a rusty rake fell out, narrowly missing my head, followed by an old wooden pillory, a bloody hockey stick, and a few femur bones I kept for good luck.
One day, probably not very soon, I’d clean the fucking catch-all closet out. I made a mental note to add it to future Dany’s list of eternal problems.
“Aha! There you are,” I grinned, leaning further into the closest past coats and leather body suits to grab the old stool I’d picked up by the dumpster when I moved in.
I pushed against the wall, straightening to stand and let out a yelp when my head thumped against the wire shelving above me, cursing as I ducked back and rubbed the lump that was already swelling. The looming rattle from above was the only warning I got before a long forgotten box tipped over and, from it, fell a one thousand pound snow globe.
The stone base clocked me right in the temple. My vision blurred for a second, pain radiating all the way down into my teeth as I pressed my hand against the second head wound.
“Devil dammit!” I yelled, frustration mounting and threatening to explode into the sociopathic rage that usually resulted in somebody’s blood on my hands. My small tantrum felt warranted, especially the wood splintering slam of the closet door.
