## Solomon POV The Deviled Egg was open on Christmas Eve for the few customers who wished to visit despite the howling blizzard outside. I was mostly caught up in the bar with the usual seasonal orders; while we are a devil establishment, it *is* good business to cater to human holidays. The blizzard outside just kept picking up; it looked like everyone was going to be here for a while. I turned to the kitchen to pick up some dishes from Emil, when an ethereal glow shone up above us. At first, I thought that the storm outside was magical in nature and that the magic was seeping into our diner, but soon it became clear that the light fell over only me and Emil. A little devilish imp appeared, insisting that he was a “mistlefoe,” and demanded that we kiss, fight, or else. I had to bite back a laugh \- what a comical choice of a pair\! But, given the devilish twist on this common human tradition, perhaps it is actually perfect. Since our last conversation about Thatch, I had been meaning to ask Emil if he would be willing to practice sparring with me — if I refused to use any infernal magic and relied only on the physical, I would hazard that Emil would win most matches given his training and height-weight advantage, and thus be a perfectly worthy practice opponent. I turned to my friend and asked him with mirth which he would prefer. To my surprise, he hemmed and hawed before expressing that, well, he really didn’t want to cause a scene in the diner, especially so soon after the diner had just undergone repairs after being nearly completely destroyed, so … hm. I hadn’t initially pinned Emil down as a man so apologetic and restrained that he would go to any lengths to avoid even the chance of collateral property damage, but I had offered him the choice in the first place, hadn’t I? It would be even stranger to disregard his decision now. Without giving either of us much chance to second-guess our choices, I yanked him in to kiss him. His lips were chapped and warm, and the scratch of his stubble was strange and foreign — though to be fair, altogether not too unpleasant. At a reasonable time that was likely to satisfy the imp, we pulled away and I patted his shoulder to clear out his ruffled collar — I think he said something to fill the space, although I didn’t quite catch it — and the imp cackled to himself as it flew away. I turned around and we were able to continue with our work. At some point later on, Leslie somehow provoked our new hound dog Cyrus’ guarding instinct and got himself cornered; of course, because he was busy fretting instead of getting him to heel or calm down, and triggering Cyrus’ prey drive like nothing else. I went over to assure Cyrus that there was absolutely nothing threatening about Leslie and gave him some well-deserved ruffles to help him relax. I find it entertaining that Aurelian has chosen to hire this hound when, as far as I can see, no one else in this diner knows how to properly train, or even conduct themselves around a fearsome hound such as this. What would they have done if I were not here, or if Cyrus had been just a little bit less trained? Imagining the total chaos that would have unfurled here in the diner is amusing, but for now, as usual, I shall continue taking on the duty of performing the *real* managing and disciplining around here and handle Cyrus as my informal responsibility. Finally, it was time for our Secret Santa gift exchange, which Egelon had mandated we participate in. Aurelian presented Egelon with a gift, which he was extremely moved by — I haven’t heard of or expected a Duke to be so into Christmas traditions, but Egelon is a rather odd fellow, so I suppose Aurelian had made a good call there. When Aurelian later flew up to grab the santa hat off of Emil’s head to start off the festivities, Emil said something to Aurelian that briefly struck me as the sort of thing someone more like Leslie would have said, which made me wonder if he had chosen not to fight under the mistlefoe earlier not to avoid fighting, but because he genuinely desired the alternative. But it was a silly line of thought — after all, Emil is prone to awkward turns of phrases — and I’m rather embarrassed I mention it here at all. The imp must have really put me in a particular mood. Jonny opened his gift first. It was a wallet chain and a cross pendant, from Cherry — I remember she had used Jonny’s cross earring to defeat the false Mawmere customer a few months ago. She explained that a wallet chain like this would suit a man far better than the earring she took from him initially; a thoughtful gift from Cherry\! Though it’s not clear to me that “looking like a man” is even what Jonny has been going for, in any case. Cherry’s gift was a goth outfit and two horror movie tickets, from Isha. I personally wouldn’t have given something so far from Cherry’s obvious aesthetic preferences, but I suppose teenagers are more prone to experimentation and outside influences anyhow. Soon it was Leslie’s turn to open his gifts from me. The first gift was a sparkly red dress with purple gloves — echoing that classic “Jessica Rabbit” dress — and tailored perfectly to his measurements. I saw on Halloween that he cherishes and still wears the other dresses I had gifted him of this style, and knew he would be well-suited to this particular costume given his similarly light-colored hair, swooping bangs, and a certain demeanor I’ve seen him pull off before. In the chaos, the second, smaller box clattered to the floor next to my feet. I helped hand it back to him, which he took sheepishly. In it, there was a dark forest-green fountain pen, complete with a golden nib and engravings. On the side, I had it customized with his name, followed by the date that he had first pledged himself to me, and then imbued it with some magic so that it could function as a contract magic tutorial for Leslie. He had always been a delicate sort of creature, which had its own uses and appeal when he was my direct secretary. But, if he was telling me the truth about his relation with Thatch, then his meekness was what had led Thatch here — and even today he was unable to do his job at the mere sight of a hound\! — so it was really for the good of the diner for Leslie to practice exercising a little authority of his own. And in the off-chance that he is the more backstabbing sort and was lying about Thatch, well then, I had built in plenty of reminders into the pen that it is merely a pale imitation of my own powers. Leslie flushed as he read the manuscript accompanying the pen, and as he did, I saw those telltale sparkles from the mistlefoe imp again. This thing again. I hadn’t caught it bothering anyone else in the diner \- was it only chasing me? In any case, it shone on us, and Leslie flushed an ever deeper red. I asked Leslie which of the options he would prefer, but this time I was even more sure of what the answer would be than before. Despite Isha urging at his ear to fight me, he leaned in and grabbed me to kiss me. The sheer enthusiasm startled me at first, but Leslie is a lovely kisser — no doubt honed by his years of practice — and his lips were soft and enjoyable. He murmured something shyly as I pulled away — he truly still admires me after all this time, doesn’t he? I had a hunch he did during his service to me, but I figured he was simply easily wowed by anyone who is his superior, and that perhaps it even now extends to the current wide-eyed idiot holding his contract — and I am frankly indifferent to fickle adoration given as freely and easily as that. But I suppose his deeper craving for my approval explains why he was so peeved when I scolded him about Thatch. Well then, now he knows how he might get my approval\! This really is the perfect sort of incentive for someone like Leslie to finally learn how to buck up. Leslie rushed out to grab himself a drink, and the next to open a gift was me. I have to admit that initially, I was rather skeptical about whatever my coworkers could give me. The gift addressed to me was in a black basket, lined with crimson tissue paper. Inside was a shiny obsidian ashtray — beautifully carved, and warm to the touch as I turned it over in my hand to inspect its inscriptions — a silver iridescent lighter, and two packs of Marlboro Golds, my usual smoke. This was obviously a gift from Aurelian, who had recently picked up the habit of smoking from me. I turned and thanked them. This was far more thoughtful than I had anticipated. They looked immensely pleased with themselves, fluttering their dark bat-like wings to come over to me and pick up the lighter. “And, this lighter can only be lit by you, or by those who trust you. Others will not be able to. As you can see, if I click this,” they clicked the lighter to no effect. “Nothing will happen—” a small flame flickered in, interrupting them. I briefly thought they were pranking me with a regular finicky lighter, but Aurelian looked just as surprised as me and immediately dropped the lighter back into the basket — and they are terribly awful at this sort of lying and acting. I picked the lighter up curiously, which was carved with inscriptions similar to the ashtray, and turned it on. A tall flame flared immediately. Fascinating. Aurelian received their gift — a mug from Emil, who surprisingly does know how to operate a phone, and Emil received a racecar lego set from Jonny, which he immediately began working on with Isha. After our gift exchanges, Jonny trotted outside to where Leslie was, and began providing us with a conversation so entertaining that the main room quieted down to overhear it — starting out with the fantastic opener line “Are you gay?” (That poor boy. Could he really not tell?), and following that up with “Nothing wrong with being gay — I’m an ally — but Solomon? Really?” I couldn’t help but grin. I suppose any good old-fashioned charisma and friendliness can look like some truly evil power of seduction when you have absolutely none of either. In any case, it was quite flattering, even if the assessment came from someone decidedly unhinged. While listening in, I rolled my new lighter between my fingers; it had a good, pleasant weight to it. Speaking of. I turned to Aurelian. “So. You trust me?” They looked peeved at my question, and after some hesitation, they turned up their nose and answered haughtily, “I trust my *understanding* of your character. You act predictably.” They shuffled around. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to take a smoke break myself.” …something about their lofty tone, toothlessly hostile attitude, and even their diminutive stature and new wings — all of the sudden, the resemblance to my former boss made itself all too obvious, and the realization had more force to it than I expected. Where was that fucking mistlefoe imp when I actually *need* a work-appropriate excuse to take a good swing at a supposed-superior and pin them to the ground? Impulsively, for some reason, I then offered to accompany Aurelian on their smoke break — but they bristled at the suggestion so I let it go. Frankly, it was probably just as well. I obviously needed to clear my mind of these lingering memories too. And while Aurelian’s behavior as a “manager” does evoke its fair share of frustrations, they did just gift me something lovely and thoughtful despite us not being the closest of work colleagues, probably out of some sort of angelic grace and habit. And in fact, reflecting back, the two of them really are quite different. For one, Aurelian’s speech is far more measured and cordial than his — another artefact of an angelic upbringing. For another, it would be a comical stretch to even attempt to call us friends like he and I had been. And, for whatever reason, Aurelian supposedly trusts me, whereas he … no longer does. So there was no need to draw any connection between the two at all. I was about to head to the bar to take my own smoke break when the basket began to glow, unfurling in a way reminiscent of Thatch’s strings. Was he here now? No, that couldn’t be it. I picked it up to make sure it wasn’t truly his strings, but the threads unwound and latched onto me, dragging me to the ground. I tried to pull myself away, and instead they dragged me to the ground further. Eventually I felt someone — Leslie\! — help wrench me away from the threads. I was glad that he was responding so well and so quickly to a nudge in the right direction, and thanked him for his help before he left to go back to the bar. I followed him out to find that my gift to Leslie had transformed as well — in his box, where I left the manuscript describing the pen, were files that I had never seen before. I picked one up — it was a file on Leslie, seemingly written by one of his former bosses, detailing his abilities as a seductress and his (lack of) family. There was then a woman’s voice in the wind calling Leslie a “Judas,” and he paled. Interesting; back in Las Vegas, I didn’t dig too deep into my subordinate’s life before meeting me, except to understand what his skills might be — I had far too little time to do so for all my subordinates, and besides, generally speaking, what is most important about an asset is that it is mine. But now may be a good time to start doing so. Amidst the panic, I began to realize that all of our gifts were changing in ways that would affect us personally. It was obviously some form of magic, and this sort was beginning to feel familiar, in a way I must have seen before but still couldn’t quite place …. until we finally woke up to find that this had all been one of Pris’ dreams, and that it was actually still a temperate day in November.