Dear Satan… by Eve Langlais
“The mail, Your Eminence.”Polkie—short for Philokrates, a strange looking mix between a gremlin and Atlantean, wearing a proper all black suit to match his expression—placed a tarnished tray stacked with letters upon the Devil’s desk. Red, pink, some covered in drawings and stickers of line art holiday trees or fat snowmen and fatter Santas. Some had that damned glitter that got into everything.
Evil shit. It’s why the creator of it currently suffered. The devil should never sparkle. That was for vampires.
“Christmas letters. My favorite.” He rubbed his hands. While he publicly complained about Christmas—all that kindness and family time and goodwill blah blah puke—secretly he loved it.
The month of December, leading up to his nephew’s birthday, was a busy time, what with all the increased crime and the drama amongst adults. Divorces skyrocketed. Violence, too. So much sin it was hard to keep track at times.
Christmas also meant thousands upon thousands of letters being mailed by children to the North Pole and that fat bastard who didn’t even live there. So many letters and some addressed to Lucifer himself.
He read each and every one. He could predict the future for a few with their greedy demands. Some didn’t ask for toys but acts that guaranteed he’d see them eventually. Pretty much everyone past the baby stage ended up crossing the Styx.
Polkie set the tray down, the stack of mail so high that when it toppled, it covered Satan’s massive desk. So many letters. He wiggled his fingers over the pile, trying to choose the first one.
“You look like a hungry pervert,” remarked his wife.
Gaia sat knitting spider webs, fresh from the spinneret glands, while their two youngest played in the corner. Junior fired live rats at Lucifer’s giant, meat-eating Venus meat trap while Jujube giggled and clapped. Daddy’s little hellions. Wait until they saw what he’d got them for the most horribly amazing holiday of the year.
Hating Christmas led to him taking steps to ensure it got ruined. However, his efforts were nothing compared to what one Nikolas Claus accomplished. Turning it from Charlie’s—formerly known as Jesus—birthday into a thing with its own set of decorations, happiness, joy.
Lucifer fought back, introducing the greed aspect as people asked for more and more, turning it into a commercial event. A parody of what it used to be and a moneymaker that sent sin spinning off the charts. Christmas brought out the greedy bastards in his life.
“I am hungry to bask in the love of my fans.” He stroked the pile of letters.
“They’re not your fans. You stole Santa’s letters. Again,” Gaia stated without stopping her stitching. Her fingers flew, the needles clacking away, making who knew what. Didn’t matter. He’d tell her it was wonderful because not even the devil was dumb enough to piss off his wife. Why just last week he’d been reminded of this lesson when she asked him if she’d gotten fatter and he said he liked the new curves.
The Bahamas got their first deep freeze, which everyone blamed on climate change. Idiots. As if she cared about pollution. Gaia had a way of cleaning up her planet. But when it came to her temper, Lucifer was the one causing havoc with storms and temperature increases. He knew how to get her hot.
“It’s not stealing if they’re addressed to me,” he declared. He even had the fine print to prove his point.
“Fine, I’ll give you they say Satan, but it’s the wrong address. We don’t live in the North Pole.”
“Not true. I have a mailbox there.”
She stopped knitting. “You’re doing it on purpose to justify stealing those children’s wishes from Santa.”
“Don’t be blaming me for the fact they can’t spell.” He blamed the public education system. Today’s youth were woefully incapable of matching his wits. It wasn’t even any fun anymore making truly lopsided deals for human souls.
“You should do the right thing,” his wife declared. “Give them to Santa.”
The very idea. Lucifer choked and grabbed his chest. “You trying to kill me, wench?”
“Just saying it doesn’t have to always be about you.”
Was she new? “But it is all about me.”
Her gaze narrowed, and she injected a warning tone. “Luc.”
“What is it, my wench?”
“Those letters belong to children.”
“I am aware of that fact, and as you well know, I would never hurt a child.” He did have standards after all. That said, once they became adults, all bets were off.
“There are different kinds of hurt. Like destroying their belief in the real Santa.”
“Bah, hellbug,” he exclaimed, huffing smoke. “You’re nitpicking!”
“I better not find nits,” she said with a glare at her spinning spiders. who quivered and shot out a useless gob that made her sigh as she snapped the thread and tied it off. “Aren’t you busy enough without stealing Nick’s mail?”
Nick now, was it? As if he needed another reason to be stubborn. “Never too busy for my fans.” Lucifer didn’t get as many letters what with the postal service and their difficulties delivering to the first ring of Hell. Apparently, neither rain or snow didn’t extend to brimstone and hellfire. Pussies. The rare few that made it to his mailbox didn’t make it past his hellhounds.
“Fans?” She snorted.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Not really. I prefer actions to words. My fans show their love with tree plantings and luscious gardens. By protecting wetlands. And the carbon tax.”
Lucifer snorted. “The carbon tax is a scam created for yours truly.” He was quite proud of the way he’d managed to make the rich even richer.
“You are reprehensible.”
“I know.” He winked. “And yours are dicks.”
“They are not!” she huffed.
“I’ve seen how they show their appreciation. Ever increasing plastics in your ocean. The mowing down of rainforests. The smog.” Oops. Too late he shut his mouth, closed his eyes, and waited for her to smite him.
When the expected smiting didn’t occur, he opened one eye and saw her calmly knitting. “Um, not gonna argue?”
“As if I’d argue with you over something so silly.” She tittered.
She was pissed.
An itch began in his manly parts. A really bad itch that turned to burning.
“Ouch!” Lucifer hopped out of his seat, dug around inside his trousers, and ripped free the silken boxers she’d knitted for him. They smoked into ash as they dropped to the floor. He proffered the mightiest of glowers.
As usual, his wife didn’t appear impressed.
“You were saying?” was her smug reply.
“I’m saying it’s time I started going commando again. Let the boys roam free. Be the sexy demon you first met.” He swung his hips.
She rolled her eyes. “That move has never been, and never will be, sexy.”
“Worked on you.”
“Actually, your saving grace is that tongue. Who knew forked could make such a difference?” She winked.
Lucifer would have dropped to his knees to worship her if not for a knock at his door—and the damned children. Forget the olden days where he fucked her anywhere he could, even if there was an audience. Now he had to wait until they could be private. It did make the fast romps in closets and hidden spots more exciting.
“Are you going to answer that?” she asked as someone rapped again.
“Me?” he exclaimed. “The devil is not a servant. Opening doors is Polkie’s job.”
“Actually, no it’s not. We have a new butler.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Given Polkie is getting up there in millennia, I’ve hired him some help,” Gaia stated as if this was okay.
“An apprentice! I didn’t approve this.” He glowered.
“You told me to run the household as I see fit and to not bother you with annoying questions.”
“I meant those fucking paint chips, and you know it. One hundred shades of cream you made me look at.” And look as he might, he couldn’t see the differences as she went on and on and on about the varying hues.
“Forgive me for thinking you’d want a say in the décor for our bedroom.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the colors of the walls or the thread count in the sheets so long as you’re naked in bed with those delicious toes up around my ears.” His leer had dropped countless panties in his lifetime.
Gaia was the one woman who didn’t succumb. She came to him on her terms.
It was so damned sexy. And annoying.
“Your intent doesn’t count, only your words.” She snapped her fingers and suddenly wore reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She held up a sheet of paper. “Here’s the conversation in question. Would you like me to read it to you?”
“It’s as if you are trying to goad me into a fight.” Meaning she wanted sex. Makeup sex. The best kind after sweet, and then there was impromptu and languorous…
“According to the transcript—”
He interrupted. “Yada. Yada. Fine. I said it. You want to hire people. Go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you hurt Polkie’s feelings and shit starts going wrong.” There were few people he dared piss off. Polkie being one of them. That guy knew how to make his life miserable without getting caught doing it.
“I think the person gave up on knocking,” she stated, putting away her glasses. For now. He’d be asking her to wear those later, maybe with some heels and nothing else.
“Mustn’t have been important.” He waved a hand. “Tell me more about this new butler.”
“Well, he’s handsome for one.”
Before Lucifer could change that by adding a few barnacles and maybe another eye, a sudden whoosh of soot puffed from the hearth, causing a cloud in the room that had him closing his eyes for a second while he waved his hands to get rid of it. When Lucifer opened them, he discovered a visitor standing in his office.
An unwelcome one at that. His cousin.
The one and only Santa Claus.