Holiday Magick (40 page)

As I walked into court, it would not have taken a mind reader to know that Judge Rigdon was not amused by my appearance; being that I
am
a mind reader, however, his unhappiness was even more evident. I could also see that he was planning to take that lack of amusement out on my client, which was really not fair since she had not, in fact, done anything wrong except find her ex-husband vandalizing her car. She hadn't hit him over the head—he'd done that to himself when he knocked himself out on the open hood of the car. Her version of the “crime” kept running on repeat in her head, as it had every time we'd met, and I knew it almost as well as she did.

Even though the judge was planning to screw my client over, that was not the most annoying part of the whole situation. The most annoying part was his blatant dislike of me and my kind. I'm a single parent, just trying to raise my kid and contribute to society. I go to work, pay my taxes, take out the trash (including some humans who are barely better than trash), and all I get in return are continual reminders about how demons are evil. Movies, books, even television ads—it was a wonder no insurance company had made an ad that picked on us. Not yet, anyway. So here was a judge, blatantly planning to use my appearance to make an innocent woman pay for her deadbeat ex-husband's medical bills, and
I
was considered the monster? That got my hackles up (literally—they started bulging under my suit jacket before I got them under control), but also gave me more motivation to win the case.

To start, though, I had to win over Judge Rigdon. Like me or not, he did have to respect the law, and I had that on my side. Flashing him my biggest smile, I offered him the most sincere apology possible for my appearance. I explained the office costume party, and then made up a story about the party in my son's classroom that I would be attending that afternoon. He started thinking about his grandkids, so I wove them into the story, about how I was sure he would be visiting their classroom in costume if he had the chance, and I felt his resistance, to me and to my client, melting. He sighed and said, “Just don't let it happen again, counselor.”

I winked at him and promised, “Only on Halloween, Your Honor.” He rolled his eyes, pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, and then banged his gavel to get the hearing underway. Two hours later, having heard the ex-husband weave a tall tale about how his ex-wife had viciously come after him with a bat, I pulled out a few medical records, obliterated his story, and smiled with satisfaction as his case was thrown out. The fact that he was also arrested for perjury was just icing on the cake. My client cried as she hugged me, and she smelled so good that I had a hard time not taking a small taste—the adrenaline rush of winning a case makes me hungry, and I knew I should find a different snack, so I extricated myself and headed back to the office.

On the way back to the office, I stopped off for that snack at my favorite coffee house. The kid behind the counter was painted green, but seemed smart enough to get my coffee-and-muffin order right. As he made my drink, though, I saw what looked like a third arm reach out of his shirt to hold the cream pitcher while he stirred in the sugar. As he turned toward me, the extra limb disappeared into his shirt again, and the boy caught me staring at the spot where it had been. The panic in his eyes softened when I leaned over the counter and whispered, “Isn't it nice not to have to hide once in a while?” I reached for my drink and took a sip while he just stood there, dumbstruck, his mental shield crumbling to reveal the thoughts of a very young Hansgur demon.

When he had had a moment to recover, he gave me a shy smile and looked at the basket of baked goods on the counter. Instead of handing one of them to me, he reached under the counter with his third arm and pulled out a similar-looking packet that smelled even better than the ones on the counter. The sticker on the wrapper said “Today's Special” in an overly cute, cobweb-covered font. I looked from the sticker, to him, back to the sticker, and then back to him. He shrugged, and then apologized (in a loud voice that was obviously intended for his manager's ears), “Sorry, sir—corporate makes the stickers. We just bake and package the food. If you'd like to share your feedback, please fill out one of our comment cards and I'll be happy to forward it along to them. We always aim to ensure complete customer satisfaction.” His thoughts were pleading for a response, so I decided to play along.

“No need, um…Andrew,” I replied while glancing at his nametag. “I'm sure that whatever is inside the package will more than make up for the label. Happy Halloween.” He smiled and winked before turning to ensure that his manager had, indeed, heard our theatrics; when he turned back, I handed him my business card. In a quiet voice, I said, “We're part of the North American Demon Guild; we could help you make some good connections for when you decide to hang up your barista apron.” Andrew gave me another smile and nodded, before he turned to help the two witches who were behind me in line. It's always nice to meet new demons, and Andrew definitely seemed like he needed some help. I hoped we'd see him at a meeting.

Still thinking about the young demon, I headed back to the car to investigate “Today's Special.” “Special” was a good label for what turned out to be a sugary muffin filled with blood pudding.
Real
blood pudding, with a hint of nutmeg that took the metallic edge off the flavor. Definitely something to get again, next time I saw Andrew behind the counter.

Back at the office, the party was in full swing. The paralegals sucked up to me about my costume while I judged the office contest—a pudgy superhero, a male Snooki, two princesses, a police officer, and a chef all lost out to my secretary Kelly, who was dressed as a fairy. Her costume didn't include any stupid magic dust or Tinkerbell wings, so I gave her the prize based on getting the costume right. She didn't smell like a real fairy, and her thoughts were just mundane human thoughts, but I made a note to check her personnel file for any evidence that she was more than just an eager-to-please secretary. I didn't want to strike up a conversation about fae customs if she turned out to be a human who had read the right fantasy novels—that would be embarrassing.

After the contest, I picked up my son from school. He proceeded to tell me all about his school day—the compliments on his “costume,” the test he had taken (his grades were always excellent, although I assumed he was reading minds when he didn't know the answers), the cafeteria's lame attempt to serve “blood and guts” for lunch that were really just spaghetti and sauce. He kept talking all the way home and through dinner, and only stopped when I reminded him about going out trick-or-treating. His eyes got even bigger then, and he ran to his room to find his biggest backpack, sure that he was going to get tons of candy because of his “incredibly realistic” demon outfit. Personally, I have never developed a taste for candy—after all, I have other treats at my disposal.

While he finished getting ready, I set out our bowl of candy with a warning sign that stated, “One per person—anyone caught taking extra will be eaten.” The letters on the sign were written in what looked like fake blood, which I hoped would get the point across to the sugar-bombed children who came to our doorstep. Any real demons would be able to smell that the letters were written in real blood, but I trusted them to respect Halloween etiquette and take just one anyway. The humans might not have standards, but I couldn't believe any demons would take advantage of our one day off in the year.

As we headed out, my son ran ahead into the mass of tiny vampires, pixies, princesses, and superheroes, all surging forward to get their hands on as much candy as they could. I hung back, watching the crowd. It was hard to tell which ones were kids in costumes and which were real monsters enjoying their big day. I thought I saw an actual Sklor demon jump out of my rhododendrons, but it turned out to be a kid wearing an old terrycloth bathrobe. Behind him, though, was what could only be a true k'Naar, chasing a smaller k'Naar, who clutched a Star Wars pillowcase full of goodies.

My annoying neighbor, Neil, interrupted my demonwatching. From the smell of it, the travel mug he carried was filled with cheap beer, and he had some ketchup stains on his shirt that didn't look like they were part of a costume. He belched and then said, with his usual sneer, “Nice costume, neighbor—I think we're too old to play dress-up, but suit yourself. What are you supposed to be, anyway?” Sadly, his thoughts didn't show anything more intelligent—that truly was the best snide comment he could come up with.

“Your worst nightmare, Neil—you know, the one you had when you were six and wet the bed for a month afterwards.” I smiled, showing all three rows of my teeth. Neil stared at me in horror until I added, “You mentioned it during the Fourth of July fireworks—I think you'd had a few that night.” He kept staring, as his thoughts raced around trying to come up with a cover story for the bedwetting.

“But…but it's so real. Where did you get such a realistic costume?” Hooray—Neil came up with something rational to say. Only took him a few minutes.

“It's not a costume, Neil—I'm really a demon, and I really look this way. I ‘play dress-up' every other day of the year.” I let him think about that for a few seconds, then winked and followed my son on his quest for sugary goodness.

Unlike Neil, many of the other neighbors appreciated my costume and my son's, and they made a big deal of giving my son extra candy. I read a lot of fascinating thoughts from them; I wasn't usually in close enough contact with any of them to hear much, but I learned all about the local gossip on Halloween.

As I contemplated the third cheating spouse I'd encountered, my son ran over to hand me his overflowing backpack before he ran off with some friends, and I had a flashback to my own childhood. My own father had taken me trick-or-treating, and I'd done the same thing to him with my sack of candy. He'd gone to work one day a year without any costumes, and looked so relieved. Thinking back, I wondered what secrets he'd seen in our neighbors' heads. The demons' day off is an old tradition. How many parents had done exactly what I was doing tonight, being able to show who they truly were?

Then again, it wasn't
truly
who we were, since we had to pretend it was just a costume. We were still forced to hide who we were, and pretend we were really just people. Neil had freaked out when I joked about being a demon—just imagine how he'd react if he knew what I really was. Granted, the pitchforks and torches wouldn't do much to me other than ruin my house and my nice suits, but still…he'd try to kill me, and I'd have to kill him instead, and that would just be…messy. Better he just think I was really good with makeup. “Safer for him, too,” I said to no one in particular, looking around to see where my son had gone, and following in his wake.

By the end of the night, we had more than enough candy to rot his fangs for a few months, and I ended up carrying my little demon home and putting him to bed. He brushed his fangs, washed behind his ears and horns, and got into bed. That night, we said a special prayer of thanks to the Red Hairs who had created the demons' day off, and then I tucked him in and turned out his light. I finished some work, watched some television (some show that promised to tell the “truth” about demons, but really just rehashed the same stories Hollywood has gotten wrong for decades), and then got myself ready for bed. Before I turned out my light, however, I noticed my wig sitting on its stand, waiting for tomorrow. I sighed, and rolled over, already looking forward to next Halloween and my next day off.

All Souls' Day is a day devoted to remembering those who have passed on and praying for them in the hopes that they will move on to the afterlife and their sins of the past will be forgiven, releasing them from purgatory. While the Catholic All Souls' Day is mainly celebrated in Europe, there are similar holidays around the world, including some of the more widely known examples—Day of the Dead (Mexico), Bon Festival (Japan) and Ghost Festival (China). Each part of the world has its own form of celebration, on a variety of dates. While All Souls' Day is traditionally celebrated by attending Mass and praying for your departed loved ones, Day of the Dead features colorful costumes and festive celebrations, including visiting the graves of those who have died or leaving food offerings at your table or at household shrines.