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Marc sat on the edge of the bed in Jack’s old bedroom in abuela Yocasta’s house with his head in his hands. “This is a terrible idea.” His words were muffled but audible.
“Bebé, no. It’ll be fun!” Jack encouraged. Marc didn’t need to look up to know that his mate stood just in front of him wearing a god-awful wolf-themed holiday sweater, a Santa hat, and his trademark lunatic grin.
“Open the window,” Marc said through his hands. “I’m leaving. Flying back to our apartment in the city before it’s too late.”
Knuckles rapped lightly on the multiple coats of paint on the old wooden door. “Tío Jack? Tío Marc?” Gavin’s voice cracked on the last syllable. The preteen seemed to be growing an inch each week now. “Are you coming? Everyone’s waiting!”
Marc groaned as Steven encouraged, C’mon, bruv. The kids love you and you love them.
“Everyone will be staring,” Marc said quietly after sitting up and avoiding Jack’s gaze. “I’ll be the center of attention.” He looked up at his mate who loved the spotlight no matter what he was wearing. “That’s your thing. Get the Santa suit from abuelo. You usually wear it anyway.”
Jack’s brow furrowed; his patience was wearing thin. Nevertheless he called through the door, “We need a few minutes, peque. Would you ask abuela if you all can open something from your stockings?”
“Okay.” Light footsteps pattered away.
Jack sat next to Marc and took his hand. “I don’t get it. I thought you were okay with this.”
“That was last week,” Marc admitted. “Now there are thirty people downstairs and half of them are werewolves.”
Jack quirked a grin. “It’s far too late for you to be nervous about werewolves.”
Despite chuckling agreement, Marc looked away and sighed. His eyes wandered to the plaster wall on the opposite side of the small room. Like the door, it had multiple coats of paint, the most recent of which was red. Rectangles of deeper red marked where teenage Jack had pinned posters to the walls that he’d painted bright colors. Part of Marc felt the sight should be melancholy, yet it wasn’t. They were impressions of his mate’s past, much like the rambling old house reflected that of the entire Russell clan.
All Marc had to do was get in costume, bring the seven-pointed piñata downstairs, and hang it on the hook on the center rafter in the living room. Jack, abuela Yocasta, and abuelo Juan had encouraged him to stay in costume and oversee the children beating the Christmas piñata to a pulp, but said that part was optional. They knew how nervous he got despite having been welcomed into the family after an admittedly rocky start.
They sat quietly for a minute or so. Again Marc considered fleeing, but that was cowardly and would put his mate in an awkward position. He couldn’t do that to Jack.
Marc squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m gonna try, but I need your help.”
Jack’s thousand-watt smile lit the room. “Whatever you need.”
“I need you to hold my hand. At least initially otherwise I’ll have a panic attack with all of those eyes on me.”
Jack squeezed his hand and managed to smile harder. “You got it. And you got this. It’ll be fun once you get started, I promise.”
Marc kept his doubts to himself as he shook out his arms and legs. “All right.” He closed his eyes and summoned Khonshu’s white and gold ceremonial armor and cowled cloak. A rush of power accompanied the fabric winding around him. How ironic that Khonshu’s divine energy did nothing to dispel his nerves.
He opened his eyes to find Jack bouncing on his toes. “That’s so hot, bebé.”
Grinning, Marc dismissed the portion of the outfit covering his face. “You’ve seen me in this suit how many times now?”
“Not enough,” Jack purred as he stepped up and kissed him hard.
Between kisses Marc said, “You told me that I look like a mummy. That’s hot?”
“No,” Jack chuckled, keeping his forehead touching Marc’s. “I said you look like a GQ mummy. That’s hot.”
After indulging in one more kiss, Marc mustered enough willpower to step back. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Jack caught one of Marc’s linen-wrapped hands with his. “Bebé, you’re a Jew working for an Egyptian god and mated to a werewolf and about to celebrate Christmas. Neither of us makes much sense.”
“Well put,” Marc acknowledged with a chuckle.
Jack gestured at the door with his free hand.
After taking a deep breath and summoning the suit’s head wrappings and cowl, Marc opened the door and moved toward certain doom.
***
The cheerful din coming from the living room began quieting as Jack and Marc descended the stairs with Jack in the lead. Marc ought to be leading and preferably singing a Christmas carol, but it was all he could do to follow Jack with the bulky, pointy piñata in his free hand while keeping his voluminous cape from snagging on the garland twined around the handrail. If Jack could get his anxious mate into the living room and the piñata hung, he’d call it a win.
By the time they’d reached the archway opening into the colorfully decorated living room with a fire in the kiva fireplace, the thirty-odd humans and werewolves ages six months to 314 years were silent. The only sounds were “Noche de paz” coming from the stereo’s speakers, the fire crackling, and Marc’s racing heartbeat.
“You’re not Santa!” little Annabelle declared in Spanish.
Jack donned his brightest smile and elbowed Marc. They’d been over this; he was supposed to say that Santa had sent him from the North Pole!
A sound somewhere between a croak and a whimper came from his GQ mummy mate.
Abuela, who stood near the fireplace hand-in-hand with abuelo, sighed loudly. In Spanish she said, “That most definitely is not Santa, mija.” Jack felt Marc flinch from the force of her glare. Fortunately abuelo was whispering to his mate. She turned her displeased gaze to him instead.
Jack had opened his mouth to say something when Marc surprised him by speaking first. “‘ahmil lakum tahiaat min alqutb alshamalii!”
After doing a double take, a few of Marc’s words registered: I, from, and the. Jack had picked up a little Arabic in the time he and Marc been together.
“What?” a few of the kids asked.
Marc squeezed his hand. “Translate for me!” he whispered.
Jack managed to choke back a laugh. He whispered back, “I will if you tell me what you’re saying.”
Teresa, Yolanda, Carlos, and young Kayla—all werewolves—chuckled. Eavesdropping was often unintentional.
“Tell them that I’m a special elf from the North Pole,” Marc said through his linen wrappings, “and that I bring greetings from Santa.”
Jack smiled genuinely. This he could work with. In Spanish he said, “Everyone!” He released Marc’s hand to gesture at him. Surely he wouldn’t bolt now. “Santa couldn’t make it, so he sent a special elf, one of his favorites, to deliver the piñata!”
The children’s reactions were mixed: a few cheers, some uncertain murmuring, and two-year-old Liam crying. Sandra bounced on him on her lap while cooing comforting words.
One of the brightly colored piñata’s points snagged Marc’s cape as he elbowed Jack. “And I bring greetings from the North Pole.” he whispered.
Jack dutifully relayed, “He brings greetings from the North Pole!”
Several of the adults chuckled, and nearly everyone was grinning now.
“Tío Jack,” fourteen-year-old Saúl called from his seat on the floor beside his younger sister, “you speak elvish?” He and the older children undoubtedly knew the “special elf” was Marc and were playing along.
“alqalil,” Jack replied, then gave the translation: “A little.”
Chuckling, Marc strode into the room holding the piñata aloft. As he rattled off a string of Arabic, he motioned for the kids to come close. They did with a barrage of questions.
“What did you say?”
“Which reindeer brought you here?”
“Did you make the piñata?”
“I want to learn elvish!”
“Why are your eyes glowing?”
“What’s your name?”
“Can I wear your cape?”
“What kind of elf are you?”
On the third try Marc got the piñata’s loop on the rafter’s hook. Even with Marc’s hood and cloak obscuring his body language, Jack could see that his mate had relaxed considerably. He should be fine now. Jack was proud that he’d gone through with it.
“B— Jack!” Marc called in Spanish as four-year-old Maia tugged at his cape. “We need the blindfold and stick.”
A few of the kids surrounding him gasped. “You speak Spanish!”
“I do.”
Annabelle looked him straight in his glowing eyes. “You sound like a gringo.” A few of her cousins scolded her for being rude, so she added sheepishly, “A little.”
To Jack’s surprise, the linen around Marc’s eyes peeled away. His eyebrows and shape of his no longer glowing eyes conveyed amusement. “I am from the North Pole.”
Everyone laughed, and the gathering's happy din resumed.
Ultimately abuela fetched the stick and blindfold for the piñata. She, Jack, and noticeably pregnant Lissa managed the piñata-whacking since the special elf who called himself Amos sat cross-legged on the floor with at least two kids on his lap and another under his cloak at any given time.
All but the very youngest figured out that Amos was Marc and played along with the act. Over the course of the evening Amos explained that the symbols on his outfit that looked a lot like hieroglyphs to the untrained eye actually were the script of his elf tribe, which he declined to name. Maia pointed out that the curved gold piece on his chest looked like a crescent moon and declared him a Moon Elf. Amos shrugged, and that was that.
Jack laughed so hard that he retreated to the kitchen to settle down and catch his breath. As he helped himself to a glass of apple cider Jack heard footsteps approach. “Amos, huh?” Lissa chuckled.
He turned and offered the glass of cider to his sister. She shook her head, so Jack sipped at it. “That’s all him. Marc says he can’t do improv, but he’s wrong.”
Lissa pulled a chair out from the long, well-worn table and lowered herself onto it. Resting one hand on her belly, she said, “He’s come a long way.”
“He has,” Jack agreed with a fond smile. He still didn’t know everything Marc had been through. What his mate had shared was bad enough. Jack was proud of Marc, Steven, and Jake. Healing was hard work, and they’d accomplished much and helped a lot of people along the way.
He nodded at his sister’s baby bump. “How many weeks? Twenty-four?”
“Twenty-six,” Lissa replied. “Adam and I can’t decide if we’re more excited or scared some days.”
Jack set his glass down to stand beside his sister and give her a side hug. “You’ll do great, both of you.”
“I know,” Lissa grinned with faux smugness.
A crack carried from the living room followed by cheers and the sound of candy and fruit spilling on the floor. Jack and Lissa turned in that direction as Marc cheered, “Nice job, Gavin!”
Jack was tempted to run back in there. He’d been so busy kid wrangling that he hadn’t recorded much of the festivities with his phone.
“He’d do great too, you know,” Lissa said quietly.
Jack felt his sister’s eyes on him, but looked toward the living room anyway. He couldn’t see his mate, but imagined him scooping up the piñata’s sweets—possibly while slipping on his cape—and giving them to the kids. “You think?”
“Yeah.” She grinned at him with her heart in her eyes.
Jack grinned back. “What about me?”
“You too.”
“Aww,” Jack said and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, hermana."
"Have you thought about it?" Lissa asked.
Jack's grin widened as he nodded.
"What about Marc?"
"I don't know," Jack replied. "We haven't discussed it."
Lissa said softly, "Maybe you should."
Children's giggles and Marc's laughter carried from the other room. Jack said, "I think you're right."
His sister smiled broadly, then smirked. "Well, yeah. I'm always right."
"Whatever," Jack drawled as he rolled his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Ms. Know-It-All."
She slipped one arm around his waist and hugged him. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”