Creation Mage 6 by Dante King (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📗

defy the cold, he also wore a long coat of rich blue velvet, and to combat the wind, he had a pair of flying goggles over his eyes.

Somehow, flying in the face of all logic, the man looked like a fucking movie star.

“All aboard!” the Headmaster bellowed. “As Mr. Mauler has so astutely observed, these beasts are nothing to be afraid of.”

“Reginald?” Igor said, walking boldly toward the sleigh, picking up one of his eight suitcases and hefting it into the back where Mortimer was standing waiting to receive it.

“Yes, cousin,” Headmaster Chaosbane said.

“Where in the bloody hell did you get this sleigh from?” Igor asked, adroitly avoiding a sideways kick from one of the enormous bulls by bending over to pick up another bag.

“Use that desiccated lump between your ears, my dear man,” Reginald said amiably. “I borrowed it from the Klaus family.”

I had just vanished the black and the white staffs into nothingness again and had picked up my leather traveling bag when the insanity of these words permeated my brain.

“The Klaus family?” I said dubiously. “As in the Klaus family?”

Reginald Chaosbane smiled mildly down at me from his perch on the sleigh. “That’s right, Mr. Mauler. Are you acquainted with the Klauses?”

Behind him, at the rear of the flying vehicle—if that was the right word—I caught a glimpse of the bubblegum pink bunches of Leah Chaosbane. She appeared to be sitting quite unconcernedly on what passed for a tailgate, swinging her legs and smoking one of her black clove-smelling cigarettes.

I looked around to see whether someone was going to give the game away and put an end to this joke. When no one did, I said, “You can’t mean the actual Klauses, you know? Like Santa and stuff.”

Reginald snapped his fingers. “You do know them. How extraordinary. Yes, well, the Klaus family is actually distantly—very remotely, in fact—related to the Chaosbane family. I actually borrowed this sleigh from Kris Kringle themselves.”

“Kris Kringle themselves?” I asked.

Reginald looked from Igor to Mort, as if one of the two men would be able to explain to him what the fuck I was talking about, but the two cousins simply carried on loading Igor’s luggage into the back of the sleigh.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Mr. Mauler,” the Headmaster said.

With the fluidity of a snake, Leah flowed to her feet and turned easily on her heel.

“I think I can field this one, cousin,” she said, touching Reginald on the shoulder and coming to stand next to him. With marvelous balance, she slipped her long legs over the front railing of the sleigh and sat there.

“I think I can unravel this whole conundrum for you, cherrybutt,” she said to me. “Father Christmas, or Santa Klaus if you will, isn’t one man as I know your Earthling folklore says. Kris Kringle is, in actual bonafide fact, a whole clan of world-hopping folks who use Chaos Magic to jump like festive fleas from one world to another delivering presents.”

Leah blew a smoke ring that twisted itself into a figure eight, which slowly revolved until it was lying sideways and resembled a lemniscate.

“They’ve become very adept at stretching the rules of space and time, honey bunny,” Leah said as the infinity symbol faded.

My attempt to answer this very matter-of-fact explanation was drowned out by the arrival of Idman Thunderstone, Mallory Entwistle, and Barry Chillgrave, who came tramping out of the house. Each of the trio carried a traveling bag and was dressed for the bitter weather. Even Barry carried a ghostly green gladstone bag and was wrapped in the poltergeist version of an oilskin cloak. It looked like they were all coming along too.

“Barry,” I said, deciding to forget about the whole Santa Klaus being a franchised family business for the time being and focus on something that made a little more sense, “what’s with the cloak?”

“What d’ye mean, sir?” Barry Chillgrave asked me.

“I mean, you’re dead, man. What do you need a cloak for?”

Barry fiddled with the handle of his gladstone. “Just matchin’ the mood, you know, sir,” he mumbled.

“Fair enough,” I said. “You’re looking pretty sharp, pal.”

“Thank ye, sir,” said the founding member of Cecilia’s family.

“Can I ask what you’re planning on doing with the Blade Sisters, who are currently lodging in our dungeon, while we’re all away, Barry?” I asked.

“Ah, don’t you worry about them, sir,” the poltergeist told me confidently. “They’ll be just fine for a little while.”

“You’re sure?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Idman Thunderstone said with a thin-lipped smile. “Barry has really spruced up the dungeon.”

I detected more than a bit of sarcasm in Idman’s tone, but could not be bothered to pursue it.

”Idman is right, sir,” Barry said, nodding vigorously. Janet’s dad’s irony had, as usual, gone right over his head. “Those blighters won’t be able to escape, and they might even enjoy themselves, sir! I’ve left them all kinds of fun little bits and bobs in there, sir, to keep ‘em entertained like.”

“What about food?” I asked.

“I’ve got a rather tricky little enchantment that’ll serve ‘em up a steamin’ portion of boiled spuds and corned beef for every meal, sir!” Barry said enthusiastically. “A whole month’s worth, should we be delayed for any reason.”

“Just boiled potatoes and corned beef?” I asked, wincing at the very thought of the effect that that diet would have on the air of the dungeon.

Barry clapped a ghostly hand to his head. “Argh, no! Not just boiled spuds and corned beef, sir. I was forgetting! Every Sunday they get some lovely boiled brussels sprouts too.”

I said nothing. It sounded rough, but I was not exactly in the mood to give the Blade Sisters too lavish a lifestyle after they had so recently tried to kill me.

“Now,” Barry said, “time to lock the old place up.”