Book Two, Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

One thing that Lucas had always appreciated about becoming a reindeer was how instantaneous it had been. He had watched enough cartoons as a kid to know that these kinds of transformations tend to be excruciatingly painful, with the victim clutching their head and screaming bloody murder while their body stretched and convulsed in nightmarish ways.

Luckily for him, that wasn’t the case for anyone who had been given the Opportunity. Once they were sucked through their computer screen—or in Lucas’ case, his phone—they were immediately and painlessly turned into a reindeer. Maybe even a little too painlessly, he reflected, thinking back to when Justin had come through the portal a year ago. It wasn’t until he had looked at his reflection that he’d realized what had happened. And, thinking back even farther, he had been much the same way. The shock of finding out that he had fur and antlers had nearly been enough to send him bolting out into the woods like the startled deer he suddenly was.

Lucas found himself thinking about this because it had occurred to him a few minutes ago that in any other situation, growing antlers would probably have been painful enough to drive him loopy bonkers insane. Just the thought of nearly two feet of solid bone sprouting from his head, cracking open his skull and ripping apart his flesh like a pair of trees whose seeds had been planted in his brain, made him cringe in imagined agony.

But even that wouldn’t have compared to the headache he had now.

“Kill meeeee,” he begged as he robotically chopped the potatoes.

“No can do, buckaroo,” Charlie said. He stood nearby, mixing the dough for a batch of homemade dinner rolls. “I promised your boss that I’d keep you workin’ until they all got home. Besides, nothing puts people off their appetite like sharin’ the table with a dead body.”

Somewhere beneath the wall of thorns that was wrapped around his brain, those words sparked something in Lucas’ memory. A dead body…yes, that’s what the others had gone to check out, wasn’t it? Lewd Mary was in town doing lewd things, and it was up to them to stop—

Ouch, ouch, owie! Think muscle hurt now! No more, please!

Standing next to the oven, Charlie was now dolloping globs of dough onto a tray, the oven waiting hot and ready. He was humming a Christmas carol under his breath. Which one, Lucas wasn’t sure. It seemed to melt from one to another without rhyme or reason as the urge took him. Joyce was standing on the other end of the kitchen, mixing a bowl full of dark orange goop that Lucas guessed was going to go into the pie crust sitting nearby. Tanraak was chopping bread, onions, and celery in a flurry of motion that only an elf could achieve, combining them all in a glass casserole dish to make what he assured everyone would be the best stuffing they had ever tasted.

And of course, a massive turkey was patiently waiting its turn to go into the oven, glistening with a homemade glaze that Charlie had whipped up and applied in less than twenty minutes. Lucas knew he wouldn’t be eating it—none of the reindeer would—but the sight reminded him of when he had been human. Growing up, his family had been too poor to afford a massive meal like the one the Dawsons were making, but they had always managed to save enough money to buy a respectable turkey. Truth be told, Lucas had never cared for turkey. Too dry and not enough flavor. But what it had meant to everyone else gathered around that table had always made it seem like the most delicious thing in the world.

Sighing nostalgically, Lucas deposited another potato into the big metal pot to be boiled and mashed. The hollow bell-like gonnng it produced made him flinch, and he resisted the urge to punch it. Barely. The way it was looking at him, it was definitely asking for it. All high and mighty, smug and…

Wait, he thought dully. That’s my reflection.

That changed nothing, Lucas decided. If anyone deserved to be punched, it was Lucas. That would serve Lucas right for putting Lucas in this condition to begin with. Yes, Lucas would teach Lucas to treat Lucas with respect, and then Lucas would…

Owwww.

The sound of running water caught his ear, and he glanced toward the sink to see Joyce filling a glass.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “Drink this.”

“Why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Is it drugged? Are you trying to put me to sleep so you can use my head as a doorstop again?”

Charlie laughed at that, though Lucas wasn’t sure why. His nose still smarted a little from Joyce’s so-called “greeting” yesterday.

“Because you drank eight energy drinks and you look like you’re coming down hard,” she said with a smirk. “You need to rehydrate.”

“I was going to wait another couple hours,” Tanraak said, dousing his stuffing in chicken broth. “Trust me, he won’t learn his lesson—”

Lucas grabbed one of the unpeeled potatoes and slung it at his Rider, hitting him right in the back of his head.

“—if you don’t make him suffer for-ow!”

“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass and gulping down its contents. The effects were almost immediate. The electrified vice that had been clamped around his brain eased up a little, and he swore he could feel the water coursing across it, putting out the little fires of pain one by one.

“Better?” Joyce asked.

He nodded. “Better.”

“Then you’d probably better get back to the potatoes,” she said, giggling a little. “You’ve only got about a hundred left!”

Lucas felt his spirits drop a little when he glanced back at the pot and realized she was right. There weren’t actually a hundred potatoes waiting to be peeled and chopped, but he could tell there were enough that the next two or three hours of his life were going to be dominated by potatoes, potatoes, potatoes.

I guess there are worse things to have my life revolve around, he thought, picking up his peeler and getting back to work. He peeled in silence for a few minutes, then chopped the raw vegetable into thin, easily mashed slices, which he dumped into the pot. How long had he been chopping? A couple of hours and a dozen potatoes, at least. And yet the fruits of his labor barely covered the bottom of the vast, abyssal pot.

His stomach rumbled. He had turned down the nutrient bar Vixen had offered him, foolishly believing that his eight energy drinks would carry him through the day. He glanced at the clock. A little past ten. Five hours until dinner. His stomach growled its displeasure. Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, he quickly reached back into the pot, snagged one of the cold, pale discs, and—

“You really like potatoes, don’t you?” Joyce asked.

Lucas’ heart shot up into his throat, but he somehow managed to keep his voice level as he nonchalantly dropped the potato slice back into the pot and started peeling another. “Who doesn’t? There’s so many different ways to cook them, and they all taste great. Hash browns, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, french fries—they’re like a one vegetable buffet!”

“Sure, but you have to really, really love them to eat them raw!”

“I’m…not sure why you’d bring that up,” Lucas said.

“He’ll never admit that you caught him,” Tanraak said, rolling his eyes.

Charlie burst out laughing again. He seemed to do that a lot—not that Lucas was complaining. In his opinion, that was a habit more people could stand to have.

Blushing beneath his fur—Oh, nutcrackers! I don’t have fur to cover it up!—Lucas reached for another potato, only for Joyce to grab it before he could.

“Move over,” she said with a smile. “I’m done with the pie, so how about I peel and you slice?”

Lucas blinked in surprise. “I, uh…sure? Thanks.”

She set to work, removing the potato’s peel in quick, confident strokes. As they fell into the trash can, she gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“I won’t tell Grandpa Charlie if you want to sneak a couple slices,” she whispered.

“Gee, I sure wish I knew what you two were sayin’ over there,” Charlie said, staring studiously at the turkey. “But his stomach is growlin’ so loud it’s drownin’ everythin’ out!”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the sound of chopping, and the parade announcers dramatically introducing every balloon that drifted past the TV screen in the next room.

“Oh my goodness, Roderick, is that who I think it is?”

“It sure is, Glenda! Wobblebottom from the hit children’s cartoon Our Tiny Bovines has come out to wish all the children of the world a very happy Moosgiving! And who’s that coming up behind her?”

“That’s Henry Rider, the blue haired heroine of the book series Henry Rider: Clown Hunter! I’m not entirely sure what she’s doing here, Roderick. I can only assume some talentless hack decided to put her in the parade as a tasteless marketing ploy.”

“I’m sure everyone in America joins us in hoping that disgusting sellout gets exactly what he deserves, Glenda. But look at who’s coming up next! It’s everybody’s favorite crime fighting sanitary worker, Janitor Jim!”

“Incredible, Roderick! Is it true that Janitor Jim has just released a new version of his incredibly popular—and reasonably priced—action figure that includes his PP-Equipment Armor Set and spinning Megasonic Battlebroom, available exclusively at Willy-Marts around the country this Black Friday?”

“It sure is, Glenda! That’s sure to be at the top of every little boy’s Christmas list—and at the top of every parent’s Black Friday list!”

“Today’s parade coverage is brought to you by Willy-Mart! Our employees’ pain is your gain! Doors open for Black Friday shopping at three o’clock tomorrow morning!”

“So,” Joyce said, handing Lucas a potato, “what’s your favorite kind of potato?”

“Really?” Lucas asked sarcastically. He took the potato and began to chop it. “You might as well ask me which of my children I love the most.”

Joyce laughed at that, and Lucas looked at her in surprise. At first he thought she was just humoring him, but there was no mistaking the genuine joy on her face, or the gleam in her eyes.

Green eyes. Green as a Christmas wreath, he realized.

“So, you’re saying you don’t have a favorite?” she asked once she’d caught her breath.

“Oh, I didn’t say that! Baked potatoes are unquestionably the best way to cook a potato. Hot and steaming, with butter, sour cream, and cheese piled on top? I’m convinced that when I die, heaven will just turn out to be a galaxy-sized baked potato. Just don’t tell the others that’s how I feel.”

“The other potatoes?” Joyce giggled, glancing at the pile they still had left to peel. “I think they might have overheard us.”

“That’s fine,” said Lucas. “Because they’re never leaving this house alive!”

Laughing maniacally, he chopped the rest of the potato into haphazard chunks.

“I’ve always preferred tater tots,” Joyce said musingly as the crazed killing spree continued.

“A worthy choice,” Lucas said, pausing to catch his breath. “As long as you put cheese on them.”

“Cheese? On tater tots? Gross! Save that for the french fries!”

Lucas pointed a potato at her. “You’re dead to me now, just so you know.”

“And now, Roderick, it’s time for one of my favorite parts of the parade,” said the announcer. “A performance from renowned pop group Denzel and the Denzelinas!”

“Oh my gosh, I love them!” Joyce exclaimed.

Lucas watched the TV as a geeky, pimple-faced young man in too-tight pants took the stage with a gaggle of beautiful women who seemed to be doing their best not to touch, or even look at, him. A song began to play, and the crowd gathered in that cold New York morning went wild.

“Baby, when you look that waaaaay,” Joyce began to sing, swaying her hips in what she obviously thought was in time with the music. “You know that I just can’t stay awaaaaay!”

One of the women began to sing—and Joyce spun around in surprise when Lucas sang right along with her.

“Baby, baby, read my miiiiind for me!” he sang, using the potato as a microphone. “Wherever I go, you’ll always fiiiiiiind me!”

They began to sing together. “Our love is like a restraining order! They push us apart, but it just brings us together! We’ll show them all that love knows no borders! Judges can die, but our love is forever!”

The song continued, but Lucas and Joyce just stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

“That song,” Joyce said, having to lean against the wall to keep from falling over, is so creepy!”

“What do you want to bet he’s singing from experience?” Lucas asked.

They laughed for another minute, until tears were running down their faces, before Joyce finally got herself under control and headed back to the pile of potatoes.

“Come on, Harry Styles,” she chuckled. “We need to get this finished.”

“Whatever you say, Beyonce.” Grinning, Lucas began to chop his impromptu microphone.

Still standing by the oven, Grandpa Charlie glanced over his shoulder at them and smiled, his eyes twinkling knowingly.