Book Two, Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Lucas glanced nervously at the clock. Two fifty five. Where were they?

The table was set. Just like the Native Americans had once used every part of the buffalo they hunted, so had the Dawsons made use of every spare inch of space their table had. The turkey glistened, looking so delicious that even Lucas was tempted to try a bite. There was also a honey glazed ham, a basket the size of a small canoe full of fresh homemade rolls, green bean casserole, steamed broccoli, baked beans, a shark cutie board, Tanraak’s stuffing, more than twenty ears of corn, and one of those weird jello salad things that always seemed to show up for Thanksgiving even though nobody ever ate it.

And then there were the potatoes. A pot full of mashed potatoes big enough for Lucas to bathe in—which he had seriously considered at more than one point—sat next to a metric ton of gravy. Scalloped potatoes covered in cheese. Baked potatoes still wrapped in foil, skillfully stacked in a pyramid, with a mound of butter, a vat of sour cream, and a haystack of shredded cheese standing ready to be applied in hedonistic amounts. All of this together was creating a visible cloud of steam that hovered just beneath the ceiling, filling the entire house with the smell of Charlie and Joyce’s amazing cooking.

And yet, they weren’t here.

“I’m sure they’ll be here on time,” Joyce said, noticing the way he kept looking at the clock. “They’re probably just running late at town hall.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, trying not to let the uncertainty show on his face.

How am I supposed to act natural when my friends are out fighting literal hellspawn? he wondered. Vixen said Mari Lwyd wouldn’t attack them during the day, so they should be safe. But if that’s true, then what’s taking them so long to get back?

He and Joyce were sitting in the living room, watching some ridiculous old movie about giant mutant turkeys rampaging across America on Thanksgiving day. Men in rubber turkey suits stomped across miniature cities, pecking people off the ground like corn kernels. It was horrible. Lucas loved it. Charlie sat in his recliner nearby, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. Tanraak was still in the kitchen, where he had insisted on making another three pies and a batch of cookies with ingredients that had appeared mysteriously out of nowhere.

“General!” cried a man in a lab coat. “You can’t drop a nuclear bomb on New York City!”

“Don’t tell me how to protect my country, you dirty peacenik! Turkantula won’t be destroying America on my watch!”

The scene changed to show the queen of the mutant turkeys—a two headed, eight legged, wire-controlled monstrosity—as it clumsily scaled the Empire State Building.

“BUH-KWAAAAAAAARK!” it roared its fury to the heavens.

A blonde lady wearing a thin, billowy dress and too much makeup swooned dramatically into the general’s arms.

“Can’t you at least wait until the parade is finished, General?” she pleaded. “I do so love the colorful balloons!”

“Ah doooo so love the cullah-ful balloons, gen-ruhhhl,” Joyce drawled, mimicking the actress’ southern accent, which Lucas thought was supposed to sound seductive. Apparently it was working, because the general promptly dropped the detonator remote and furiously began to make out with her.

“They remind her of herself,” Lucas said. “All full of hot air.”

“In some places more than others.”

Lucas looked at Joyce in shock, and then they both burst out laughing.

“Careful with those kinds of jokes!” Tanraak called from the kitchen. “Santa is watching, you know!”

“Watching, sure, but can he hear us?” Joyce chuckled.

“He can read lips,” Lucas and Tanraak said in perfect unison.

Joyce paused, looking at them in surprise. “Oh…okay, then.”

Lucas glanced at the clock again. It was now ten past three.

I’ll give them twenty more minutes, he thought, shifting anxiously in his seat. Then I’ll go out and look for—

DING DONNNNG!

Lucas sprang to his hooves, leaping over the sofas like a track star, and was at the door before Joyce had even gotten out of her seat. He threw the door open, and the knot his insides had been tying themselves into promptly came undone.

“What took you guys so long?” he asked as they filed inside. Lena and Moryta were sporting a couple of scrapes they hadn’t had when they’d left, and he looked at Justin in concern. “What happened?”

“We had a run in with you know who,” his friend muttered, too low for Joyce to hear. She was too busy waking her grandfather up from his nap to listen in anyway.

Lucas’ ears perked up, even though nobody could see them. “Really? During the day? What happened?”

“Later,” said Vixen.

“Hey, you folks made it!” Charlie said, joints popping as he got out of his chair.

“Yes,” Vixen replied, “sorry we’re late—”

“Ain’t nobody late as long as the food’s still hot!” He chuckled and led the way into the dining room. “Come on, let’s get some of it in our bellies!”

Everyone followed Charlie, taking whatever empty seat they got to first. Justin, of course, made a beeline for the chair next to Willow, blushing furiously when she looked over at him. Lucas took the seat on Justin’s other—

“Lucas, sit over here!”

Lucas looked across the table in surprise, and saw Joyce eagerly pointing toward the chair beside her.

“Uh, sure,” he said, walking around the table to sit next to her. Lena paused, obviously having been about to sit there herself, but then went to sit next to Justin, glaring at Lucas as if it were his fault nobody wanted to sit within staff’s reach of her.

Once everyone was seated, Lucas immediately reached for the mashed potatoes—but as soon as his hand rose above the table, Joyce grabbed it. Lucas was about to ask what was wrong, but then he noticed her bowing her head.

“Lord, we thank you for the time we have to spend together,” said Charlie.

Oh crap, Lucas thought, lowering his head and clenching his eyes shut before lightning could strike him. Almost stepped on the Big Man’s toes there.

“Let us remember what today is for, and not be distracted by the greed and materialism that the holidays have tried to instill in us,” Charlie went on. “May we count our blessin’s and always be grateful for the things we have. And most of all, help us to cherish the ones we love, and value every moment we get to spend with them. Bless us, bless Derby Mill, and bless America. Amen.”

“Amen!” Joyce echoed.

They all opened their eyes and looked at one another, silently encouraging everyone else to be the first to take some food in the vain attempt to keep from seeming rude. The moment stretched on, becoming more tense by the second, until…

Moryta hesitantly reached for a roll, and the table instantly descended into chaos. Twenty two hands scrabbled for what they wanted, scooping generous portions of mashed potatoes onto their plates, tearing hunks of meat from the turkey, and pouring waterfalls of gravy. Lucas watched in something that was half amusement, half horror, as Joyce and Lena both hooked the same slice of ham with their forks, and a brutal game of tug of war began. It ended when the hunk of pig flesh was torn down the middle with a savage rrrrrip!

Black Friday has nothing on Thanksgiving dinner! he thought before making a courageous—and dare he say, heroic—lunge for the salt.

Slowly, the turmoil died down, until everybody settled back in their seats with plates full of food, and the air was filled with the sound of chewing and scraping silverware. As far as Lucas could tell there hadn’t been any bloodshed. Willow had a red smear on her face, but he was pretty sure that was just cranberry sauce. Experience told him that war would be declared a second time when dessert was offered, but it would be a shorter and less barbaric battle since everyone would already be full and sleepy from dinner.

“This is incredible, Charlie,” Vixen said, swallowing a mouthful of stuffing.

“Actually, Tanner made that,” their host said, pointing his fork at the “boy” sitting across the table.

“Speaking of which,” Lucas shifted uneasily when the old doe’s eyes flicked toward him, “I hope Lucas wasn’t too much trouble while we were gone?”

“No, he was a huge help!” Joyce said, surprising everyone. She turned to him, smiling. “Thank you for leaving him with us. He’s really sweet.”

On the other side of the table, Lena choked on her food, and Joyce laughed. She seemed to do that just as much as her grandfather—and, Lucas realized, he sort of liked it when she did.

“Well, I’m glad they were able to make themselves useful.” Vixen turned to Lucas, and he shivered. She wasn’t exactly giving him a cold look, but he could read the intensity behind her eyes. “But we’re going to need you to come along for caroling tonight.”

He swallowed his mouthful of food, his appetite suddenly gone, and nodded.

Luckily, his appetite came back a moment later, and he snagged one of the baked potatoes from the potato pyramid. Pytatomid? The meal continued quietly for another few minutes. A few more attempts at polite conversation were made, only to be washed away in the endless river of food.

“Oh, I wanted to ask!” Joyce piped up again when Lucas was mopping the last few drops of gravy from his plate with a roll. “Grandpa Charlie, is it okay if Lucas helps us out tomorrow?”

Lucas perked up, his imminent food coma staved off for another minute.

Charlie shrugged. “I’ve got no complaints, but I’m not the one you need to ask, am I?”

“Miss Vic?” she asked, turning to the Elder, who was methodically munching her way across her fourth ear of corn.

“What is it you want him to help with?” she asked.

“Grandpa Charlie’s a mall Santa,” Joyce explained as quickly as she could. “He takes pictures with the kids, and we give all the money to charity. I dress up as an elf and run the register. You guys only go caroling during the evening, right? So during the day, Lucas would be free to help out…right?”

Vixen looked at her, then at Lucas. “I…suppose. Assuming he’s not too tired after tonight.”

Joyce whirled toward him. “Please, Lucas? It was so much fun having you over today. I know you’d have a blast doing this too! So, come on! Please?”

The thought of working what amounted to a second job after a full night of Mari Lwyd hunting sounded like pure torture to Lucas. He wanted to turn her down, say he was going to have to sleep till noon to recover after “caroling” all night, but…looking at how brightly her eyes shone when she talked about this, he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth.

Well, I guess she is fun to hang out with, he thought before saying, “Yeah, okay.”

“Yes!” Joyce pumped her fist in the air. “Another victory for puppy dog eyes!”

Lucas blinked. “Another what?”

“Nothing! We open at ten, so I’ll wake you up tomorrow morning.” She rose from the table before he could say anything else. “Now, who wants dessert?”

And so the dining room was plunged into chaos yet again.