Chapter 1: Joy to the World
Another year, another Christmas. Joy to the world, joy to the fishes and the deep blue sea, joy to you and me. While joy seeped through crack and crevice, sleigh bells and discount signs decked the halls as a healthy dose of mall Santa Clauses boisterously chortled before scads of children both naughty and nice. Snow capped the streets and shrubs, spreading enough December white to be glowing but not quite enough to be depressing. Lights of red and green showered the houses and skyscrapers, dotting the structures like how hunched over grandmas would dot gingerbread houses. Goodwill embraced the masses and the masses embraced each other, all of them happy for one reason or another.
And inside a particular mansion behind a particular window perched a particular blonde on a particular leather couch, chin resting on her palms and eyes as glossy as glass. Warmed by the opulent-looking fireplace behind her, she kept her vigil while dressed in only a white chemise and faded blue jeans, attire not totally suited to her tastes. Then again, Christmas didn’t totally suit her tastes either, but she still tried so very hard to muster the inconsequential, consumerism driven joy everyone in the mansion seemed enamored by.
She couldn’t.
Emma sighed. This time of year felt fake to her. Behind the smiles and well-wishes, people held their grudges and waited with bated breath to let them out once more. Enemies embraced, if only for a moment, and the falsity in their minds disenfranchised Emma. She hated falsities, and for a lack of a more original term, the “phoniness” (which, by the way, made Catcher in the Rye such a famous discourse on the American nation).
Christmas was phony, an artificial spike of goodness to justify and atone for a year’s worth of cruelty, apathy, and bitterness. Christmas set the stage for an avalanche of negative feelings afterwards, and being a telepath, Emma didn’t enjoy being inundated by negativity.
Christmas. What a Hallmark ravaged moment.
The door behind her opened and a mug of steaming hot, freshly mulled cider floated in. Behind the sugary drink walked Jean, herself nursing a cup. Emma made no acknowledgement of the redhead and remained unmoved, her eyes and mind stretching past the Westchester property and beyond.
The mug gently set itself by the blonde with a soft clank.
“How’s my favorite Scrooge doing this year?”
Emma sighed again. “Indifferent.”
A finger reached out and tucked an unruly strand of blonde hair behind Emma’s ear, taking extra care to flutter over the silky skin. “Still indifferent?” teased Jean.
Finally smiling, Emma turned to her lover and planted a playful kiss on her nose. “Not when I’m around you.”
“In that case, why don’t you come downstairs and help us decorate the tree?”
Playfulness turned into mild surprise. “Jean, you know I-”
“-hate Christmas.”
“No, I don’t hate Christmas,” Emma offered, “I... don’t see the point, that’s all.”
“There is no point, darling. No one really knows why we cut down a tree, put it in our home, and make it a fire hazard. No one knows why we only drink eggnog one month out of the year. No one knows why we do most of the things we do, but we still do them. Christmas, it’s just a time to be happy.”
“I am happy though. I’m always happy! I don’t need to take a week out of my year to be extra happy.”
With a smooth move and cat-like quickness, Emma pounced on Jean. The cider in Jean’s hands slipped out of her grasp but remained suspended midair. Jean yelped in delight to feel the leather couch on her back and Emma’s body pressed against hers.
“I’m happy as I can ever be,” whispered Emma, dreamy haze in her eyes, “Because of you.”
“Sweet-talker.”
They kissed long and hard. The tingling, minty lip gloss Jean used earlier sent shivers through Emma. Telekinetic strokes enunciated the caresses of their hands, multiplying the waves of pleasure. After what seemed like an eternity, Emma came up for air.
Meanwhile, Jean grinned. “Does this mean you’re coming downstairs to join us?”
Emma cued her oh-so-cute pout, the one only her lover saw. “We can have much more fun here.”
“Later,” Jean promised, extracting herself from her warm and tempting position. The cup of almost forgotten cider obediently followed her as she walked to the mirror to check her presentability. “Come with me and make an appearance downstairs. Everyone is waiting for you. You know it only feels like Christmas when all of us are together.”
In any good relationship, a person had to know when to push it and when to give in. “I’ll be down in a little while.”
“Emma...”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
In any good relationship, a person had to know when to push it and when to give in. Jean had once again cajoled Emma into joining in the Christmas revelry and pushed enough. Cheeks rosy red from the kiss and her step filled with holiday cheer, Jean turned around and found it time to escape intact with Emma’s agreement for-
“Oh Jean?”
She stopped at the door. “Yes dear?”
“Tonight,” the blonde drawled, her hands slowly and seductively straightening out the wrinkles on her clothes, “You’re mine tonight.”
Along with the comment came a shot of erotic mental images, of things Emma intended to do, of the passion she intended to fully release, of the unbridled cries dampened only by their telekinetic powers. If not for a steady grip on the doorframe, Jean would’ve stumbled over herself, her brain pleasurably--a little too pleasurably--responding to Emma’s brand of revenge.
“Tonight,” Jean whispered back as she took a moment to compose herself, “I look forward to it.”
Then she was gone, gone to rejoin the rest of the world.
As she touched her lips, Emma sighed again. Despite Jean’s best efforts, Christmas still seemed phony and there still didn’t seem to be a point. What made these coming days special anyway? Who made the decision to have green and red represent the holiday? How did any of this tie into Christianity, especially the parts about reindeers, lumps of coal, and after-Christmas sales? Well, whatever the case was, the greater population seemed to be enamored with it and assigned meaningful acts to an insignificant day. And should some of these meaningful acts on this insignificant day not be followed, hell would come to pass... like, for instance, the obligatory call to the parents.
Might as well get some of the perfunctory things over with before joining Jean.
Emma grabbed the phone from the coffee table next to the couch and dialed the seldom dialed number for the Frost residence in Massachusetts. Between her mental tirade on Christmas, the memory of Jean’s lips, and the laziness claiming her, Emma’s finger unknowingly slipped while dialing. The line connected with one ring, two rings, three rings, four rin-
“Hey,” said a nonchalant, disinterested female voice that most definitely didn’t belong to Emma’s mother, “You’ve reached the Goddess Assistance Agency. You get one wish, blah, blah, blah, just make it quick, I have to be at a Christmas party in fifteen minutes.”
Goddess... who? “Sorry, I have the wrong-”
“Listen blondie, I don’t have all night. I’m just filling in for my sister and the last thing I need to do is chase you down to give you your freakin’ wish. So what do you-”
Naturally, Emma hung up. Suffice to say, very little ever surprised Emma but this took the cake... and the cherry pie... and the entire buffet spread. Goddess Assistance Agency? What happened to her family home? Did it turn into a whore house? Was this some prankster’s idea of funny?
And how did that lady on the other end of line know she was blonde?
“Whoa, nice place you’ve got here.”
Now, as said before, very little ever surprised Emma, but when she saw a woman’s head poking through the TV, she flat out freaked. She reached into her telepathic powers but the mysterious silvery haired woman with milk chocolaty skin wasn’t readable. She was about to summon the Phoenix when the woman pulled herself out of the TV and very unthreateningly brushed a thin layer of dust off her somewhat archaic, somewhat revealing clothes.
“You really shouldn’t hang up on others,” the woman frowned, “It’s impolite.”
Despite the sudden intrusion and impulse to protect herself, Emma forced her heart to be calm. “Who are you?”
The woman snapped her fingers and a business card materialized on Emma’s lap. It simply read, “Urd, Norn of the Past. Yggdrasil System Administrator. Goddess Second Class, Limited.”
The skeptic in Emma rear it’s little, rebellious head. “You’re a goddess?”
“Is there a typo on my card or are you just illiterate?”
This couldn’t be right. Goddesses didn’t exist, especially Nordic goddesses. This “Urd” person had to be working for Sinister or Apocalypse or Lady Mastermind or Arcade or any of the other villains who wanted the X-Men dead. Then how come the Phoenix in her didn’t stir to life? How come no amount of telepathy penetrated this woman’s barriers? How come she sensed no danger, only disturbing truth?
While Emma wondered, Urd wandered, admiring (then consequently touching) the various knick knacks in the room, like the Swarovski crystal figurine she was tossing from hand to hand. “Made up your mind yet?”
Mid-flight, the figurine stopped. Urd let out a shrill shriek as it levitated up, up, up and settled on the tip top of a bookcase.
“I gave that to my significant other for her birthday,” Emma said icily, “I’ll be damned if you break it while playing catch with yourself.”
Urd’s momentary fright degenerated into a knowing look. “Ooooh, I see. You’re one of those special kinds of people.”
“Come again?”
“Special people,” Urd repeated, unnecessarily slower and more sarcastic, “Have weird powers and all that stuff. We’ve been trying to integrate you guys for a few centuries and it’s just starting to really take shape.”
“This is preposterous. This is insane. This is a load of s-”
In a flash, Urd was in Emma’s face. “Lady, just make your wish and we can both have a decent Christmas, ok?”
To her credit, the blonde reigned in her startled reaction like a pro. “And why should you even acknowledge Christmas? It’s a Christian holiday.”
“It’s not about religions!”
“Then what IS it about? I really wish you’d explain it me.”
Urd’s body suddenly lit up and bathed the room in a warming, white glow. Before she could even say, “No, wait, I didn’t mean that!” Emma felt herself get whisked away from this realm. It felt a lot like falling.
No, actually, it felt like getting screwed... in a bad sort of way.
***************
- To be continued...