A Bewitching Christmas

"Where have you been, Thomas?" Madison's voice crackled with fury, her eyes flashing in the dim light of the half-decorated Christmas tree.

I stared at her, my mind racing. I couldn't make sense of the question. Where did she think I'd been? I bought myself time to think by pushing the door closed with my hip, hugging the bag of groceries tightly.

Our apartment was in disarray. Colorful decorations hung from the walls. Boxes of streamers and baubles lay on the floor. Far too many for an apartment the size of our shoe box. A partially decorated tree too tall for the low ceiling stood in the corner, its tip crooked. Something sweet was baking in the kitchen.

None of it was me. I hadn't decorated. I hadn't cooked. Madison alone had made the effort I should have shared. Work had kept me away. Our first Christmas together and I'd almost missed it.

"Working." I frowned. "What's going on?"

"Don't lie to me! You weren't working." She grabbed a handful of tinsel from an open box and hurled it at me. The silver strands scattered across the floor. "I was worried. I called Rodriguez. He said you haven't been there in days."

My jaw clenched. Rodriguez was being a dick. He was paid to cover for me, but he was still aggrieved I hadn't taken the last job he offered me. It had cost him dear. This was his idea of payback.

"It's not what you think."

"Oh, really? Because from where I'm standing, it sure looks like you're sneaking around behind my back." Madison's voice was hard. There was no trace of the warm woman I knew. Her temper had always been as fiery as her hair, but, until now, I hadn't been on the receiving end. I finally got why redheads were described as fierce. "Is it another woman?"

"Come on, Madison. You really think I'd cheat on you?"

"I don't know what to think!" She paced the room, her movements sharp and agitated. "You've been distant for weeks. Coming home late, if at all. When you do, it's like you're not really here. And now this?"

I ran a hand through my hair. I'd never been good with words, and her anger left me stumped for a response. On some level, I felt wronged. I'd never been unfaithful to Madison. Never. There was one certainty in this: I loved her.

Despite that, I couldn't deny what she said. It was true. But it wasn't another woman poisoning our relationship, it was my job. Not the one I did for Rodriguez. My actual job, the one I couldn't tell Madison about. I was bringing it home with me like a shadow, brooding on it at night, dreaming about it and waking up in a sweat. And because I couldn't explain it to her, I had excluded Madison, even if that was the last thing I wanted.

As I stood there, groping for a convincing lie, I realized the truth was the only thing that could save me. And it was the one thing I couldn't tell her.

"I'm not cheating on you," I repeated, clinging to that one honesty like a drowning man. "That isn't what this is about."

"Then what is it about?" Madison whirled to face me, her eyes searching mine. "Because I'm running out of explanations here, Thomas."

I stared at her helplessly. I wanted to tell her everything. What I did, the cases I'd been working, the evils I'd seen. But I couldn't. It wasn't just that the rules forbade it, telling her would draw her into my world, expose her to dangers she couldn't understand and couldn't fight. It would shatter all her comfortable illusions about the world in which she lived.

"It's work," I said. I was still holding the bag of groceries I'd brought and I put it down on the counter, dropped my keys into the ashtray Madison had crafted in her pottery class. "That's all."

"What work? Work Rodriguez knows nothing about? What are you, a criminal? A CIA agent? I hope your explanation is more convincing than that."

I sighed. Rodriguez didn't know. Rodriguez ran a bail bond business, and I did work for him. Occasionally. Hunting fugitives was my cover.

But he wasn't the one who paid most of my wages. I was a witchfinder. Part of a secret order of the Catholic Church that had been fighting evil since the Dark Ages. I just had no way to explain that. Even if my vows permitted it, I wouldn't have known where to start. How do you explain to someone that magic and witches and demons are real? That everything they thought they knew about the world was a lie?

"I can't... I can't tell you."

Madison's laugh was harsh, devoid of humor. "Of course you can't. Because that would be too simple, wouldn't it?"

"It's complicated, alright?"

I moved towards her, but she stepped back, maintaining the distance between us.

"Complicated? You know what's complicated, Thomas? Trying to plan a future with someone who isn't there."

I glanced around the room, taking in the half-finished decorations, the boxes of ornaments we'd planned to hang together. It was supposed to be our first real Christmas as a couple. Now it felt like everything was falling apart.

"Madison, please. Trust me on this."

"Trust you?" Her voice cracked. "How can I trust you when you won't tell me anything?"

I closed my eyes, willing the right words to come. But there was nothing. Nothing I could say. At least nothing I could say that was true, and I was through lying.

"I'm doing this to protect you," I said finally, knowing how weak it sounded.

"Protect me?" Madison's eyes narrowed. "From what? The truth?"

"From things you don't understand. Things that could hurt you."

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Thomas. I'm not a child. I don't need your protection. I need you to show up in this relationship. Last chance. Where have you been?"

I'd been on the road for hours, driving home from a case that hadn't ended well. I was tired, raw. Less patient that I could have been, than I should have been. Her ultimatum put my back up. When I replied, I couldn't keep the edge from my voice.

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

"Don't you dare patronize me," Madison hissed. "I'm not some child you can placate with pretty lies."

"I never said you were!" I snapped back. "But this isn't a joke, Madison. It isn't safe for you to know."

"Listen to yourself." She stared at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and disappointment. "What happened to you, Thomas? The man I fell in love with wouldn't hide behind vague warnings and half-truths."

"I'm not hiding," I said, my voice low and hard. "I'm protecting you."

Madison shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "Maybe you are. But you've changed into someone I don't trust."

The silence that followed was deafening. We stood surrounded by the partially decorated room, the future we'd planned, and I knew neither would be finished now. It all felt as fragile as the glass ornaments scattered across the floor.

"I think..." Madison's voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I should leave."

I felt my heart sink. "Madison, please. Don't do this. Come on, it's Christmas."

"No, Thomas. I can't... I can't do this right now. I need time to think."

I wanted to argue, to make her understand, but the words died in my throat. I said nothing as she gathered her things. She'd only moved in a few weeks before, so it took much less time for her to pack than I needed to figure out how to stop her.

As she stepped out into the frosty night, I knew I'd just lost something precious. Perhaps the most precious thing I would ever have.

***

The door creaked as I entered Cardinal Reyes's study, disturbing the solemn quiet. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the oak-paneled walls. The faint sound of children's laughter drifted in from outside. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, tastefully decorated in gold and silver.

It was two years, shy a week, since Madison had left. It felt longer. A lot longer.

"Thomas, my boy." Cardinal Reyes rose from behind his imposing desk. In his late sixties, Anton Reyes still had the build of the wrestler he had once been. His graying hair was still thick, his skin tanned, the lines making him distinguished rather than old. His smile was welcoming. "It's good to see you."

I crossed the room and took his outstretched hand, pressing my lips to the ring on his finger. "Your Eminence."

"Please, sit."

He gestured to the chair across from him and I settled into the leather seat. I've lost count of the number of times I've visited the cardinal's office over the years. The scent of old books and polished wood was familiar; its museum like quiet, comforting. Cardinal Reyes leaned back, his dark eyes watching me across the old wood of his desk.

"How have you been, Thomas?"

I forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing, and dropped the formality. "I'm fine, Anton. Busy with work, as always."

"I've noticed. You've really been throwing yourself into your duties lately."

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "There's no shortage of work to be done."

"Indeed." He paused, his fingers absently tracing the edge of a nearby book. "But one must be careful not to lose oneself in that duty. There is more to life, Thomas."

Was there, I wondered. Not for me. Not since Madison. I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling like a wayward child. The laughter outside seemed to grow louder, more insistent. Anton was my friend. One of the few I had. But I couldn't admit how I truly felt, even to him.

When Madison left, work was all I had. The Church kept me busy. But recently I was more and more conscious that my life was hollow. My reason for doing what I did was missing. I was tired. Tired of chasing witches, tired of their evils, tired of their cruelty... and of mine in response.

I turned the cold iron disc in my pocket. The Wafer of God. The means to destroy a witch. I'd used many in my time, but the shattered husks they left behind, witches bereft of their magic, sickened me. Sickened me almost as much as the witches' petty evils.

"Is everything alright, Thomas?" Cardinal Reyes's voice was gentle, probing. "You seem... distracted."

I swallowed hard, jerked my chin at the tree. "I'm fine, really. I hadn't realized how close Christmas was."

"Time does seem to fly as you get older," he said, glancing at the tree. Cardinal Reyes leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "But you aren't nearly old enough for that, Thomas. Remember, my son, even the strongest man must rest and grow. You can't keep pushing yourself like this forever."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

The Cardinal sighed. "You know I'm not just your superior, Thomas. I'm your friend. My door is always open if you need to talk."

"I know."

We lapsed into silence once more, the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner marking the passage of time. Outside, the children's voices faded. I studied the intricate patterns on the carpet, anything to avoid meeting the Cardinal's penetrating gaze. Finally, Anton cleared his throat. "Thomas, would you care for a drink?"

I looked up, surprised. "A drink?"

I'd been to his house socially a few times, and I knew Anton kept a well-stocked bar, but this was a first, drinking at work.

He smiled, a touch of mischief in his eyes. "I keep a bottle of Macallan in my desk for... pastoral emergencies. This seems as good a time as any."

"Pastoral emergencies?" I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Thank you, I'd like that."

Anton opened his drawer, retrieving a bottle and two glass tumblers. The amber liquid glinted in the sunlight as he poured, the rich aroma of aged whisky filling the air. He handed me a glass and settled back into his chair, taking a small sip before speaking again.

"After spouting all that about your wellbeing, I have to confess my reasons for asking you here weren't entirely our friendship. I have a rather big favor to ask."

I took a long swallow, letting the whisky burn pleasantly down my throat. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"The Vatican has contacted me with... troubling information." He paused, swirling the liquid in his glass. "There is a witch... perhaps the most powerful we've ever tracked. This witch," Anton continued, "is manipulating the weather. She's working to summon a demonic storm, one powerful enough to rip open the boundary between Earth and Hell. If the Vatican is right--" he said it with a small smile, as if there could be any doubt "--her power will peak at the very dawning of Christmas Day, the birthday of our savior."

I covered my unease by sipping the Macallan. The whisky was good, very good, but I hardly tasted it.

Christmas has always been much more than simply a Christian time. As important as it was to men of faith like us, Christmas was a nexus of mystical power for many religions, faiths, and even practitioners of magic. We all knew it as a time for good to triumph, for generosity and love, but it was really no surprise the witch chose it as the time for her evil. It would be the period when the boundary between the worlds was at its weakest, and when magic was at its most powerful.

"Thomas," Anton leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. "You're my best witchfinder. I need you to find this witch and stop her."

My heart sank. Coming in, I was halfway intending to quit. To tell Anton I'd lost my faith, that I couldn't do it anymore. The thought of another hunt, another confrontation with darkness... and another wasted Christmas. It was almost too much.

But I knew there was no way to refuse.

If Anton was asking a favor, it was because he needed it. I owed him too much to let him down. And then there was the oath I'd sworn so many years ago. I'd given up everything for this life--my family, my friends, any chance at a normal existence. I'd given up Madison. That had to mean something.

I just wished I could remember what it was.

"Of course, Your Eminence," I heard myself say. "I'll do whatever is necessary."

Anton leaned back in his chair, swallowing his whisky as if a weight had just lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you, Thomas. I knew I could count on you."

"How do I find her?"

"Ah."

Anton rose from his chair and approached a large painting behind his desk. He swung the frame aside, revealing a small wall safe. With a soft click, the safe swung open. When he turned back to me, he held a brass compass in his palm.

I turned it over in my hands. The brass was cold to the touch and heavier than I expected. Inside, it was just an unremarkable compass. A needle and a dial marked with the four cardinal points.

"What is it?" I asked, baffled by its apparent importance.

Anton settled back into his chair, his gaze never leaving the compass. "That, Thomas, is the most valuable tool in this hunt." He leaned forward, his voice low. "The needle is attuned to the witch. Wherever she goes, it will point unerringly towards her."

I raised an eyebrow. Skepticism warred with years of trusting Anton's judgment. I had never heard of the Church possessing such an artifact. It seemed, in fact, perilously close to magic. I held the compass flat in my palm, watching as the needle swung lazily, before settling on north. I turned it this way and that, but the needle remained steadfast in its orientation.

"It points north, Anton," I said, unable to keep the doubt from my voice.

Anton nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The witch was last known to be heading for Colorado."

"Ah." That explained north then.

Anton's eyes gleamed. "It's an ancient artifact, Thomas. One of the Church's most closely guarded treasures. Its efficacy has been proven time and time again. You just follow the needle."

I nodded, turning the compass over in my hands. The symbols etched into its surface shimmered in the late afternoon light. I suppressed a shudder. Magic, I thought, even as I knew it couldn't be. Magic was heresy, wasn't it?

"And you're certain it will lead me to her?"

"As certain as we can be in matters such as these."

"I understand," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll find her, Your Eminence. And I'll stop her."

***

The roads into the mountain were as bad as the forecast suggested. Less than a mile from the interstate, Highway Patrol had closed the mountain road. I had to get out to move the blockage before I could continue. There, on the side of the road, the size of the storm became obvious. It stretched across the horizon like a movie twister on steroids. The storm was revolving, slowly, over the highest peak.

I moved the block, drove through, and replaced it. No point in letting anyone else be as stupid as me.

The Church had given me a Jeep, and the mountain's lower reaches were relatively easy with the all-wheel drive and the chains. But the higher I climbed, the worse it got. The road was soon more hypothetical than real. I was driving over a carpet of white with almost no definition. The only orientation I had was the rocky side of the mountain looming beside me. More than once, the Cherokee's tires spun, caught, then lurched forward. My knuckles whitened on the wheel.

I had the compass on the hood of the dash and all the while, the compass needle pointed north, unwavering despite the vehicle's dance across black ice.

On the radio, Last Christmas warbled through waves of static. George Michael's voice stretched and distorted.

"--gave you my heart--"

Screech. Hiss.

"--special someone gave their heart to me--"

The voice dropped three octaves on 'heart.' The lyrics were off, too. No way was that regular radio interference. I clicked the heat higher. The temperature gauge showed it was approaching zero, highly unlikely for Colorado in December. The dashboard clock blinked 12:00 over and over, though I'd set it only an hour ago.

A wall of white filled the windshield. The wipers fought a losing battle against the snow. Each flake looked wrong--too angular, too crystalline. Like broken glass instead of frozen water.

The jeep fishtailed. I corrected, but the back end kept sliding. The steering wheel jerked in my hands as the chains scraped across something buried under the snow.

Static burst from the speakers.

"--turn back--"

The voice slithered through the white noise. Gender-neutral, accent-free. Empty as a void. I might not have been his biggest fan, but George Michael was never that bad.

"--darkness comes--"

"Shut up." I punched the radio buttons. The voice continued, ignoring my attempts to change the station.

"--she waits above--"

The compass needle twitched. The road ahead vanished into a curtain of snow. My headlights carved yellow tunnels that reflected from a million swirling flakes, useless.

"--join us in despair--"

The engine whined as the incline steepened. Through gaps in the blizzard, I caught glimpses of the vortex. The clouds had tightened into a spiral. At its heart writhed a darkness deeper than night.

My front tire hit something solid. The jeep bounced, then stopped. The engine revved, but it didn't move. Stuck.

"--give up give up give up--"

I slammed the gearshift into reverse and gunned it. Nothing. The wheels spun uselessly in the snow.

"--she comes she comes she comes--"

Satan was really going to have to work on his Hot 100.

I killed the radio. Silence rushed in, broken only by the wind's howl. The compass needle pointed straight ahead, towards a wall of white nothing. The temperature gauge dropped another few degrees. I'd stopped believing it a while ago, but there were ice crystals forming on the inside of the windshield and my breath came out in clouds that didn't dissipate. Maybe it was on to something?

The road had vanished completely. No way to tell where the shoulder ended and the mountain began. One wrong move and I'd roll straight down into the valley. I cut the engine. The compass needle quivered, then steadied. It was pointing into the heart of the storm.

Time to start walking.