Sean stopped what he was doing and looked at Orro.

“The young men go out in small packs,” Orro continued. “They brave the cold and come into conflict with other packs and they have to prove their dominance through physical combat. Their fathers teach them lessons in the proper use of swear words, and the young men have to undergo tests of endurance, like holding soap in their mouths and licking cold metal objects.”

Sean made a strangled noise.

“At the end of their trials, they go to see a wise elder in a red suit to prove their worth. If they are judged worthy, the family erects a ceremonial tree and presents them with gifts of weapons.”

Sean was clearly struggling, because his head was shaking.

“Also,” Orro added, “a sacrificial poultry is prepared and then given to the wild animals, probably to appease the nature spirits.”

Sean roared with laughter.

I grinned at him.

He leaned back, shaking, laughter exploding out of him.

“Your culture is so complicated,” Wing said. “On my world, we just go on a quest to kill something big.”

“I suppose small Helen could substitute for a male,” Orro said thoughtfully. “I’m sure we can get her a proper gun.”

“We can’t,” Sean managed between gulps of laughter. “She’ll put her eye out.”

“That does seem to be a prevalent concern among parents,” Orro said. “Perhaps we could employ some sort of protective eye wear.”

“Orro, you and I must watch Christmas Story together, so I can explain that movie to you.” I opened another screen. “Images, Christmas feast.”

Orro stared at the wall of food filling the screen.

I crossed my arms on my chest. “Officially Christmas is a religious holiday when Christians, members of one of our most popular religions, celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. They believe that he was the son of God who sacrificed himself to absolve them of sin. Unofficially, it’s the time we get together as a family and celebrate our friends. We decorate our houses, we share a meal, we give each other gifts, and we take a break from the world. Christmas is magic. It’s the time of kindness when normal people allow themselves to almost believe that miracles can happen. I want to have a Christmas, Orro. And I want you to make an incredible feast for it.”

The big Quillonian bowed his head. “As you wish, innkeeper.”

Wing set the object he had whittled onto the table. “Done.”

He’d carved a remarkably lifelike version of Kiran Mrak. It was only a foot tall, but the face was unmistakable, and the detail in the feathers and even the folds of his tunic was exquisite.

“Wing, that is beautiful. You have talent.”

The small Ku regarded the statue and held out his hand. “I’m ready.”

Orro put a long metal skewer into Wing’s hand. The tip of the skewer glowed bright red.

“What is that for?” I asked. Wing was the last person I would trust with a heated skewer.

Wing focused, chanted something under his breath, and stabbed the statue.

Aaaa!

“Wing!”

He stabbed it again and again in a frenzy. “This is old magic. My planet’s magic. My ancestors are greater than his ancestors. They will rip him apart. You will see.”

I slapped my hand over my face.

He picked up the scarred statue and smashed it against the table. He jumped on it, bounced up and down, and clawed it with his foot.

“Is it working?” he asked. “Is he dead?”

“I didn’t hear a scream,” Orro said.

Wing’s eyes shone with determination. He reached for his tunic.

“If you’re going to urinate on it, go outside!” I pointed to the door. “Outside!”

Wing took his statue and went out to the back.

A chime echoed through the inn, the alarm I had set to let me know when Lord Soren was about to drop in from orbit.

“Lord Soren is inbound,” I announced.

“Then I shall change.” Her Grace rose and floated off. “One must observe the proprieties.”

On the screen my sister and Arland were still pummeling each other.

“Everybody is so concerned with proprieties, they might just spar themselves to death,” I muttered.

Sean glanced at me. “Would you like me to slip into something more comfortable?”

I pointed my broom at him. “Don’t push me, Sean Evans.”

He laughed.

I stepped into the backyard and dropped the void field. Around me the Texas evening was burning down, the sky a deep purple, the trees dark. A figure appeared in the branches of the trees just past the inn’s grounds, as if by magic. Most likely Kiran Mrak just took off his camouflage cloak. He was letting me see him. How nice. A little reminder for me that he was always there and always watching.

A red star appeared in the sky, streaked down, flared, and released a knight of the Holy Anocracy. I raised the void field.

Vampires tended to become wider with age. Not fatter but bulkier, more muscled, more grizzled. Lord Soren was a fine example of a middle-aged vampire. Hulking, with a mane of brown hair liberally shot through with gray and a short beard, he looked as big as a tank in his armor. I had a feeling that if he planted himself and a semi rammed him at full speed, the truck would just crumple around him. Considering his serious expression, he was in no mood for nonsense.

“Lord Soren,” I said, turning my back to the woods. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. Please come inside.”