Suzi felt the chill of the funeral home’s lobby hit like a gut punch of reality the moment she hugged Gracie Lynn and slipped past her desk. Lynn’s eyes brimmed with sympathy—she’d obviously overheard Suzi’s talk with Nick. And Suzi, heartsick and restless, couldn’t bear to say another word.

When she reached her small closet of personal items, the sight of her meager belongings hit like a gut punch. So much of her life—the job, the responsibilities, the sense of purpose—seemed bound up in these few, sad pieces: clothes that no longer fit, a stale box of business cards, some perfume and deodorant, a face shield for embalming, a pair of Jimmy Choos that Lynn had always adored. Looking at them all, Suzi felt a heavy emptiness swell in her chest.

I won’t need any of it, she realized, lips thinning with resignation.

She dumped the clothes into the donation bin. They might help dress some less-fortunate family’s loved one. She tucked the heels into Lynn’s locker with a little smiley face note. The rest she tossed into the trash without ceremony, staring a moment at the black plastic bag swallowing up the remnants of her career.

She felt no rage, no inclination to scream or throw things—just a weary acceptance. She tried forcing herself to hate everything: the job, Nick, the entire situation. But deep down, she knew it was inevitable; it had been coming. She tried hating Doyle, too, but even that churned into a swirl of confusion and grudging understanding. His mind was twisted by a demon. Hell, she’d been under a demon’s power once—knew how overwhelming that grip could be.

Still, a voice in her mind snapped, he tortured and raped me. The very thought made her skin crawl. Why couldn’t she conjure pure hate? Why did it get tangled with pity or maybe just numb exhaustion? Even Suzi herself had been less than cordial with him and his greasy personality. Maybe it was karma.

“Karma?” she muttered to herself, fists clenching. Fuck that. Rape and torture weren’t petty cosmic payback. She had no reason to forgive him.

Her heart pounded, a sudden memory shooting through her. Nemoris. The Forgetfulness Demon. She and Darcy had stashed him away, the demon that could erase memories. All she needed was to find him again, maybe make a deal, to just…forget all this ever happened.

She whirled around, heading out the back door. She’d jump in Aiden’s truck, track down Darcy, and figure a plan for dealing with Nemoris. The moment she stepped outside, a brittle, bone-cutting wind reminded her of the December cold, biting into her cheeks and stinging her ears. Three inches of fresh snow and absolutely no black 4x4 pickup.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “Doyle must have moved it.”

She roamed the block in a miserable quest, pressing the key fob’s alarm button, hoping the beep-beep would guide her like a beacon. Each step left her toes more frozen, soaking her thin shoes. Her left arm burned with every jostle. But she refused to go back inside the funeral home, refused to ask for help. Stubborn as fuck, she thought bleakly.

She was near exhaustion—her stubbornness preventing her from retreating to the funeral home and asking for help—when she noticed a man across the street, dressed in a Santa suit, carrying a huge bulging bag. Before she could decide if he was the same Santa from the children’s cancer ward, she heard her salvation.

Beep-beep.

He smiled, waved at her, and brushed the side of his nose with his finger.

She pressed the button repeatedly, following the honking alarm, she found Aiden’s truck hidden behind a side building. “Black Betty,” she murmured, remembering Aiden’s name for it. She clambered in, cranking the heater, defroster, and seat warmers. She squinted at the sidewalk, searching for any sign of the Santa. The footprints in the snow gave no clue.

Slumping back with a sigh, she nearly jumped out of her skin to see Santa in the passenger seat and big sack behind him in the back row.

“Holy shit!” she yelped, one hand grabbing at the door handle.

He gave her a genial smile, his breath carrying a faint mint and pipe tobacco aroma. “Hello again, Suzi. I brought something for you.”

From his bag, he produced a long, flat gift box—no labels. Cautiously, Suzi took it. “Are you…an angel?” The question felt inescapable, given he’d just appeared in her locked truck.

The man, average looking beyond his white beard and bright blue crystal eyes, laughed. He did not have the bell sounds or drums that she had come to experience with other angels like Kariel, Azrael, and Lahabiel.

“Is something funny?” she asked.

He wiped a tear from his eye beneath the white beard. “Not at all, my dear. I’m not an angel, though some have called me Elphiel or Sachiel. And no, I’m not the historical Saint Nicholas of Patara, either. I just enjoy perpetuating his spirit this time of year.”

Suzi’s mind churned. “So you’re an Ascendant, then?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Am I?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m here to help. Now, open it,” he insisted, gesturing toward the box.

She peeled away the wrapping, revealing a lustrous golden carton. Inside lay an ornate suede-and-fur coat, expensive and unmistakably familiar. Her heart stumbled in her chest.

Her voice tremored as she said, “This isn’t possible. I gave this coat away thirty years ago to—"

“—to a homeless woman, only a day after you were given it as a Christmas gift when you were fourteen. I no longer need it, so I am returning it to you.”

She blinked hard. “You?” She couldn’t piece it together.

“Its kind of difficult to explain. Call it karma, I guess. I have a particular ability—I provide choices to others. Choices they may not otherwise have. If they take one route, benefiting others over themselves, then I grant them luck and limited prosperity. If they choose the other road, then to some degree, there may be bad luck, but nothing horrible, mind you. I can take many different forms and see into the minds of others, allowing me to see their decision matrix and add other options.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Suzi swallowed hard. “Why me?”

“They always ask that. The other day, we met. You may not remember it, because most people quickly forget me—part of my ability—but you were given a choice. To you, you felt like it was just the process, but in actuality, it was a choice. You chose to help me pick up all those gifts, then stayed with me to deliver them to the children, against your true desire to spend time with your comatose husband. That is a selfish sacrifice, doing for others, with no expectations of receipt of gratitude or payment.”

Suzi let out a shaky breath. “So, I get back a coat from thirty years ago?” She tried to inject sarcasm but only sounded lost.

Santa’s laugh boomed again. “No. You already got your immediate ‘luck,’ making every traffic light green so you reached work in time. This coat is a separate matter. You need warmth. I provide solutions.”

She scowled, bitterness slipping in. “Then how do you explain me getting fucking kidnapped and raped? Or all the sick kids with cancer, or Aiden’s near-death? That’s not just ‘bad luck.’ That’s fate, right?”

He nodded gravely. “Exactly. Luck, prosperity, and what-have-you are all relative and positive or negative but slightly off-neutral. Fate tends to be more extreme. It was Fate that you were a Celestial, not Luck. I am not an angel or a demon. Just like my good friend Azrael, whom you met. We are both neutral; we both have served a purpose since the beginning of time.”

She inhaled, mind spinning. “So you’re…some force of luck, basically. Not an angel or demon, just something else.”

He smiled, eyes bright. “I have many names. I’m not limited to any one belief system. The Greeks called me Tyche; the Egyptians called me Shai. Hotei, Fu Lu Shou, and Shichifukujin are some others. Fortuna is the most popular, though. As for what I am, that is even more difficult to explain. I am a product of Purpose and Necessity but not of the Ascended plane. I am not a god, but I cannot die. I cannot create, and I do not feel remorse or guilt, as my ability manifests choices that human’s and Ascendant’s free will navigate. My ability cannot be harnessed nor summoned, though. I am near omnipotent and omnipresent, but many times I am missed. I do enjoy laughing, however, and I am fond of sushi and gumbo.”

“Then why are you giving me this? Why do you care?” she asked, hugging the coat to her chest.

“Because you do good, Suzi,” he said simply, “and because we’ll cross paths again. Like me, you are unique. You are not like other Celestials, and that intrigues me. Take this as a token of my esteem.” He handed her a cheap-looking chain bracelet with hundreds of tiny metal balls. Its flimsy price tag read $12.99.

She blinked. “Uh. Thank you?”

But the passenger seat was empty. The Santa—and his bag—gone without a sound.

She shifted the truck into gear. “Get fired, get a coat and bracelet,” she muttered, pressing the gas. “What kind of stupid luck is that?”

She made it home in record time, Ygritte’s excited barking greeting her. She dropped the coat and bracelet on the bed, stripped down, and limped into the shower. Turning the water to near-scalding, she let the spray beat down on her battered skin, tears coursing freely as she tried to scrub away the last few days—Doyle’s face, that demon-laced hood, everything. The water burned her, but she was grateful for the pain, if only because it reminded her she was still alive.

* * * * *

Suzi kept bracing herself against the waning rush of steaming water until the temperature went from scorching hot to an uncomfortable warmth, and finally just lukewarm. It still felt better than nothing, washing away the physical grime from her skin—even if the past few days clung to her mind like tar. She took a heavy breath, forcing the loofa against her bruised arms, then grimaced: she’d never use it again. Another item for the trash.

Alright, focus. She mentally listed tasks, each item rising out of the haze of physical pain and emotional exhaustion:

1. Find Jo.

a. Get the demon out of Jo’s body.

b. Put Jo back in her body.

c. Get Judy back.

d. Reclaim the Ring of Eae.

e. Regain the ability to Limbo Skip.

i. If not possible, get Darcy’s help.

“Darcy…” She paused, remembering Dr. Everett’s warning that Darcy’s death day was tomorrow, regret and panic roiling in her chest. Mourning wouldn’t save Darcy, and she sure as hell wouldn’t abandon Jo for fear or sadness. She tried to trust Dr. Everett’s claim that death was inevitable for everyone—but it gutted her to think of losing that thorny friend.

Next bullet on her mental list: 2. Skip to Nemoris and convince him to erase the memories of Doyle’s entire fiasco. Because fuck that asshole, she wanted those memories gone.

a. What was he thinking anyhow?

b. How did any of that lead him to a life with Jo?

But Judas’s voice rumbled in her head, “He was manipulated by a demon.”

“Yeah,” Suzi conceded silently. “He still could’ve said no. Lahabiel said free will, right?” She paused, brow furrowing. “But do I hand him over to Phineas for kidnapping and rape? Doesn’t seem like anyone noticed I was gone…”

Spike’s voice hissed, “I say we kidnap, torture, rape him back—‘do unto others’ and all that.”

“Then we’re no better than him,” Ralph countered calmly.

Suzi shoved that conversation aside. “Fine—call that item 2c.” She moved to the next mental line:

3. Find Ellie.

4. Help Bear and Dr. Everett with… whatever they’re doing to trap the Chaos Demon.

She killed the shower. Toweling off, Suzi caught a fleeting glimpse of her own reflection in the foggy mirror, barely recognizing her scowling face—hair damp, eyes hollow with exhaustion. “No time for self-pity now, Suzi.” She forced her shoulders back, inhaling a steady breath. “Get your shit together, Put your big-girl panties on and go find Jo,” she whispered at her reflection.

She rummaged the back of her closet until she found a pair of old blue jeans from before she had the twins—a montage of images of Rambo suiting up for battle played in her head to the music of ‘Eye of the Tiger.’

“Oh my god! Those are two completely different Sly Stallone movies!” Spike cringed from within Guillermo.

She pulled up the jeans—snug, but they fit—further rebuilding her self-confidence.

“They’re better than new—they’re old!” Annie said excitedly.

Suzi thumbed through her collection of nostalgic tees until she found the one that spoke to her. She pulled it off the hanger, donned it, and stood with her hands on her hips in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door.

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Spike all stared back from her chest. This was going to be a good day.

She found the footwear that fit her outfit—an old pair of western-style cowboy boots.

“Time to kick the shit out of some demons,” Suzi and multiple voices in her head murmured in sync. It sent a strange thrill through her gut.

Finally, she grabbed Miraleth’s Orb off her nightstand and conjured an image of Gracie Jo in her mind. “Miraleth, find Jo for me, please.”

The orb’s voice vibrated through her, “On it, Demon Reaper.”

In a blink, she absorbed the sphere back into her palm. She caught sight of that cheap metallic bracelet the strange Santa had given her—she slid it on without much thought—and grabbed the suede coat from where she’d left it on the bed.

She swung the coat around her shoulders, trying to channel some slick Matrix move. The hem caught a vase on a nearby shelf, flinging it to the floor in a spectacular crash of broken glass. “Fuck,” Suzi hissed, rolling her eyes as shards sprinkled across the bedroom floor.

“Smooth,” Judith snarked in her mind.

“Aside from that, it was kinda cool,” James observed with a hint of admiration.

J offered, “We need a gun across our hips.”

She refused to dwell on the mess or the idea of carrying a gun. She zipped her coat, checked the time, and left the apartment, bending briefly to give Ygritte a kiss on the head. Her footsteps felt firmer somehow. She had a mission, and a short window to do it.