Reindeer Games

The doors of St. Jamison Doyle's opened a few minutes after seven o'clock, letting the unmuffled voices of choir and organ drift towards Heaven with the chimney smoke and hang with the frosted stars in the dark winter sky above Pittsburgh.

The congregation filtered out gradually. First came the young loners, desperate to avoid awkward conversations with their parents' friends, then the businessmen hurrying back to work. Next came the grouchy-looking bachelors who quietly begrudged the Mother of God a weekday Feast. A tide of noisy children followed, the exasperated faces of their harried parents bobbing over them. At the rear of the train, behind even the hobbled and lonesome seniors, came a young man and a young lady walking hand in gloved hand.

"Don't you want to put your coat on?" Sebastian Pereira whispered into the ear of his girlfriend. A mischievous smirk crossed his face and his blue eyes sparkled in the lights of the Christmas trees. "You know, just for show?"

"Oh, I forgot!" Evangeline Garver's freckled cheeks turned red, but not from the sting of the December air. She slipped on the light jacket she had tucked under her arm, then hastily tied her wavy red hair back in a ponytail and snapped on a pair of earmuffs. She turned her head and smiled at him, tapping the furry pink globes that covered her ears. "Just for show."

"It's a bit conspicuous," Sebastian said.

"The earmuffs?"

"Uh, no. You walking around in a spring jacket and a skirt." He tucked his free hand into the pocket of his own heavy winter coat and fought to suppress a shiver.

"It's not that cold!"

Sebastian scanned the weather report projected onto his eyeglasses. "It's 29 degrees, Eva."

"I'm wearing leg warmers."

"You're practically giving off steam."

"Oh, I am not!" Evangeline shoved him gently, but glanced down at her body to make sure that he was, in fact, joking. As a thermokinetic, a psychic heat pump that radiated warmth effortlessly, even subconsciously, she had to be careful of such things. But she loved the cold breath of winter on her skin and the tingle of the melting snow in her hair.

Of course, there were limits to that love. A pickup truck took a turn too fast and fishtailed on an icy patch, its spinning rear tires spraying a geyser of filthy gutter water onto the pavement. Evangeline jumped away, but the worst of the deluge bent in an arc around them and sloshed harmlessly onto the frozen grass.

She peeked out from behind Sebastian, who still stood with both arms instinctively thrust out toward the path of the spray. Only a thin spatter of mud made it onto his clothes.

"Jackass!" he barked at the fleeing truck.

Evangeline laid her hand on his arm. "It's a bit conspicuous," she whispered to him, imitating his arch tone of voice. "But that was a nice save, honey."

The hydrokinetic lowered his arms and smiled, not the slightest bit abashed. "Now I don't have to get you anything for Christmas."

The pair stepped back from the curb and sheltered in the lee of the statue of the Irish saint and conqueror of the Martians while Sebastian scrubbed his glasses clean.

Evangeline's mind wandered as she glanced up at the snow-mantled bronze. Did the patron saint of superheroes approve of Corona, Torrent, and the East End Irregulars? The last year and a half were filled with regrets and exploits that fell far short of heroic. But they were different people now than on those dizzying spring nights when they first leapt into absurd situations in hand-stitched costumes with half-cocked plans. They were better; more competent, yes, but also, she hoped, more decent, more humane, more courageous.

For the most part, Evangeline had made her peace with it. But when winter came and they hung up their costumes because it was too cold, too easy to pull muscles and fall off of icy rooftops, because most of the criminals seemed to hibernate until spring, she wondered if they shouldn't just hang them up for good. They had to give it up sometime. Why not do it willingly, in good health? Sebastian said he was born for this; she believed him. But Evangeline knew she was not. There were other ways to do good in the world. Even the Signalman accepted that, and died being Jamison Doyle.

Sebastian watched her with thoughtful eyes.

"What?" she asked.

He said nothing, but smiled gently. Her cheeks reddened again, and she looked away in self-conscious embarrassment.

"I was suddenly smitten by a pretty girl wreathed in snow and Christmas lights," Sebastian said. Then he stood on his tiptoes and looked behind her. "Oh crap, I lost her!"

Evangeline laughed. "You know, you're allowed to just be sweet. You don't have to be a smart ass."

"You look so uncomfortable whenever I do. I'm just trying to make you feel better." Sebastian offered his arm, and Evangeline took it, pulling herself close.

"I'm trying to be demure! Anyway, where are you taking me?"

Sebastian hummed. "We can go back to the Saint Nicholas Festival..."

"You're so funny! No, thank you. I'm at my limit of ruined dresses and exploding sausages for the season. As I recall, you promised me quiet time and snuggling after Mass."

He snapped his fingers. "Shucks! Too bad we're not allowed to be in the same house together. I guess we'll have to wander the streets."

Evangeline arched her eyebrow accusingly. "And whose fault is that, Sebastian Pereira?"

"Uh, your dad's?"

"We could have gone to your house if you hadn't made your parents hate me."

"I did no such thing."

"You let them think that you spend all your money on me and that I keep you out all hours of the night! They think I am a bad influence on you!"

Sebastian shook his head. "I chose not to disabuse them of a particular assumption they've made. Would you rather I said 'Mom, dad, I'm actually punching it out with crazies on top of the monorail and I spend all my money on body armor and emergency medical care'? You're right, Eva, that would go over much better."

"Don't be sarcastic. And it would be better for me. It's bad enough my own dad doesn't like me; I don't want your parents to think I'm a dirty tramp."

"They think you're a gold digger," he corrected. "I'm not sure if they think you're a tramp."

Evangeline rolled her eyes. "You need to tell them! Not that you're Torrent, but—"

"OK, I'll tell them that you're Corona."

"—just tell them something else! Tell them you're bad with money!"

Sebastian frowned. "They wouldn't believe it. They think I'm cheap."

"Yes, we all think that," Evangeline replied.

Sebastian laughed theatrically. "What a droll young lass you are! At least you won't be disappointed by those free samples I intend to fill your stocking with this year."

"I bet you'd like to fill my stockings..."

Sebastian burst out laughing. "Wow! That was your most awkward attempt at innuendo yet!"

Evangeline planted her feet and looked at him imploringly. "Look, I know I never win this banter thing we do, but you still have to fix this. Please! I'm not joking. It bothers me."

Sebastian's exasperated sigh rose up as a plume of steam in the frigid air. "I know. It's not fair. I just have to come up with a good explanation. And I will."

She crossed her arms, her wrinkled nose and squinted eyes saying 'That's not good enough.' But she didn't say anything. Neither did he. Finally, she relented.

"So where are we going? Not for a long walk, seeing as how you're too much of a wimp for this beautiful weather." She stuck her tongue out at him.

Sebastian wound his arms around her waist and brushed his lips against her earlobe, whispering: "If only I had someone warm to wear."

Evangeline brushed him back, unphased. "Speaking of awkward innuendo..."

He let out a low whistle. "Hot on the outside, but on the inside, she's cold as ice." He shrugged. "No, we're not going to walk. But! In a totally unrelated development, Jolly Old Saint Nick left something for you at my house."

"Oh boy, I can't wait to find out what it is!" she exclaimed with mock exuberance. She had been morbidly curious about what gag gift she'd receive this year. They were always in bad taste, yet vaguely — even idiotically — charming. On her birthday, it was a faux-invitation to Vanessa DiPalma's birthday party, which, he wrote, was "like yours, only with cool people and money." On Valentine's Day, it was a jar of green slime, labeled "Meryl's Conscience." And last Christmas, it was a gummi eyeball, compliments of Mr. Gentry.

"Want to guess what it is? I'll give you three hints. First," he said, and held out his open hands, "it's not here."

"Uh huh."

"Second: it weighs less than nothing!"

Evangeline groaned. "You are cheap!"

Sebastian smiled with gritted teeth. "Third... it's actually very expensive."

She quirked her eyebrow. "I give up. What is it?"

He pointed his thumb down the street and gave her a wink. "Come along and I'll show you."

A twenty minute walk through a bewildering labyrinth of back alleys and unpaved, ice-crusted footpaths led them to the last place in the city she imagined: the abandoned Roundtable cache. Sentinel had entrusted the bermed-over bunker to the Irregulars' care last year. Hidden in a wooded lot on the margins of Frick Park, it was disguised as a dilapidated shed on the outside, but loaded with emergency provisions and expensive, sometimes bizarre, crime-fighting equipment.

She scraped her nails along the cold, mildewy cinder block facade of the place that she and Bubbles had not-so-affectionately nicknamed "The Outhouse."

"Are you kidding me? C'mon, Sebastian! I've kept my quiet until now, but—"

"Keep your quiet a little longer!" he hissed, darting an annoyed look over his shoulder. "Or do you want everyone in town to know we're here?"

Evangeline crossed her arms and pouted in silence while he worked the hidden lock panel. Whatever scheme he had in mind, she was not ditching her pretty clothes for her costume tonight!

"I hope you don't forget the combination again," she muttered.

The lock answered with a thunk and the false wall rolled back. Sebastian held out his arm.

"Ladies first. And Andy forgot the combination, not me," he said. "Now close your eyes while I get your present."

Evangeline obeyed, but grudgingly. "The suspense is killing me. Clotting agent? A PCR kit? Night-vision goggles?"

She heard something metallic scrape across the cement floor, felt something ice cold bump her leg. She opened her eyes.

"A... big can."

It was a large metal cylinder clamped to a hand truck and chained with big, metal blocks.

"Ho ho ho!" Sebastian slapped the cylinder, looking quite pleased with himself. "You don't know what it is, do you?"

Evangeline shook her head. "It... looks like liquid propane."

"Not a bad guess, but no."

"Are those weights chained to it?"

"Yup. And that's your last clue."

She squinted at the cylinder, looking in vain for some writing or identifying mark. "I give up."

"It's Fleury's Gas," Sebastian said.

Evangeline raised an eyebrow. It did sound dimly familiar...

"Sublimated cavorite, Eva. Gravity-neutralizing gas." He smiled. "Do you remember how to fly, Corona?"

"Oh my gosh!" Evangeline looked at him with wide, excited eyes, her balled fists unable to cover up her smile. She jumped, positively giddy. "Oh my gosh! For the flight harnesses! But how? You said there was a shortage, it was thousands of dollars per cubic foot!"

"It took a lot of pestering them, but I guess the old Roundtable supply lines are still open after all," he explained. "It came with a letter from the Promethean himself."

"Oh my gosh," she repeated. "What did it say?"

Sebastian laughed. "Don't waste it."

"Oh. Well, of course..." Evangeline felt a little dizzy coming down from her high. She ran her finger alongside the cold rim of the canister. "Sure. It's, uh... it's a valuable resource. We should save it until it's absolutely necessary."

"Uh-huh."

She looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling with anticipation. "How much did you get?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not sure." Sebastian replied. "Enough for eight reindeer to fly to the North Pole, I think."

"Oh, that's quite a bit! A couple of teenagers would hardly put a dent in that. What do you think, Torrent?"

Sebastian walked over to the corner of the room and tugged on what Evangeline thought was the chain for an overhead light. But instead of the light going off, two padded vests floated down from the ceiling, drawn by the cord. He unzippered one and held it open for her. "May I?"

~*~

The tree-shadowed acres of Frick Park huddled in darkness, but at its edges, threads of light stretched out for miles in every direction, street lamps and Christmas trees, glowing wreaths and flashing stars, straight on to the horizon.

"It's beautiful," Evangeline gasped. "Look at the river!"

Sebastian let out a deep breath and some nervous laughter. "I will, just as soon as I convince my hindbrain that I'm not going to fall."

"Oh, Sebastian!" Tears welled up in Evangeline's eyes as she threw her arms around him. "This is amazing! It's so sweet of you to do this for me, but we can go down now if you want."

"Down? We just got up here."

"I mean, if you're scared..."

He shut her up by tilting her lips up to meet his. They pulled each other close, their momentum spinning them slowly above the treetops.

"Race you to the big tree in Regent's Square, Corona?" Sebastian asked, once they'd come up for air.

"No way! Somebody will see us!"

"Aww, we're just a couple of reindeer! See 'em all over the place this time of year."

Evangeline smiled. "Alright, Torrent. Loser buys milkshakes."

Sebastian shook her hand. "Deal! Alright, get ready... get set..."

"Eat my dust!" Corona yelled back at him, rocketing off on the impulse of a psychic heat flare.

"Joke's on you, cheater!" Torrent called back as he shot off in the opposite direction on a burst of compressed air from the flight harness's nozzles. "Regent's Square is this way!"

A few minutes after eight o'clock, the gleeful laughter of young lovers drifted towards Heaven with the chimney smoke to hang with the frosted stars in the dark winter sky above Pittsburgh.

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