christmas gifts

And I had been forced to stand by for months doing nothing.  Because the power of Winter was not a kind power.  It was not a gentle power.  It was not a restorative power.  It was not the purpose of Winter to take care of anything.
Any time except tonight.
Because tonight was Christmas Eve.  And on this night Christmas and Winter were one and the same.
And tonight Molly Carpenter, who was also the Winter Lady, was deciding what to do with her power.
“Begin,” I said to Winter.
From a dozen strategic points around the city, ogres exploded out of the Nevernever, their muscular bodies bulging and straining as they carried packs the size of ice cream trucks.  They were accompanied by troops of gnomes, broken into tactical teams that seized predetermined packages from the packs and rushed them to their destinations.
Elsewhere, the air exploded with a thunder of wings as great black bats, mounted by goblin riders and loaded with packages of their own, swarmed out of the night and dispersed amongst the remaining skyscrapers.  Black Dogs rushed out of the night with great packs on their backs, accompanied by bands of pixies and cobbler elves.
We only had several moments, while Kringle entered the cosmic neutral territory that was my parents’ home.  Because the old man could be as territorial as he damned well wanted.  I was going to be kind to people and if he didn’t like it, I would introduce him to absolute zero.
Ho.  Ho.  Ho.
Packages went out to everyone who had lost blood relatives in the Battle of Chicago, especially to the orphans.  A lot of practical stuff that people needed: insulated clothes against the Chicago winter, which Mab had arranged to be gentler than it might otherwise have been.  smartphones, already paid for.  Preserved food, against hard days.  All of it delivered to homes and hospitals and hotels and refugee centers and homeless camps.  Where people had been harmed by the battle between supernatural nations, Winter, the defender of the mortal world, went forth to bring comfort and security.
Except for the kids.
The kids got the good stuff.
Tablets.  Gaming systems.  Collectible cards.  And books.  Books and books and books and books and books.
Every gift was wrapped.  And on every single gift was a tag that read, “Merry Christmas, from the Wizard of Chicago.”
The Unicorn took the sleigh through the route I’d planned so that I could oversee things.  I’d learned over the past few years that the beings of Winter were excellent help—as long as they thought you might kill them if they weren’t.  It was imperative to show the flag amongst them, as it were, so that they suspected that I might wipe out anyone who disappointed me.
That’s why I’d bargained for the Unicorn’s help.  Anything with a mind was afraid of a Unicorn, and as a being capable of amplifying my power to ridiculous levels, showing up with him was essentially like walking into a room with a loaded shotgun and shoving it in someone’s face.
I made sure the sleigh went through most of the activity I’d planned for my people, so they knew I had my eye on them.  It was simpler than killing someone to make a point.
Things were proceeding smoothly enough.  There was a modicum of holiday hilarity in several places where the local supernatural crowd crossed paths with my yuletide commando raiders:
A group of goblins left Waldo Butters tied up with wrapping paper ribbon and half-covered in gifts of respect from the warrior-culture creatures who had seen him in battle.
Mort Lindquist panicked and summoned up the ghost of Bruce Lee to possess him when a Rawbones had trouble forcing a particularly large package down a chimney, and Morty karate-chopped the poor monster half to death before it could escape.
A group of particularly adventurous pixies, doubtless members of Dresden’s royal guard, broke into the ale storage at McAnally’s bar, got completely smashed and crashed into a large group of carolers to great musical confusion.
The new crew of gargoyles Dresden had guarding the castle actually attacked a crew of ogres and drove them away—then shamefacedly realized what their mission had been, and clumsily set about delivering the packages themselves, to the tune of considerable property damage.
It could have gone a whole lot worse, really.
I was feeling quite pleased with the operation when a glaring red light fell over my shoulder.

Microfiction #6, The Good People