Yuletide Immortal (The Immortal Chronicles Book 4) Read Online Free

second floor of the store, in the back, at the end of a series of decorative arrow signs.  The signs directed shoppers—mothers with children in this case—down a non-straight path to the Father Christmas corner, passing nearly every perfume counter, kitchen appliance, cleaning product and toy the store had to offer.  By the time I reached him I smelled like flowers and was thinking about buying a vacuum cleaner. 
    Santa was between kids.  A modest line of mothers with their children had formed twenty feet away, behind a “Line starts here” sign and some velvet ropes.  There weren’t any elfish helpers and the chair he was in was essentially a lounge chair from the furniture department with a few bows attached.  It didn’t look like anybody much bothered to make it look like the North Pole.  I didn’t even see a photographer.
    “There’s a chair…” Santa said, looking around behind him.  A closed lawn chair was propped up on the wall behind him.  I grabbed it and sat down.  “Did you have any trouble finding your way?” he asked.
    “You are literally the only person in this building that it’s impossible to not know the location of,” I said.
    Well, I guess that’s true, isn’t it?  Come on, smile: it’s Christmas!”  He turned to the line.  “Who’s ready for Santa?”
    *   *   *
    I spent the whole day there, as apparently I really did have nothing else to do.  We talked between children, who were content to wait for a while to see him even when there wasn’t anybody on his lap.  The pace was surprisingly honorable and stately, and something one doesn’t see now.  Although nowadays there are Santas are all over the place, which probably has something to do with it.  People tend to have more respect for the unique.
    “How long have you been calling yourself Santa?” I asked him during one break between kids.
    “Oh, always, although the name itself is new to my generation.  My father was one of the Father Christmases, and I have an uncle and two cousins who went by Sinterklaas.  There are even a couple of Yule Goats in the family.  My great grandfather was Jodin Longbeard.  One of the first of the Santa line.”
    “But you’re all Santas now.”
    “Of course, just like your friends the Silenii.”
    “I don’t know that I would call them friends.”
    “If you are who you claim, Silenus actually worshipped you, so perhaps you’re correct.  Friend is not an adequate word.”
    That wasn’t what I meant, but I didn’t have an interest in pressing the point.  My history with Silenus and his sons was complicated by a number of factors, including the perhaps accidental founding of a religious cult.  It’s a long story, and I didn’t want to get into it with Santa, not in the middle of another religious cult’s holiday.  But then he was calling up the next child and I didn’t have to elaborate.
    “Ho ho!  What’s your name, young man?”
    The degree of patience and genuine interest Santa had in the things the children said was honestly impressive, especially to someone like me.  I am resolutely terrible with kids, partly because I spend almost no time around them.  This is for a number of reasons, the first being that I can’t have them, so far as I know.  This became a topic of conversation as well, in a roundabout sort of way.
    “Why am I here?”
    “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Santa asked.
    “I neither am nor am not. I’m mostly puzzled by all of this.”
    He laughed.  “Puzzled, you say!”
    He called up another child and went through his routine, which consisted of asking about the child’s day, life, and wishes for Christmas.  Whether those wishes were capitalistic or aspirational didn’t much matter.  The have you been good this year question never came up.  Maybe the Macy’s Santa was more concerned with good versus evil, but this one mostly assumed the best.
    “Why puzzled?” he asked as soon as the boy jumped down on his