Special thanks to Texas Jules, the anti-Libby (and darn proud of it), for beta reading.

'Angin' wit' these mortal-types is gonna get yew in nothin' but trouble, Vachonetti," Screed said. "Drop Baby Jane an' let's gew dew the town. A bit o' New Year's frolic, maybe put the bite on a couple o' wenches who won't be missed...."

"Forget it, Screed. I've already promised Tracy we'd watch some videos tonight."

Screed scowled, glaring at his friend. They'd known each other for centuries, going through good times and bad times. Vachon never batted an eye or harassed Screed about being a carouche; while Screed had stuck with the Spaniard despite a life of fleeing from the Inka. Now some blond mortal morsel threatened to tear their buddy-ship apart. "Tha's the way it is, then, ay?"

Sighing, Vachon looked down at the ground, shaking his head slightly. "Listen, if it helps, I'd forgotten this is New Year's Eve. There's supposed to be a snow storm blowing in, and Tracy feels it wouldn't be safe for her to go anywhere to celebrate. I accepted her invite before checking my social calendar."

"Yeah," Screed snapped. "Likely tale o' woe, tha' is." His tone bit with sarcasm. Placing two fingers against Vachon's chest, he pushed the other vampire back a step. "You're becomin' as big a mortal lover as tha' Defect-a-tive Knighty-night. All this jammy-jam about 'avin' a response-o-bility tew Miss 'I'm-a-good-cop-I-am.' Dinna useta 'ear such nonsense sproutin' from betwinxt them fangies." Spinning, he stormed from Vachon's church, taking flight in the night sky.

The thought of a quick trip to Vegas crossed Screed's mind, but only briefly. Besides the unfortunate fact his pockets were empty, the increasingly strong wind was making flying tiresome. Before he'd made the short trip to his place from the church, sleet mixed with snow added to the discomfort. The cold itself didn't bother him; the ice pellets, however harmless, still stung when they pelted the bare skin of his face.

Landing in the alley outside the entrance to his cellar home, Screed brushed some of the frozen precipitation from his coat and boots. Although the wind howled bitterly, only a layering of snow had settled in the alley. Screed drew in a deep breath, not because he needed the oxygen, but because the air smelled clean and crisp. "Wot yew need, Screed, ol' boy, is a quick bite o' the squealer, a lil' take 'ome snack sort o' thingee." A broad smile crossed his face as he dove over the edge of a dumpster.

After a few moments of digging and listening for rodent-produced sounds, Screed resigned himself to the fact that no rats had chosen this particular dumpster for shelter from the storm. Upon standing, however, a soft 'thump, thump' reached his ears. He ducked back down into the garbage and concentrated on the noise. Definitely a human. His eyes squinted in annoyance. Homeless mortals who settled in his territory were promptly chased away by whatever means necessary. Tonight, however, was the last night he'd expect to find an unwanted visitor. Due to the bitterness of the cold, any humans in their right mind should have sought indoor, charity-run shelters.

The invader was asleep, curled against the dumpster. His jacket and trousers were stained and worn, and he clutched a brown cloth bag against his chest as if it were a child's teddy bear. He drew in a deep, forced breath, then opened his eyes, looking directly up at Screed. "Pl... please help me," he whispered.

Screed bounded over the edge of the dumpster, landing in a kneeling position beside the old man. "'Elp ya? Why? This is the garden tew me 'umble abode. Ain't much, but it's mine an' yew're trespassin', yew are. Oughta take care o' yew right 'ere an' now. End yewr sufferin', an' mine."

The man's eyes opened wide, seeming to stare deep into Screed's eyes and mind. The carouche couldn't shake the feeling the mortal was delving deep into his very being. Even more disturbing was the seeming youth in the man's hazel eyes, so contradicting his obvious advanced age. Finally, the man sighed weakly. "At least get me inside. The wind is ... is too cold."

Screed opened his mouth to argue that he didn't have heat, then snorted in disgust. A lively wench who could offer a good frolic in the hay along with her blood was one thing, the thin gruel likely coursing through this senior's veins was another matter altogether. He couldn't drain him, and, inexplicably even to himself, couldn't just leave the man to freeze either. "Wot the bloody 'ell. Yewr ticker ain't thumpity-thumpin' proper-like anyway. Can't see 'ow yew kin live til dawn."

Screed grabbed the brown bag, intending to hold it with one hand as he lifted the man with the other. The mortal tightened his grip with surprising strength, shaking his head slightly. "No! It... it is all I have in this world."

"As if I'm Donald Trump or sumpthin'. Ain't got much in this world, don't need much, but at least I kin carry me stuff in a decent duffle." Stepping behind the man, Screed hooked a hand under each of his arms, lifting him to his feet. In a minute, the carouche had managed to carry the mortal down into his cellar home.

Simply dropping the man to the ground was Screed's first impulse. The man's gaze, though, focused on the blankets and pillows the carouche used as a bed. "Is that where you sleep?" the old man wheezed.

"Now yew're wantin' the Holiday Inn?"

"You misunderstand, friend. I merely think it looks cozy for old bones."

"'Friend,' matie? If only yew knew the truth o' the matter," Screed muttered under his breath, dragging the man to the blankets. Even if the carouche wanted to put an end to his own suffering, the weather would make corpse disposal an uncomfortable proposition. Best thing tew do, he thought, is tew let the geeze ex-pire on 'is own all natural- like, then dump the droog back in the alley fer do-gooders tew worry about.

Settling beneath the thin blankets, the man smiled. "Oh, yes, this is much better. Thank you. I feel stronger already."

"Yew're smellin' pretty strong tew."

The man laughed, his entire body shaking with the effort. "I suppose I do. Haven't had a bath in, oh, a week. Never imagined I'd end up in this situation. Had to happen sooner or later, though, with all the traveling I do." He used his elbows to prop himself up. "Bet you've covered many a mile yourself."

Peering down at the man, Screed nodded. "Seen the world, I 'ave. Been lucky in tha' regard." He walked over to his small, black and white television, switching it on before settling into his chair. Hopefully his 'visitor' would take the hint.

The old man didn't. "How true, how true. There's nothing like it. Never been stranded like this, though. Can't believe they took off without me. They'll be getting quite the talking to when I get home!"

Home? Was the oldster sane, Screed wondered. He turned to peer at the man, then jumped to his feet. "You ... you seem to be packin' on the weight, matie! Gettin' a bit round in the face all o' a sudden."

The visitor now sat up straight and tall. He plucked lint off his suddenly cleaner jacket, flicking the bits of fluff and dirt away from the blankets. "Of course. Milk and cookies are tasty, but nothing satisfies me more than goodwill."

"Milk an' cookies? Who the 'ell dew yew think yew are? Saint Nicky?"

"Some call me that," the man said. "Others, Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas.... Why, some folks just think of me as the 'spirit of giving.' I like that best of all."

"Yew're jest anudder crazy ol' coot, yew know," Screed laughed, following with a loud, wet raspberry. "Santy Claus? A bit late, ain't it? Christmas wuz last week, Krissy. Jest anudder nutty mortal, yew are."

"Mortal? Perhaps. Long-living, definitely." He climbed to his feet and immediately began doing a few knee bends, still clinging to his bag with one hand. "And I'm all too well aware that Christmas is over, at least for this year. Why, my wife must be climbing the wall with worry, seeing as the reindeer returned without me."

"Reindeer can't fly! As big a story wot tew tell lil' kiddies as... as... this Santy Claus foolery!"

"Really?" When the man stood still, staring at the carouche, Screed saw his eyes were twinkling -- not glowing like a vampire's, but actually twinkling. "What's truly odd is that I've heard vampires don't exist, especially the rat-eating variety."

"Yew know wot I am?"

"As sure as I know if you've been naughty or nice -- and trying to convince Javier Vachon to kill his mortal friend was very, very naughty indeed. However, I suppose since he didn't do it, you're off the hook...." He fell silent, raising a finger which hushed Screed as well. "Listen," he whispered. "Out in the alley -- my reindeer! Guess they finally remembered where they left me." Suddenly, he burst out with such a jolly "ho-ho-ho" that Screed was nearly knocked off his feet in surprise. Kris Kringle caught the carouche with one hand, steadying him. "Thank you again for your kind hospitality."

"'Old on 'ere a bloody second o' three!" Screed exclaimed. "Santy o' not, there's sumpthin' I gotta dew." The man's blood smelled thicker now, but still totally unappetising. Screed sure didn't want to get poisoned by slurping a holiday icon dry. Instead, he stared into Santa's eyes. "Yew will ferget this encounter o' the Screedy-kind."

"Not very likely," the man said, grinning mischievously. "However, your secret is safe with me. Now why don't you go to sleep now, get some rest."

Eyelids feeling heavy, Screed nodded. "Guess ol' Screed could do wit' a bit o' sleep, some rest...."

"That's a good boy. A very good boy, in fact."

Screed didn't remember crawling beneath his blankets, or even sleeping for that matter. One minute he was staring at an increasingly round, white-bearded man, the next he was sitting up in his bed, looking around him in wonder. "Bloody frozen 'ell!"

As if by magic, a few extra strings of little white Christmas lights had appeared, softly giving extra light to his home. Jumping up, he discovered his prized dagger on his chair encased in a brand new leather holder. Across the chair back were a couple of new sweaters, one decorated with an old-fashioned sailing ship. And around him, ALL around him, were large rats with sweet smelling blood, made lethargic by their amazing plumpness.

Grabbing one for a quick breakfast, Screed opened his mouth exposing his descending fangs. Just as he rolled the treat over, exposing a blood-filled, pulsing vein, his ears detected the very faintest of sounds:

Happy belated holidays to you,
And a Ratsie-filled New Year, too!

END