The Sentinel

Title: It Was a White and Snowy Christmas  

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean  

Fandom: The Sentinel  

Pairing: Blair Sandburg/Jim Ellison  

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer: All things Sentinel belong to Petfly and Sci-Fi, Hecate belongs to herself, but the Feebs are mine.  

Status: new/complete  

Date: 9-03  

Series/Sequel: This is the sequel to It Was a Dark and Stormy Night  

Summary: Jim and Blair are looking forward to their first Christmas as a couple. Somehow, Hecate House winds up back in the equation.  

Warnings: m/m, general weirdness J (well, even Blair says so!)  

Notes: #### indicates change of POV. The Chanukah Song is by Adam Sandler. This first appeared in the MME Zine, The Many Seasons of Love 3. Thanks to Patt for permission to post this before it officially timed out. Also greatly appreciated are all the Sentinel tidbits and the great artwork she provided. This is for Gail, who gives great beta. J Any mistakes are mine.

It Was a White and Snowy Christmas

Jim Ellison and I had been living together for a couple of years. Oh, not living together living together. He slept in his bed in the loft, and I slept in my bed in the room under the stairs, and while he was a touchy/feely kind of guy, he never touched me the way I wanted to be touched.  

All that changed in October.  

Through a freak twist of fate, I'd been left an old house that had belonged to William 'Buck' Bonney, a criminal with a record as long as my arm. According to his will, which he carried with him wherever he went, being the paranoid type, whoever was with him when he cashed in his chips got everything: the house, the dough, the whole enchilada. And, oh, joy, that turned out to be me.  

Problem was, no one knew where the dough was, and the house was supposed to be haunted.  

Simon Banks, captain of Major Crimes in Cascade, was gracious about it. He gave me time off from my part-time, unpaid position as ride-along observer to inspect the old property, and he'd instructed Jim, who was his best detective, to go out there with me.  

Jim had found the cash, Federal Reserve Notes, in the head of a sixteen-point buck that was mounted on the wall.  

'Buck' Bonney had always said he kept his money in his head. Ha. Ha. And ha.  

There had been two deaths while we were at Hecate House. Bonney's lawyer, Alfred Neumann, whose middle initial was not 'E', thank you very much, had his throat ripped out by person or persons unknown. I'd found him. In my bed. Definitely not a fun date.  

The lawyer's brother, Paul, had turned up just as Jim found the dough. He got the drop on us, but not for long.  

There's just no honor among thieves. He bit the big one, too.  

The creep who shot Paul had done so right before our eyes. We never got his name, but it seemed he had wanted Bonney's money and hadn't wanted to share, and he planned to get rid of us as well, but Jim had taken care of him, shooting the jerk's gun out of his hand.  

Before the local police could sort it out, the Feds stepped in, charged the creep with both deaths, and slapped a lid on the whole thing. I hate clichés, but that lid was so tight the odds of anyone learning what had really gone down at Hecate House were slim to none.  

The Federal Reserve Bank took back their notes, and to top it all off, a sad-faced man from the IRS told me that because 'Buck' Bonney had neglected to pay his income tax, the government was taking possession of Hecate House. It appeared that I was left with a handful of nothing.  

I pretended to all the members of Major Crimes that I was really pissed about the situation, but I couldn't have cared less about that house.  

See, I hadn't thought it was odd that James Joseph Ellison, decorated Detective of the Year, would accept a mundane task like keeping me company out at Hecate House. He was a loyal friend. But it turned out that he hadn't done it just out of friendship.  

So as far as I was concerned, I was the big winner. I got Jim out of that deal.  

****  

Christmas was on the horizon. It would be our first real holiday together as lovers.  

Oh, sure, there had been Thanksgiving. Jim had turned down his father's offer, well, order was more like it, and we'd spent the day watching football and roasting a small turkey with all the trimmings.  

"This is kind of pedestrian for you, isn't it, Chief?"  

"What, you were expecting ostrich?"  

"Truthfully? Yeah."  

I popped him in the ass with the dish towel, and he'd laughed, snagged an olive, and fed it to me via his mouth. The result was me plastered to his front, totally boneless, while his hand fondled the curve of my ass.  

That was a great holiday.  

But as I said, it wasn't our first real holiday, one where presents were involved.  

****  

It didn't take much thinking on my part to decide on what I wanted to give Jim. I got in touch with a friend who was on sabbatical in South America.  

"I dunno, Blair. It's kind of short notice. You know these native artisans like to take their time," she informed me when I'd told her what I wanted.  

"Go to Incacha, Trace. Tell him it's for Jim Ellison. Jim Ellison," I emphasized.  

"Well, okay, but I still wish you'd told me earlier."  

'Earlier' Jim and I hadn't been lovers. I'd been living with my fantasies, hiding my desire for him, and I'd been terrified at that point that giving him a gift would not only have spilt the beans of how I felt about him, but would have seen him throwing me out on my ass.  

It turned out Trace had been right. It was taking its freaking time.  

Every day I'd rush home to check the mail before my lover could get to it. Nothing.  

I called the Post Office, just to make sure they had the right address and that a package hadn't arrived that needed to be signed for. Still nothing.  

I was getting antsy, and had even started wracking my brains for something else to give him, going so far as to surf the Net. I found an online store that sold erotic articles of clothing and toys, and I was toying with the idea of ordering a thong with a red velvet pouch to hold his dick and balls. There was a sprig of holly on each hip, to celebrate the season. It was kind of cheesy, it was no way as perfect, but it would have been something.  

The package from Peru arrived in Cascade with a week to spare, and I let out a massive sigh of relief when I picked it up from Mrs. Robertson, on 2, who had signed for it. I promised to give her son, Joey, the stamps.  

When I got it up to 307, I took it into my old room. Since Jim didn't usually go into the room under the stairs, I thought it was a pretty safe bet to hide it there.  

I tore off the brown paper and opened the wooden box. About the length of my hand, it was beautiful enough to be a gift in itself. It was padded with straw, and I moved it aside carefully and withdrew the figure it contained.  

It was a black panther made from South American ebony.  

I sat with it in my hands, rubbing my fingers over its back and sides and head again and again.  

The wood was smooth and sleek, the grain defining the elegant sweep of muscle, the line of tail curling against a hind leg, the…  

Whoa! The package under its belly! This panther was an anatomically correct male! I hadn't bargained on that! Still, it… he was hung well enough to please the man he was destined for.  

"Enqueri."  

But it was the damnedest thing. I just couldn't wrap it. For the rest of the day, I stroked it and petted it, and only when I heard Jim's key in the lock did I finally stash it away in the back of the little closet.  

****  

It was Christmas Eve, and I figured I'd better stop screwing around. I tore a piece of Scotch tape off the dispenser with one hand, while I held down the Christmas wrapping paper with the other. It was festooned with Bugs Bunnies in Santa hats, building snowmen that looked suspiciously like Elmer Fudd, riding sleds.  

I'd wasted three quarters of an hour, ruined four different sheets of paper, which is how I wound up with Bugs, and had gone through almost the whole roll of tape on this thing, not to mention turning the air blue with invective. I'd never had trouble doing this before. It was as if it didn't want to be wrapped.  

Weird. And I was losing my patience.  

"Listen, you," I finally snarled at the box. "Jim is going to be home soon!" And as if those were the magic words, the paper stayed in place, the tape sealed it neatly, and within two minutes it was done. "Well. That's more like it."  

I stuck a blue and silver bow in a corner of the package and stuffed it in my backpack. Jim would never think of looking for it in there.  

A quick glance at the clock told me I had better get dinner started. I set the oven to preheat, and when the timer went off ten minutes later, I put in a couple of TV dinners.  

Jim had promised he'd be home early. After dinner, we were going to get our first ever Christmas tree at Uncle Eddie's Live!AllLive! Christmas Tree Lot . I loved the smell of evergreen.  

This year we were going to do it up right.  

He'd bought a poinsettia that sat on a corner of the kitchen island, its leaves a beautiful splash of red; we had already gone to Sears for the decorations; and I'd found some mistletoe at a florist and had hung it over the door.  

I was having an awesome fantasy of kissing Jim under that mistletoe, when the telephone rang. "Yello."  

"Yello? Chief, that is so unlike you!"  

I could feel myself turning all different shades of red. "Sorry, Jim. I'm just feeling really excited." I tucked the phone under my ear and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "We're gonna have a tree for the first time in…"  

"Well, I'm glad one of us is excited."  

"Whoa! That does not sound good. What's up? And no smart remarks, wise guy!"  

"Well, damn, you're no fun, Sandburg!"  

"Yes, I am. If you didn't think so, I'd still be sleeping on that damned futon!"  

"And neither of us would be getting a good night's sleep. You'd be jerking off thinking of me, and I'd be jerking off, listening to you jerking off thinking of me."  

"Uh…" Talking of jerking off brought back images of some of my best fantasies, and I started getting hard. I licked my lips and took a calming breath. He'd be able to tell from my voice that I was getting turned on. "You had a reason for talking dirty to me on the phone when you should be home in less than half an hour, and you could talk dirty to me in the flesh?"  

"Thanks for reminding me, babe. That's why I'm calling. Don't hold dinner for me. I have to work late. Paperwork."  

"Shit. Okay, let me turn the oven off, and I'll be right down there and give you a hand."  

"Wait a second! Uh… there's no need for you to come, Chief." I waited for a sexual innuendo, but he by-passed the opportunity and just hurried on. "You can get the Christmas tree yourself. Get one that fits on the Volvo."  

"Jim, our first tree! I wanted you to pick it out with me." I didn't even cringe at the whine in my voice. "And I want a big one." This time I did cringe. "I mean…"  

"I know, Chief." There was warmth and affection in his voice. I must have done something really good in a past life to have earned Jim Ellison in this life.  

"Okay, I can wait for you." I started to cheer up as I thought about it. "Later will be even better. Uncle Eddie will be desperate to unload whatever he has left, and we'll get a great deal on it! Oh, man, it's gonna be so great…"  

"Whatever you say, Ebenezer," he laughed. "Listen, I gotta go. One last thing, Chief…" He lowered his voice.  

I shivered and slid dick-first into a fantasy.  

He'd be making this phone call from someplace safe, where no one was likely to overhear him. A nice, dark, supply closet maybe. He'd have his fly open and his dick out, and he'd be picturing me naked in bed while he fondled his dick.  

"When I get home…" he'd say, and he'd know… he'd know what it did to me when he used that tone. In two seconds flat I would be so hard I'd nearly poke a hole through my sweats.  

Jim usually preferred bottoming, but this time… "I want you slicked up, Sandburg, with the cherry-flavored lube." His voice would drop even lower. "I want your legs spread."  

And I'd whimper. After I'd taken my shower, I'd have gone commando, hoping I could interest my lover in a little 'ride the bologna pony' before dinner. I'd slide my hand past my waistband.  

My dick would be leaking pre come, and I'd smear it over the crown and begin to toy with it, scraping my nails over it.  

"Are you touching yourself, Chief?"  

I'd barely be able to croak out an answer, fisting my dick, pumping it strongly while my other hand tickled my balls.  

"Good." He'd listen to the sounds I made, which would become increasingly desperate. "And I want you ready to rock, Chief, because I'll be coming up those stairs, stripping off my clothes. By the time I get up to the loft, I'm going to be naked. And I mean naked. No condom. I'm gonna ride you bareback tonight, babe. I'm gonna fuck you through the mattress. I'm gonna make you howl…"  

I'd moan, and my hips would jerk once as I came. His moan would echo in my ear, and even without Sentinel hearing, I would hear his head hit a wall hard enough for supplies to be knocked onto the floor, and I'd know he'd climaxed as well…  

"Chief, did you hear me?"  

I snapped out of the fantasy. "Uh, sorry, Jim. You were saying?"  

"I said, 'Be good till I get home.'" There was a smile in his voice.  

"Yeah, well, you, too, James!"  

****  

I had my feet up on the arm of the loveseat and was watching the umpteenth showing of It's a Wonderful Life, when there was an irritated pounding on the door.  

That was fast. I wasn't expecting Jim for another couple of hours at least. Paperwork and Jim Ellison didn't go hand in hand.  

"Forget your keys again, smart guy?" I pulled open the door, but it wasn't Jim. A couple stood there, wearing identical his and hers overcoats that hung open. "Can I help you?"  

"Blair Sandburg?"  

"Yes?"  

The taller of the pair, a woman in a seriously anal skirt suit, reached into her jacket.  

"Whoa! Hold it!" I'd been involved with a cop for too long, had been kidnapped, beaten, kidnapped, drugged, kidnapped… well, you get the picture, not to be wary.  

"Sorry. I'm Agent Swift. My partner, Agent Moorehead. We're with the FBI." She flashed official-looking ID. I reached for it, but she flipped it shut and put it back in her jacket. "Mind if we come in?"  

Before I could say yes, no, or are you out of your fucking mind? she was crowding me back into the apartment. She looked around, her nose wrinkled in distaste, and I scowled at her. "You want to tell me what you're doing here?"  

"You own Hecate House. We need to…"  

"No."  

"What do you mean, 'no'?"  

"We are speaking English here, aren't we? 'No' means 'no'. I don't own Hecate House."  

She scowled back at me and snapped her fingers. Her partner placed his briefcase on the island, unlocked it, and withdrew a piece of paper.  

"According to this, it's yours."  

I stared at the document in surprise. "The IRS told me they were repossessing it for 'Buck' Bonney's back taxes."  

She smiled tightly. "They were wrong. The US government has no claim to this house."  

"Oh. Um… Oh." 

"Mr. Sandburg." The man finally spoke. I'd been starting to wonder if he could. "You'll need to sign a release stating that no damage was done to your possession."  

"But I don't know that no damage was done." I loved fucking with bureaucratic minds.  

"No. Therefore you'll need to go out to Hecate House to examine it."  

Fuck. Looked like one to the bureaucrats. "Okay. I'll see if I can arrange some time off after Christmas… What?"  

Agent Swift was shaking her head. "Unfortunately, time is of the essence, Mr. Sandburg. We… er… we need to close out our books before the end of the year. It's an accounting thing. I'm sure you understand. Change into warmer clothes, and we'll be on our way."  

"Now? I can't leave right now!"  

Agent Moorehead's mouth curled in a grin, but it wasn't reflected in his eyes. "I'm afraid you don't have any choice, Mr. Sandburg. Now, I suggest you follow my partner's advice, or you're going to get very cold very fast."  

I was suddenly faced with a gun big enough to drive my Volvo through. I swallowed hard. "Can I leave a message for my roommate?"  

"James Ellison? Oh, yes, we know all about you and your roommate." She'd seen the way my eyelids had flickered. She exchanged glances with her partner, and shrugged. "Go ahead, but make it snappy."  

I grabbed a piece of paper and the pen we kept by the phone. "I don't suppose it will do any good if I state again that I don't want to go?"  

"Not a bit."  

I scrawled, Going to Hecate House in the company of Agents Swift and Moorehead, two representatives of the FBI. See you when I see you.  

The woman took the paper from me and scanned it with an attitude of indifference. That should have given me a clue. "Now, Mr. Sandburg, I'll give you five minutes to change your clothes."   

Faced with that cannon, I didn't feel I had much choice. I trotted up the stairs to the loft, and I peered down cautiously. If they were aware that they were visible from up there, they gave no indication of it. Agent Moorehead took the note and held it to the flame on the stove. I ducked back before they could see me.  

"Five minutes, Mr. Sandburg."  

There was nothing in the loft that I could use to write another message, but Jim had been a Special Ops, and they could see things where other people simply saw a pile of dirty laundry left carelessly on the floor.  

I up-ended the hamper and hoped Jim wouldn't kick the pile aside before he realized I'd left it there on purpose.  

"The clock is ticking!"  

I ran a hand through my hair, then stripped off the sweats I'd been wearing and pulled on long thermal underwear. They were lightweight, but extremely warm. Winters were usually mild in this part of Washington, but for the last week the temperature had rarely made it above zero, and the weatherman was predicting a white Christmas.  

"Two minutes, Mr. Sandburg."  

"Are you really sure you want to go to Hecate House in the dead of winter?" I called down. I had on a turtleneck, two sweatshirts, sweatpants and three pairs of socks. I hated being cold.  

"We're not amateurs, Mr. Sandburg; we've read up on Hecate House. And time's up."  

I jumped the last three steps and grabbed my jacket. "Ready." I took a step toward the kitchen. "Just let me…"  

But I was shoved out the door.  

####  

I didn't have paperwork that needed catching up on. I was going to pick up Blair Sandburg's Christmas present.  

"Are you still here, Ellison?" Simon Banks, my captain, growled around his cigar. "The city is not paying you overtime to talk to your guide. Clock out and go home! You can talk to him there."  

"Yes, sir," I grinned. I logged out of my computer and stood up, stretching to get the kinks out of my spine.  

"You're in a good mood!"  

"Hey, it's Christmas Eve!" I could hardly tell him that Blair had been having another one of his fantasies. I knew that from his breathing. I shifted discreetly, still half-hard, and slid my arms into my jacket.  

"Yeah, and it's a lucky thing I finally found that computer game Darryl's been going on about. Come on. I'll ride down to the parking garage with you."  

The doors to the elevator slid shut, and the car jerked into motion.  

"So, what are your plans for Christmas, Jim?"  

"Blair and I are going to buy a tree later. He's going to make eggnog, and we'll decorate it."  

"Uh, Jim, isn't Sandburg Jewish?"  

"Yeah, that's what I said, but he said we could celebrate Chanukah next year."  

Simon was quiet for a couple of floors, chewing on his cigar. "Jim, what's the story with you two?"  

"We're partners." He gave me a look, and I knew he wasn't going to be satisfied with that. I pressed the button that brought the elevator to a halt and faced my captain. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me. He's not only my guide and friend, he's… Look, Simon. Don't make me have to choose between Blair and the department, because there won't be a choice. I'll pick Blair every time."  

Simon pulled the button out and the elevator began to descend again. "Fair enough, Jim. Just make sure you watch your ass."  

"I've got Blair to do that for me."  

"Too much information, Ellison!" We stepped out of the elevator. "Goodnight. Merry Christmas."  

"'Night, Simon. Merry Christmas!" I had my keys out and crossed the garage to where my blue pickup was parked.  

****  

I had known exactly what I wanted to give Blair for Christmas, and it hadn't taken much thought on my part. It was finding it that had been the hold up, and in the end I'd had it custom-made, along with the chains.  

I'd been getting fidgety, thinking that Aaron Frank, Cascade's premier jeweler, might not have it ready in time, and I'd started wracking my brains for something else, even going so far as to surf the Net.  

But the jeweler had called earlier in the week to say I could pick it up this evening just before closing.  

There was a parking spot available right in front of the jeweler's, which surprised me, but I figured it was one of those miracles that only happen on Christmas Eve. I got out of the truck and strode into the store.  

Aaron Frank stood behind the display case, pride in every line of his body. On a black velvet square on the glass counter were two silver charms that gave the appearance of having been broken apart. Coiled next to the Mizpah were the chains they would be suspended from.  

I picked them up and fit them together and read the inscription. "'The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent one from the other.'"  

"That is what you wanted, isn't it, Detective Ellison?"  

"It's perfect, Mr. Frank." I smiled and took out my wallet. I'd be paying for this in cash. Blair had taken over handling the bills, and I didn't want him to know how much this cost. I'd been a little taken aback to learn that silver this pure was equal to the gross national product of a small country. Not that I begrudged it. After the debacle with Carolyn, my ex-wife, I never thought I'd fall in love again.  

But then came Blair.  

Mr. Frank selected one of the charms, attached it to a chain, and then buffed it to a high gloss with a soft cloth and handed it to me. I slipped the 'me' charm over my head, and it hung down to just over my heart. I'd be wearing it when I gave Blair his on Christmas morning.  

The jeweler repeated the process with the other charm and put it in the box that was the same shade of blue as Blair's eyes. "Shall I gift-wrap it?"  

"Please." I could hardly wait to see Blair's expression when I gave it to him.  

He slid a gift card across the counter, and I kept clicking the ball pen, trying to think of something that would convey how I felt about him.  

While I wrestled with that, the jeweler took out a sheet of paper. Instead of the shop's signature silver and gold foil paper, he chose one that was a Christmassy red and green.  

When both of us were satisfied with the results of our labors, I took the package from him, tucked the card under the ribbon, and put it in my jacket pocket.  

I left the store, whistling "Jolly Old St. Nicholas."   

****  

I parked the truck in her usual spot across from 852 Prospect. As I got out, something began nagging at my senses. I paused, then started across the street at a brisk pace.  

By the time I'd reached the lobby, I was running. I couldn't wait for the elevator to arrive; I took the stairs two and three at a time.  

There was no one outside 307, although grumbles were starting to come from other apartments on the third floor. I could hear the annoying whine of the smoke detector in my apartment. I fumbled for my key, dialing down my hearing so I wouldn't be overwhelmed by the sound.  

"Blair?"  

Smoke was billowing from the oven. I turned it off and opened the oven door, but there were no flames, just the remains of two TV dinners. I disconnected the smoke alarm and opened the windows and French doors to help the smoke dissipate, getting more and more tense.  

The apartment was empty.  

Something was drawing me toward the little bedroom that used to be Blair's, and I went through the opened the doorway. The pull became stronger, and I crossed to the closet. Blair's backpack was on the floor, and I reached for it.  

As if in a trance, I took out the gaily wrapped present. This was for me, I knew it. I let the backpack fall to the floor and ran my fingers over the rectangular package.  

Suddenly I knew I needed to be in the loft. I stuffed the package into my jacket and left the room on the run  

The loft was a mess. Drawers hung open, socks and underwear dangling off them. The contents of the hamper were spilled all over the floor, the…  

Something about the way the clothes were scattered on the floor caught my attention.  

Blair Sandburg was a warehouse of unusual information, and somewhere in his travels he had learned semaphore. Using the clothes, he'd managed to leave me a message. It took me a few minutes to decipher the meaning of the pattern he'd used. Danger, dead house, man, woman, bureau, careful. And then it all fell into place.  

I'm being taken to Hecate House by a man and a woman who claim to be FBI. I'll be okay. Be careful!  

When he had to, Sandburg could say a lot with a little.  

I glanced at the clock. He had to have been taken not too long after I'd called him. It would take that long for the smoke alarm to be triggered. 

I went back down the stairs, yanked out my cell phone, and called Simon.  

"Blair's been kidnapped." I went around closing the windows.  

"What? Again?"  

"Not funny, Simon! Get in touch with Lewiston PD. He's being taken to Hecate House. I'm going after him."  

"Shit! I'll get right on the horn. And Jim, drive carefully. It's starting to snow."  

Hecate House was a four hour drive, doing the speed limit.  

I intended to get there in half the time.  

####  

The moon played hide and seek in the clouds, revealing, then concealing Hecate House.  

The old manse stood there, a sullen hulk. I shivered in spite of myself, and not just because of the chill in the air.  

I hadn't been in the house since the local police had removed the bodies of  'Buck' Bonney's lawyer, Alfred Neumann, and the man's brother, Paul. I wasn't looking forward to going back inside.  

As we got out of the grey sedan, the wind whipped at us, the bite of snow in the air. "Get those boxes from the back seat, Sandburg."  

There had to be at least half a dozen stacked on top of each other. "Was it written somewhere that I was supposed to be helpful? I'm sorry, I must have missed that in the kidnap victim's handbook."  

"You don't help, you don't eat," Agent Moorehead growled at me and took a couple himself. "Smart ass."  

I grabbed a box. "Never let it be said that I can't be reasonable. How long are we going to be here?"  

"As long as it takes."  

"Very informative, Elliot Ness. Y'know, you'd better hope we don't lose power."  

"Why's that?" But I could tell Moorehead didn't much care about what I had to say. He followed Agent Swift up the walk.  

"The johns here are equipped with ejector pumps. If there's no electricity, they don't flush. The walk to the outhouse was miserable in the rain. It's gonna be a bitch and a half in snow."  

Neither one looked happy to hear that, and I grinned. My job was done.  

Agent Swift had the key, and she crossed the porch that seemed in even worse shape than the last time I'd been there. The yellow tape designating this a crime scene was still plastered across the door. She tore it off with complete disregard.  

"Hey, that's police property, you know!"  

Her lip curled, and she put the key in the lock, but before she could turn it, the door swung open.  

I hummed the theme from the Twilight Zone, which again earned me corresponding glares. "Take those boxes to the kitchen. I'm going to see if we have any electricity."  

But she had no sooner taken a step into the house when she gagged.  

"Dani!" Moorehead dropped the boxes he was carrying and ran to the woman. "What's wrong."  

She covered her nose and mouth with her hand. "That smell! Ugh! That's vile! Don't you smell it?"  

"No, I don't… Oh, jesus, now I'm getting it! What the fuck is that?"  

"Smells like something died in here a while ago. Whoever was supposed to clean up all that blood didn't do a good job," I observed.  

"Where's the light switch, Sandburg?"  

"On the wall, where else?" I gave her my sweetest smile.  

She fumbled a bit, then found it. "All right, move it. I want all those boxes brought in before the snow starts!"  

I shrugged and did as she said. This was like a replay of the events of Halloween. I dropped the box on the dining room table and felt against the wall for the light switch. I pressed it, and lo! There was light.  

The shutters that separated the kitchen from the dining room where folded back. On the counter, under a fine coating of dust, was the camp stove Jim and I had brought in October. Good thing. It turned out the 'Feebs' hadn't thought to bring one.  

I went back out to the car.  

The snow had started, thick, heavy flakes that promised to stick. "Looks like we're going to have a white Christmas this year," I murmured to the cold night sky.  

Moorehead joined me and popped the trunk with the keyless remote. There were even more cartons in there.  

The amount of supplies surprised me. Flashlights, sheets and blankets, canned goods.  

How long were they planning on staying here?  

And then I came across something really interesting: a whole box of microwavable dinners. "I thought you said you'd read up on Hecate House."  

"We did."  

"Well, Agent Moorehead, I hate to be the one to rain on your parade, but Hecate House doesn't have a microwave." I enjoyed telling him that. I enjoyed his reaction even more.  

"No… No microwave?" The grinding of his teeth was audible. "How are we supposed to prepare this?" He followed me into the house and gave the kitchen a quick once over.  

"Not my problem, J. Edgar. You should have brought a manual can opener, too. You know, you can never rely on the electricity in these old houses."  

He glowered. I dumped the box and went back to get another. Moorehead was right behind me.  

Finally we had them all in and the door closed to the storm.  

"Nice trophy in the living room." Agent Swift had been poking around the first floor, and now she joined us. "It's freezing in here!" Her breath was a white plume. "Where's the furnace?" I opened my mouth, and she frowned at me. "No smart remarks, Sandburg."  

I shrugged. "Downstairs."  

"Go down and turn it on." She was rubbing her hands together to warm them.  

"Not in this or any other lifetime."  

"Coward?" Moorehead sneered.  

"You bet your ass." I'd been down there and gotten seriously bad vibes. Fear of the dark wasn't one of my phobias, but I'd been scared shitless.  

"I'll go. Civilians."  

"Keep that in mind! I didn't volunteer for this chicken shit outfit!"  

The Feeb looked around. "Where's the fucking door to the basement?"  

"Tsk, tsk. Language!" I pointed to the door that I had first thought opened into a pantry. "It's right through there."  

With a final sneer, he stalked past me and into the kitchen. He yanked the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and whacked his shoulder. He rubbed it absently while he stared down the stairs.  

"Dark, isn't it? Light switch is to your left, Einstein."  

Moorehead's look could have set water to freezing. He snapped the light on and went down the stairs. We could hear his diatribe all the way to the bottom.  

"Well, Agent Swift, who makes dinner, and who makes the beds?"  

"I don't cook."  

"Fine." I took the sheets from one of the boxes and stacked them in her arms. "The stairs are that way." I indicated the central hallway. "Oh, and you might want to stay out of the first bedroom on the right. That's the one Bonney's lawyer was found dead in."  

"Thanks for the heads up." There was a shriek of metal, and she flinched. It was followed by a clatter, rattle and bang. "What's that?"  

"The furnace. And you know we're damned lucky there's oil in it."  

"That wouldn't be a problem, Chief. This pile of rubble has fireplaces on every floor, and there's a woodpile right outside the kitchen door!"  

"Jim!" I didn't throw myself into his arms, but only because Agent Moorehead stood in front of him.  

Moorehead's overcoat had been pulled down over his arms, effectively trapping his arms against his sides.  

Jim had his pistol at the shorter man's head. "Want to tell me what's going on?"  

"We're with the FBI…" Agent Swift was staring at Jim as if she couldn't believe her eyes.  

"Pull my other leg, lady." Jim threw Agent Moorehead's gun to me, then tossed his ID onto the rug in front of her. "Phony as a three dollar bill. Chief?" He cut a glance toward the woman. I turned to her, snapped my fingers, and held out my palm, wiggling my fingers until she took her gun from its shoulder holster and placed it in my hand.  

"You were supposed to be tied up doing paperwork!"  

"Now, how did you know that?"  

"You used a cell phone, Ellison," Moorehead snarled, then winced. His jaw was looking swollen. He'd be sporting a nice bruise come morning.

"Interesting breach of privacy."  

"You want privacy, don't talk on a cell phone!" Moorehead worked his jaw carefully. "We had no trouble picking up your conversation." It was easy to see he was in some discomfort. I was just so sorry about that.  

"Suppose you tell me who you really are?"  

"We are with the FBI, a branch of the Bureau that is unknown to the general public. We investigate strange and unusual occurrences."  

"What? UFOs? The Bermuda Triangle? Sasquatch? Mmm hmmm. Why did you kidnap Sandburg? He has nothing to do with that tabloid fodder." Jim's eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels turning.  

My diss about sentinels! I swallowed, then sagged in relief when Agent Swift casually clarified her statement. "Our division is probing the events of this past October in this house." She fussed with her overcoat, getting it to drape smoothly over her shoulders once again. "It seems that you and Mr. Sandburg were the only people to spend the night at Hecate House and emerge the next morning, not only alive, but sane."  

"Whoa! Heavy!"  

Agent Swift ignored me. She gave Jim a tight smile. "Getting you also was a problem, Detective Ellison, until we realized that if Mr. Sandburg were here, it wouldn't be too long before you arrived also."  

"Problem solved." Jim didn't look happy about that. 

"I hate the idea of them using me like that, Jim." I barely moved my lips, but I knew he'd hear me.  

"I really didn't expect you quite so soon, Detective."  

"Yeah, how did you get here so fast, Jim?" The corner of his mouth curved up. "Ah. Old 'Lead-foot' strikes again!"  

"You know it, Chief." Jim's grin broadened. "By the way, Simon notified Lewiston PD. If we're lucky, they'll be able to get a snowplow through here before we have to resort to cannibalism."  

"You can eat me any time, babe," I sub-vocalized, and Jim choked.  

"That isn't funny, Detective!" Swift snapped, unaware of our by-play.  

Before Jim could answer, the lights went out.  

"Oh, fuck! Not again!"  

"We were quite prepared for this eventuality, Mr. Sandburg." Moorehead's tone was so smug and patronizing I wanted to give him a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw. "If you'll permit me, Detective?"  

Jim reluctantly yanked up on the coat, freeing the shorter man's arms.  

I could see Moorehead in the moonlight that filtered through the tattered curtains. He took a flashlight from a box on the table and thumbed the switch.  

And thumbed the switch. Then whacked the palm of his hand with it and tried again.  

It didn't work.  

Why wasn't I surprised?  

Fortunately, along with the camp stove, a few lanterns had been left behind. They did work.  

****  

I had candles set up all around the kitchen, and they gave it a romantic glow. If only it was just Jim and me. This was definitely the stuff fantasies were made of.  

Jim came back into the kitchen, and I looked up from the box where I was rummaging for something for dinner. "Where are Mulder and Scully?"  

"Who?"

I raised my chin, indicating the hallway.  

Jim's eyes glinted in the lantern light. "Oh. Our intrepid investigators. I sent 'em to investigate. Did you know we never got to half the rooms on this floor? There are at least three other rooms toward the rear of the house." He became serious. "This really wasn't how I wanted us to spend Christmas Eve, babe."  

"I know, Jim. Thanks for coming after me, man. I… uh… I wasn't sure you'd be able to find me."  

"You're kidding, right? I'd find you if it took the rest of my life to do it! Besides, that was a real stroke of genius, using the clothes to form a message. I'm impressed."  

"Cool. Remember that the next time we're going after the bad guys, and you tell me to wait in the truck." I studied him carefully. "Jim, how are your senses handling this? The smell is pretty bad. It even got to Mutt and Jeff."  

"I've got it dialed down so low it's bearable." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand it. Once the M.E. removed the bodies, and the Feds had done their sweep, someone should have come in to clean up the place."  

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this." Abruptly, my stomach rumbled.  

"I think it's called hunger. Let's see what the FBI is teaching their agents to pack for a field trip." He poked into a box. "Hey, look at this!" He tossed me the can.  

"Okay, beef stew it is." I didn't need a can opener for that type of can; I hooked my forefinger in the tab and peeled back the lid, and poured the contents into the aluminum pot on the camp stove. "Are there any more? This is a single serving."  

"Hmmm. Not beef stew. We've got chili, Vienna sausage, and tuna."  

I made a disgruntled sound. "Isn't that a fine how do you do? Y'know, Jim, I'm really not having a good time." I stacked the cans next to the stove and tried to think how to make sure we all got fed with a minimum of work on my part. "It's gotta be a long hair thing."  

"What? What are you talking about?"  

"I was making dinner, and I got kidnapped. I got rescued, and I'm still making dinner. It's gotta be the hair. I've got the longest hair here!"  

"Chief, I think you've just taken a sharp left into the Sandburg Zone." He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was smiling.  

"No, seriously, Jim. How else do you explain it?"  

"You look cute in an apron?"  

"That is so not funny, James." I nudged his legs apart and stood between them.  

"No." He unwound his arms, put his hands on my ass, and pulled me closer. "But it's true."  

"Flattery will get you everywhere."  

"I know."  

"Hey, what's this?" Something in his jacket was jabbing me. "Is that your gun in your pocket, or are you glad to see me, Jim?"  

"Actually…" He pulled a flat package out of his pocket.  "Merry Christmas, Blair." He tipped up my chin and kissed me.  

"Oh, Jim." I turned it over and over, and my hands shook a little.  

"Open it, Chief."

I ripped the paper with abandon. My thumbnail fit in the catch of the blue velvet jeweler's box, and the lid snapped open.  

"Jim!" The thick chain draped over my hand, and I stroked my fingers over the silver charm with its invocation of the Lord's protection.  

He took it from me and dropped it over my head, then reached in his collar, displaying the matching piece and joining them so that for a second they were one.  

"Oh, Jim."  

"There's a card."  

"Hold that lantern lower, would you?" I scrabbled through the paper that had fallen to the floor, finally finding the cardboard square with the gold embossed lion rampant that was the symbol of Frank's Jewelers. I turned it over.  

This Christmas. Next Christmas. Every Christmas. ~Jim  

"Oh, Jim." I tucked the card into an inside pocket of my jacket to keep it safe.  

"Getting redundant there, Chief."  

I fisted his shirt and dragged him to me, and kissed the smile on his mouth. There was a vibration against my chest that I could feel even through our jackets. "I love it when you purr, babe."  

"Huh? I'm not… Never mind, Sandburg, you sweet-talker, you. Kiss me again." His lips were warm.  

I rubbed my mouth back and forth over his, but didn't attempt to deepen the kiss. "I have something for you, but it's at home."  

"You mean this?" Jim took a package from inside his jacket.  

"That was in the bottom of my backpack, in the back of my closet." I leaned back to look into his eyes, inadvertently thrusting my dick against the bulge in his pants. "How did you…?"  

"The weirdest thing." He smoothed his hand over his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. "It was almost as if it called me to find it!"  

I went still for a moment. "That's… bizarre, Jim."  

"Yeah."  

And he talked about the Sandburg Zone. "That's what I get for living with a sentinel." I shook my head. "Well, don't just stand there. Now it's your turn! Open it!"  

He barely had to slide a nail under the tape. The present just seemed to unwrap itself. He opened the box and took out the panther. "Oh, Chief. This is amazing!" He ran a finger along the length of the tail.  

I blinked. Instead of curling around its leg, the tail appeared to be held in a straight, tense, downward line. I'd handled that panther every day for the past week, and I would have sworn…  

Jim pulled me into his arms. The hug was so tight I grunted, and he laughed softly in my ear. "I love it, Chief. I love you."  

His lips covered mine, pressing them to part, and it was as it he was feeding off my mouth. I forgot everything and hummed my pleasure. He swallowed the sound. One hand was on my ass, kneading and squeezing, and I rubbed my dick against his and tried to get even closer.

There was a slight cough in the doorway, and I growled a curse. We turned to find Agent Swift standing there.  

"I smelled something burning."  

Jim gave a huff of laughter. "Looks like you burned dinner a second time, babe."  

****  

I was a little pissed that I was blamed for burning dinner, when clearly the fault was not mine.  

I didn't even bother trying to salvage the pan. I opened the backdoor and threw it out into the softly falling snow.  

"Okay. Dinner. Take three." This time I was playing it safe. I took out a package of crackers and a rectangle of processed cheese.  

"Chief, I'm going to check the basement again. There was something down there…"  

"That was Moorehead!" Swift sniped.  

"I don't think so. Wait a second. Where is Moorehead?"  

"He wanted to check out the upstairs bedrooms."  

Jim shook his head, put the panther down on the counter and headed for the basement stairs.  

"Hold it, John Wayne! I'm going with you!"  

"Chief…"  

"You gonna try and keep me in the truck again, Jim?"  

"All right, Blair. Get a candle and let's move 'em out."  

"Amateurs!" Swift followed us.  

****  

I expected there to be shadows. Why weren't there more shadows? Two lanterns and a candle shed a decent amount of light, but not enough to dispel all the darkness in that basement.  

"Uh… Jim? Why is there light coming from around that corner?" It was flickering, too bright to be a candle but too unsteady to be a lantern.  

"That's where the secret staircase from the front upstairs bedroom starts. Or ends. Remember? Moorehead must have discovered it. Listen!"  

Agent Swift and I could also discern the sound that Jim had already picked up, a series of tiny gasping moans that were barely audible. We hurried to round the corner.  

"Oh, fuck. Moorehead!"  

He was standing about two yards away from the wall, the lantern shaking in his upheld hand. We followed his gaze.  

A panel had slid back in the wall, revealing what appeared to be a portrait in oils of Hecate, the three-headed goddess of the crossroads. In her right hand was a sickle, similar to the Grim Reaper's, and the sight of it sent ice down my spine. While she had been connected with the netherworld, she wasn't a collector of souls. Why was she being portrayed as such?  

It was difficult to tell the age of the painting, but the oils were cracked and dry, and the style was like nothing I had ever seen.  

"Jim, that wasn't there the last time!" I whispered.  

"I know. Oh, jesus! Look at the blade!"  

It was starting to swing out of the picture. If Moorehead didn't move, it would slice across his throat, leaving a gaping wound similar to the one that had torn out the throat of Alfred Neumann.  

"Rey! Don't just stand there! Move your ass!" Agent Swift cried, but the man was frozen in place.  

Jim swore and launched himself forward. He took Moorehead down in a full-body tackle, and the razor-sharp blade passed over their heads, the whooshing sound it made chilling me to the bone.  

Three sets of painted eyes turned to pin the two men to the ground, and the sickle returned to her side. I thought her knee flexed as if she were about to step out of the painting. Jim tried to scramble out of the way, dragging Moorehead with him, but the Feeb appeared out cold, and his weight hindered any possibility of escape.  

I leaped forward to put myself between that hell-bitch and my lover. "You're gonna have to go through me to get to him," I snarled, and the eyes seemed to promise that it would be the goddess' pleasure.  

I hurled the candle at the painting. The melting wax splattered and clung to it, and the centuries-old oils ignited.  

Smoke filled the basement more rapidly than I would have thought possible, reducing visibility to zero. I could hear a deep, rough cough, the sound low to the ground, and I assumed Agent Swift had dropped to the floor in search of untainted air. I backed away from the flaming wall and caught my feet on the recumbent bodies of Jim and Agent Moorehead, and I went down, ass over teakettle.  

"We've gotta get out of here, babe." Jim's arm was around my waist, and he pulled me into him.  

The sound was there, hovering within the snap and crackle of the flames. Somehow she had escaped the prison of the painting. Again there came the whooshing of the blade as the goddess blindly tried to slice us into Sentinel/Guide ribbons.  

"The Feebs, Jim. We can't leave them."  

"I know. I'll get Moorehead; see if you can find Swift."  

I started to crawl toward the coughing. It was taking on an oddly threatening sound, as if it were warning the danger away.  

Through sheer blind luck I stumbled across Agent Swift. She was unconscious, but I didn't have time to wonder how, in that case, she could cough. Too many weird things had already happened. I hooked an arm around her torso and began inching my way through the thick smoke in the direction I hoped the stairs were.  

The basement was hot, Hades-hot, as hot and smoky as Dante's sixth circle of hell. Oxygen was being leached from our lungs, and it became more and more difficult to breathe. And somewhere in that nightmare was the goddess of the netherworld, coming after us.  

The coughing changed to a vengeful roar, and I looked over my shoulder in time to see a dark shape leap through the smoke and vanish into the flames.  

Abruptly, the heat and fire began to subside.  

Strong arms caught me and urged me to the stairs. "C'mon, Chief, help me out here! The woman's a dead weight!"  

"Are you insinuating I'm heavy, Detective Ellison?" The voice was raspy from smoke inhalation, but intelligible.  

"I see you're with us again, Agent Swift." My laugh came out more a croak. I managed to get to my feet. "Let's haul ash."  

"Not funny, Chief."  

"Hey, I'd like to see you come up with a clever line after a near-immolation experience."  

"Can we get out of here?"  

"Certainly, Agent Swift."  

"Where's Rey?"  

"Who? Oh, Moorehead. He's already up in the kitchen."  

We maneuvered our way up the stairs, blinking as we passed through the door into the brightly lit room.  

The power had been restored.  

Across the island, we could see Moorehead seated at the dining room table, his head on his arms. He looked up when he heard us. His face was streaked with soot and sweat.  

"Dani. Are you all right?"  

Agent Swift nodded wearily and took a handkerchief from her coat pocket. She dampened it at the sink, then went to her fellow agent and gently cleaned his face.  

"What happened down there?"  

I answered. "I don't know. I'm not sure you want to know."  

"We have to get out of here!" Jim was patting down his jacket, looking for his keys. I'd never seen him look so exhausted.  

"You won't get an argument from me!" I looked over at the two agents. "You still want to investigate Hecate House?"  

Moorehead's mouth became stubborn. "It's our job. We have to find an explanation for the unexplainable. For the good of mankind."  

Before I could demand to know what good that thing in the basement could possibly be for mankind, Agent Swift laid her hand over his. "Rey. Not this time." Her smile was rueful. "Win some, lose some. This was obviously out of our realm of knowledge."  

"Dani…"  

"Oh, we'll be back, Rey. With holy water, and sacred silver, and even wolf bane if we need it. When we're done, there will be nothing left of Hecate House, and we'll sow the ground it stood on with salt."  

Two pairs of eyes turned to me, as if challenging me to dispute their decision. It was my house they were taking about destroying, after all.  

"Go for it." Hecate House had done nothing to endear itself to me. There was a pounding on the front door. "Oh, great. Now what?"  

"I'll get it."  

"You, Jim, are gonna sit your ass down. I'll get it."  

"Chief…" He wound his fingers in my hair and leaned his forehead against mine. I could feel the clammy sweat on his brow, and I knew that as scared as I'd been for him, he'd been as scared for me.  

"Please, babe?"  

"Okay," Jim sighed. "I'm expecting the local cops, but… just in case… You still have Swift's gun?"  

I showed it to him. He pressed a kiss to my temple, then straightened and gave a shake to settle his jacket over his shoulders and sat down. As I left the room, I felt his eyes on my ass. I looked back, and his lips shaped a single word. Mine.  

Damn straight.  

There was more pounding on the door. "Geez, keep your pants on!" I unlocked it and pulled it open. The man who stood in the doorway was in his late forties and balding. I leaned against the doorframe. "We already gave at the office."  

His brows snapped together, but he ignored my flippant comment. "I'm looking for a couple of my people, Agents Swift and Moorehead."  

"Who're you?" I looked beyond him. "Who're they?" There were half a dozen men crowding onto the porch.  

"Assistant Director Sloan, FBI." He ignored my second question and reached into the jacket of his brown suit for his ID. He pulled it out, flipped it open and closed, and replaced it in the same quick movement as Agent Swift. Did they teach them that in the FBI?  

"You've come to the right place. They're to the left." I waved in the general direction.  

He nodded. "Split up and search the place," he ordered over his shoulder and strode into the house, followed by the men who obeyed him without question. I was left standing on an empty porch.  

"You're welcome."  

It had stopped snowing. The moon spilled across the white landscape, making it almost as bright as day. It looked just like a Christmas card.  

The plows had gone by. We hadn't heard them, but so much had been going on within the walls of Hecate House it wasn't surprising. On the street a black van was parked behind the grey sedan.  

I breathed in the cold air, then closed the door and went back inside.  

The two agents had risen to their feet, swaying, but determined. "Assistant Director!"  

"Would you two mind telling me what the meaning of this is?"  

"Sir, you've read the reports on Hecate House. Sandburg and Ellison were…"  

"Yes, yes, I'm aware they survived the night of Samhain. Do you know why?"  

"That was what we intended to determine tonight, sir."  

"Oh, very smart! Very clever!" I was relieved the man was not my superior. With those five words he'd cut them down to about yea high. "One of the holiest days in the Christian calendar, and you two decide to go searching for ghosties and ghoulies."  

"Assistant Director…"  

"No."  

Swift and Moorehead were pale and disheveled. The odor of smoke clung to their hair and clothes. And they were completely subdued by their superior's attitude. "Sorry, sir."  

 He glowered at his agents. "Wait for me in the car."  

They slunk out of Hecate House. The other men converged on the dining room.  

"Nothing upstairs, sir."  

"Nothing downstairs, sir."  

"What? The place should be a charred ruin!"  

"Nothing downstairs." The eyes that met mine were completely devoid of emotion. "We did find this, sir."  

Assistant Director Sloan took the object that was held out to him and examined it intently.  

"Excuse me, sir." Jim rose and extended his hand. "That's mine."  

It was the panther I had given him, which he had left on the kitchen counter.  

"Curious. Nice piece of craftsmanship." The assistant director returned it to him. "Well, this was obviously a wild goose chase. Detective Ellison, Mr. Sandburg, you have the department's heartfelt apologies. If there is anything I can do to atone for this… this…"  

I opened my mouth to suggest courtside seats for the Jags' home games for the next ten seasons, but Jim gave me the high sign to keep quiet. He smiled and said, "It's understandable, Assistant Director. No harm done."  

"You're too kind. Now, unless you intend to spend the night here, I would suggest starting the return trip to Cascade immediately. The storm has abated for the moment, but more snow is predicted."  

"Sounds like a good idea."  

"I just hope your tires weren't slashed this time," I groused. I continued almost soundlessly, "I have fond memories of that motel room, but I'd really prefer to spend the night in our own bed."  

We followed the assistant director to the front door, making sure the lights were out behind us. He locked the door and pocketed the key.  

"I guess the US government intends to keep Hecate House?"  

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Sandburg." Assistant Director Sloan checked his watch. "Well, Merry Christmas, gentlemen."  

"Merry Christmas," Jim said softly. He took a deep breath of the night air.  

"Happy Chanukah," I sang out. A.D. Sloan's laugh drifted back. The black van was gone, and the grey sedan waited, its engine running. "Jim…"  

"Shhh."  

Sloan got into the car. After a minute, the driver put it in gear and pulled out into the road.  

We climbed into Jim's pickup and waited while it warmed up. "So. More snow?"  

Jim shook his head. "Not as soon as the A.D. was insinuating. The smell is too faint. Tomorrow noon, maybe, but not before then." His hands tightened on the steering wheel.  

"Okay. Now how about telling me what you heard before they drove off?" I had no doubt my Sentinel had done a little eavesdropping.  

"Know what I love about you, Sandburg?" Jim cupped my jaw, and he ran his thumb over my cheekbone.  

"My clever wit and savoir faire?"  

His laugh was warm. "Aside from that. You know when to keep your mouth shut." He leaned over to kiss me, and my lips parted. "And when not to."  

Long moments passed. The only sound in the truck was of wet kisses and desperate moans, which weren't all coming from me. Finally Jim lifted his mouth off mine. I sighed and opened my eyes.  

"It was a set-up, babe. One of our Feebs was wearing a wire; they recorded the whole night, from the time they walked into 852 Prospect until Sloan knocked on the door."  

"Then that dressing-down Sloan gave Swift and Moorehead was just for our benefit."  

"Yeah. They weren't expecting that inferno in the basement."  

"Jim. How did the panther I gave you wind up down there?"  

He shrugged. "I'm not going to tell you I had it with me all the time."  

"Good thing. First off I'd have to hurt you for lying to me. And anyway, I saw you leave it in the kitchen."  

"Where did you get the panther from, babe?"  

"I asked a friend to get in touch with Incacha. He had it made for me. Why?"  

"And he knew it was for me?"  

"Jim, who else would I have something like that made for?"  

He ran his thumb over my lower lip and smiled, but quickly grew serious. "Incacha is a powerful shaman. The panther is my spirit guide. Who knows what kind of magic was incorporated into that piece of wood?"  

I was a shaman also, as well as my Sentinel's guide. I licked my lips, thinking of the frequency with which I'd stroked and held the panther, how it seemed to draw me to it. I told Jim as much.  

"I'll tell you something else, Jim. This thing tonight was seriously weird. That painting behind the wall. That sickle in her hand. I've never come across anything like this in all my studies as an anthropologist."  

"'There are more things in heaven and hell, Horatio…'"  

"Listen, Shakespeare, it's too late and too cold for philosophy. Can we go home now?"  

He caught his finger in the chain around my throat and lifted my half of the charm out of my shirt. "Just do me a favor, okay, babe? Don't ever take this off. I have a feeling this isn't the last time we'll be seeing Swift and Moorehead. I think we're going to need all the protection we can get."  

"Fuck."  

"Yeah." He put the truck in drive and started the long ride home.  

"Say, Jim. How did you manage to get here so fast?"  

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, a smile curling his lips. "I drove like a bat out of hell, babe."  

****  

The road had been deserted for the last sixty miles. All we could get on the radio was static.  

"I'll sing to you, Jim." I struck a pose with my hand over my heart and began to sing, "Put on your yarmulke. Here comes Chanukah!"  

He snickered, and to my surprise, he joined me. "So much funukah, To celebrate Chanukah…"  

Suddenly, he turned the wheel, and steered the pickup onto a scenic lay-by. It wasn't much more than a lip of land. It was too dark to see anything. He braked and put the truck in park, leaving the engine running so the heater would continue working.  

"Jim?"  

He unfastened his seatbelt. "Chief."  

The next thing I knew he was on top of me, pressing me back into the bench seat. His mouth was a hot brand on my throat, and I tipped my head back to give him better access. It hadn't taken him long to learn that taking that spot on my neck between his teeth and biting down just firmly enough for me to feel it turned me to a quivering, quaking mass of goo.  

"Jim!" I moaned.  

"Please, Blair. Let me fuck you."  

"Here? Now?" I undid my seatbelt and started to push my sweats down over my hips.  

Jim was grinning like a loon. He popped open the glove compartment and took out a tube of Wet. I shivered at the thought that he was going to take me without a condom, and I wouldn't have told him 'no'. That would have been the most intimate thing we had ever done.  

But like a Boy Scout, James Joseph Ellison was always prepared. He had a Trojan in his wallet.  

"What's wrong?"  

Of course he'd know. "Nothing, Jim. I just thought… I didn't realize you had a condom."  

"Ah, babe, you know we agreed to wait." He was nuzzling the hoop I wore in my ear.  

That made us sound like a couple of Victorian virgins waiting for our wedding night. I froze for a minute, then gave silent thanks that I hadn't spoken the words aloud. Guys didn't marry guys.  

Everything flew out of my head as Jim sat back against the seat and swung me around to straddle his thighs. When had he removed my sweats and the long johns I'd had on under them?  

His palms curved over my ass cheeks, and his forefingers separated them and teased the crevice, stroking lubricant across and around my hole. I shook and panted and held onto him, whimpering into his neck, as one long finger entered me. I knelt up so he could go deeper, and jerked as his other forefinger joined the first one.  

"You okay, Chief?" Jim's voice was strained, his breath warm in my ear. I could feel his dick like an iron bar jutting against my belly. I turned my head, and then his breath was in my mouth, along with his tongue, which I rubbed mindlessly with mine.  

He slid low on the seat, and I was so lost in that mouth that I didn't realize it at first when his fingers eased out of my ass. He lined his dick up with my hole, and his fingers dug into my hips, pulling them down, thrusting his own up and driving so deep into me that if his mouth hadn't been there to muffle my cry it would have alerted any passing motorists that someone was getting his ashes hauled.  

I was bombarded by sensation. Jim's dick in my ass, stretching it, finding my prostate often enough to take me one step closer to coming. The nap of Jim's jacket was a tantalizing abrasion on my dick, but I needed more. I reached for it, but Jim's hand was there before me.  

I had to tear my mouth off his if I wanted to stay conscious. My lips slid damply over his cheek and down his throat, and I moaned into his collar, "Please. Jim, please…" I closed my fingers around his, urging him to pump me more strongly.  

"Kiss me, babe."  

Blindly I brought my mouth up to his again. His lips were hot, and moist, and parted to lure my tongue into his mouth. He sucked on it as if it were a treat too long denied him. He scraped his thumbnail over the head of my dick. He thrust up one more time. My balls tightened, and then I came so hard my vision whited-out.  

Inner muscles clamped down, and with a grunt, Jim's hips rocked up. His heels dug into the floorboard, his knees locked, and he raised me up off the seat. I could feel his dick pulse in my ass as he filled the condom, and again I regretted the barrier between us.  

I floated in the aftermath of pleasure, relishing the aftershocks, enjoying the feel of Jim's mouth as he worked the patch of skin over my adam's apple between his lips.  

With a final nip to the spot just where my chain lay around my throat, Jim whispered, "Up, Chief."

"What do you think I am, a trained pup?" I murmured drowsily.  

"The engine's been running for the last half hour. If we run out of gas, we're going to freeze our asses off walking to the next gas station."  

I mumbled a protest, but lifted off and accepted the handkerchief he offered me. He removed the condom and knotted the end.  

"Gonna toss it, babe?" I asked as I wiped myself off, then dabbed at the come that had splattered over the front of his jacket.  

"That is too uncouth, Chief. Remind me to ditch it when we get home." He tucked it into a pocket, tipped up my chin for one last kiss, then put his dick back in his pants and did them up. He slid back across the seat behind the wheel.  

I wrestled my way back into my thermals and sweats, and buckled my seatbelt. "Okay, Jim. Ready when you are."  

He was leaning an arm on the steering wheel, smiling at me, and if I hadn't had such a satisfying orgasm so recently, I would have been shedding my sweat pants again.  

"I love you, babe."  

****  

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky when we got home. The streets had been plowed, but the sidewalks were still buried under drifts of snow.  

Jim parked the truck in its spot, and we trudged across Prospect. "I could sleep a hundred years."  

"Mmmm." We entered the building. For a change the elevator was working, and we got in, and Jim hit the button for 3.  

The ride up was quiet. Jim leaned against a wall, and I leaned against Jim, my arms around his waist, already half asleep.  

And then we were on 3. The chime pinged, the doors slid open, and we stepped out into the hallway.  

Jim had the key ready in his hand. He unlocked the door, and we crossed the threshold. It had only been ten hours since Swift and Moorehead had hustled me out of the apartment.  

"Babe?"  

"Hmmm?"  

His gaze had gone to above the door, where the mistletoe hung. He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me against him.  

"Merry Christmas, Chief."  

"Merry Christmas, mmph…"

~End~

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