DC2 Special #9: THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

The weight of the world never seemed to burden his shoulders so much as this morning. His problem wasn't unique. Everyone from Washington onward had looked forward to the time when they could leave the Oval Office cleared behind them for the next administration. The aggravations wore on Jeb Stuart and he just wanted to spend the rest of his days at the end of a dock, with nothing more to worry about than the bobber on his fishing pole.

He laughed softly to himself. Ironically it wasn't giant starfish from outer space or some supervillain out to bring the nation to its knees, things that would test any mortal man, but the accumulation of political garbage. He wasn't sure if he should believe the press and that he was a communist, a socialist, or the antichrist. The truth was that he felt... tainted, a better word refused to come to mind, for his civic duty. Thinking back on it, he had to have been crazy to ever want this job. Thank God he wouldn't have to explain his decision. The end of his second term couldn't get here soon enough. Let another man shoulder the load.

Jeb spared a glance out of the window behind him and took a moment to admire the snow. It surely raised holy hell on the roads and airports, from here, it was beautiful. It looked like they were going to get a white Christmas after all. He heard the door open behind him. "Do I have anything pressing this morning, Ms. Lupinsky?" he asked without looking to see who it was.

"Post-election doldrums, sir. Your schedule is clear until three o'clock. I was checking to see if you needed anything," she said.

Jeb swiveled the chair around to face her. Melissa Lupinsky was the very model of political efficiency. Forty-four, full of no nonsense, and didn't think getting him a cup of coffee as an insult upon her position. She dealt with a lot of the garbage before it ever reached him and, for that, he was forever grateful.

"No thank you, unless you can hold down the fort for another two months and let me sneak out the back door," he said.

"Above my pay grade, sir, and, no offense, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

President Stuart smiled. "And you're holding down this job why?"

"I was dropped on my head a few times as a kid," she said with a smile.

"Well that explains why you put up with an old warhorse like me at any rate but that—"

Jeb's attention was suddenly drawn to an envelope sitting on his desk, unstamped and simply labeled "Jeb". He was certain there hadn't been anything there before he had turned around to admire the weather.

"Did the mail arrive for today?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"No sir. I believe security is still inspecting it," she replied. "Why?"

"No reason," he said. "I've got nothing else to do and I hate sitting around doing nothing."

"You could have fooled me," she said. "If you don't need anything, I'll be at my desk."

He waited for the door to close before picking up the envelope. He at least had the strength to read the simple letter inside before his fingers began to tremble.



Encased in a womb of ablative armor and enough computers to make Redmond envious, Jennifer Stuart closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and felt peace. She belonged here.

"Lieutenant, drop zone in three... two... one... " a fuzzy voice came over her headset before the solid flooring of the C-17 cargo jet disappeared with a metallic grating noise, leaving nothing between her and the ground but 16,000 feet of air.

Her body pressed against the restraints and her stomach attempted to claw up her throat as screens blazed to life in front of her. Rate of descent, trajectory, computed impact area overlaid on a GPS map - it would have been complete information overload for the average person but she had spent months in training to filter only the most relevant facts. As lead pilot for the CCAV, a position she had fought hard to win, she was used to the operation and quirks of her big metal baby. And, as this was the first test of the Cyber-Command Assault Vehicle's airdrop capability, it was only fitting that she be behind the controls.

At just a hair over fifty tons, her tank wasn't in the class of a main battle tank like the Abrams, but was smaller and more maneuverable in urban environments. Well, that and the fact that it was just her - every other crewmember's duties were replaced by computers and that was just fine with her. She worked best alone. That, and electronics, no matter how sophisticated, didn't get upset when you yelled at them.

She slammed back into her seat as a loud ripping noise penetrated the hull. "PARACHUTES DEPLOYED" flashed on her auxiliary systems display. Jennifer was sure she'd feel this in the morning. There's a damn good reason why vehicles were dropped unmanned. The technicians had wanted to run this test in a real world simulation but she had pulled rank. Being the daughter of the President had some perks even if she tried not to throw her weight around too much. Besides, who would be better to tell immediately once on the ground if there were any damage or malfunctions? The test was to land the tank and drive it away. She just saved the eggheads a step.

"Lieutenant Stuart, an important message has just come in for you." The electronic voice came into her ear again and she could detect the annoyance under the neutral tone. Dad. It was the only time she got that reaction. A lot of people were uncomfortable with her apparent youth despite her actual age, combined with the fact that she was flesh and blood of the President of the United States actively in the Army. To her father's credit, however, he didn't stand in her way and was proud of all that she had accomplished, even if he couldn't say anything without being accused of favoritism.

"Hi Jen. Merry Christmas. How's my baby girl?" the voice in her ears popped and squawked as it made the encrypted jump from who-knows-how-many satellites.

"I'm at about ten thousand feet and falling, dad. If I'm lucky, I won't be making a crater in the next ten minutes," she said.

Her father's voice didn't miss a beat. "That's lovely, honey." Jennifer Stuart made a mental note to work harder on rattling her father's nerves. "Listen," Jeb continued, "when you put boots on the ground, I need you to go see someone." ??She frowned and noted that she was now under nine thousand feet and her descent was slowing. Was that a hint of worry in her father's voice? The same man who didn't bat an eye at her plummeting to earth in a tank sounded worried about a personal visit. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No. No. Nothing like that," her dad's voice came back quickly. "There's an old friend of mine who'd like to meet you."



The slip of paper simply said "Minetta Triangle, Greenwich Village." If this had been anyone other than her father she would have brushed them off as a crackpot. Jennifer Stuart wandered near the park and ignored the looks she was getting at her BDUs, as well as the quick-darkening skies. Was someone to meet her here? If so, nobody approached her from the park and the surrounding streets were empty. This was not how she had intended to spend Christmas Eve. Another ten minutes and, the hell with this, she’d just leave. If she wanted a wild goose chase, she’d help the base MPs with trying to round up AWOL soldiers after Christmas leave.?

A flicker of light out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to a solitary light bulb flaring to life above the door to a storefront. Everything else remained murky as if that single light subjugated all the neon on the street. Her feet took her to the front of the weathered brownstone of their own accord. Faded golden lettering on the dingy plate glass window simply said "Madame Xanadu." She drew back as something skittered on the other side of the dirty pane, something that didn't look much like anything she had seen.

The rational part of her mind that assured her that this was a waste of time and that she should leave only found a deaf audience as her hand instinctively found the well-worn faux brass doorknob. Confidence and a sense of belonging washed over her body. The front door swung open with a pleasant enough tinkle of a bell and fully stifled her instinct to turn and get away. ?

The foyer remained mostly dark with a feeble electric sconce on the wall illuminating the old wallpaper that peeked between the heavy velvet cloth covering most of the hallway. A small Christmas tree, lit with white lights and a few plain ball ornaments, sat on an elaborate end table of dark polished wood carved to resemble a cowering man. What she had seen so far had been a strange contrast between the run-down and the opulently grotesque.

She steeled herself. She was a tank commander who had seen battle - not someone to run screaming at a scene out of a bad haunted house movie. Her father asked her to come here and, by God, she wouldn't leave until she had seen whoever he wanted her to see.

"Hello?" she called out and stepped across the threshold.

A shapely woman in a long purple dress stepped out from behind a curtained doorway. Jennifer guessed she was in her thirties. The woman held an old leather-bound book in her hand and snapped it shut at the sight of her, even though the pages continued to squirm between the covers. Ebon hair framed the exotic features of her face and Jennifer failed at trying to place any sort of nationality to the woman. The smile on her face, however, was genuine, if a bit brittle.

"Jennifer Stuart?" the woman asked.

"Did you put my father up to this?" she asked. Skipping the formalities seemed appropriate.

"Of course I did. He wasn't going to otherwise despite—" She caught herself. "Perhaps it would be better to talk in the parlor."

If the hall had been odd enough, the parlor took the cake. The walls were adored with all kinds of relics and fetishes, from African tribal masks to Native American dreamcatchers. The centerpiece of the room was a large round table covered in red velvet and a crystal ball in its center. It screamed carnival theatrics but she had little doubt that everything was real. Jennifer stole a glance into a side room full of shelves and large glass jars. The woman quickly yanked a curtain across that doorway, blocking her view.

"You're not ready for that yet," she said and sat down at the head of the table, waiting.

"I'd rather stand, thank you," Jennifer replied and fervently hoped that her dad hadn't gone in for kooky astrology. There were enough rumors during the Reagan years but still...

"Tell me something, Ms. Stuart, Have you ever wondered who your mother was?" She watched her guest’s reaction to the words, then asked again, in a kinder voice, “Perhaps you would like to sit down?”

Jennifer felt her spine stiffen. Her mother left her father. Dad told her that much and she had never felt the desire to know the woman. Her childhood had been a happy one. The few times the subject of her mother came up, her dad looked pained enough that she never pressed the question. She was her father's daughter—

Wait. What if this was blackmail? Her father had sounded nervous enough. Jennifer remembered vividly the circus the media had made of her father being a single-parent during the re-election campaign. The fact that even they couldn't find anything about her mother just made it all the more juicy with "secret love child" headlines being thrown about.

"Ma'am, I don't want to know anyone who leaves their child, even if they happen to be my mother. If you're looking for money, you picked the wrong person and you're not going to bully my father."

It was the woman's turn to look surprised.?

"Jennifer," she said softly, "I am your mother."

Jennifer laughed, a short bitter laugh. "You're what? Thirty? Thirty-five? You'd have had to be like ten... Ugh. You really expect me to take this seriously? I really did waste my time."

There was a skittering noise overhead and a... thing dropped down onto the table, making strange almost cooing noises and staring at Jennifer with a curious eye.

"Jesus Christ—"

"Please, don't upset him," the woman said and picked it up. It immediately ran and perched itself on her shoulder. "He's just a imp. Not too bright, but loyal."

Jennifer became aware of eyes, several of them, gazing down upon her from the darkness of the ceiling and couldn't bring herself to look upwards. She swallowed hard. This had to be some sort of trick.

"I have been around a very, very long time, my child. I fell in love with your father when he was in France during Hitler's War. I never forgot him, more fool me. It took a few years, but I made my way here. Your father, I'm sad to say, still loved me. I should have known better—"

"Are you about ready to say that you shouldn't have had me?" Jennifer said and felt her teeth grit and anger flare. Even these lies were picking at old wounds. Fine. She could play along. A good mad-on would help. “It was bad enough that you abandoned me.”

"Far from it. You're the one thing in my life that I don't regret," the woman said with a sad smile. "I should have known better than to love a mortal man. After all the time I've lived, do you know how terrible it is to watch those you love age and die?"

"No. I wouldn't. Assuming I'm actually buying what you're selling, when did you and my father—"

"Right after his appointment to your House of Representatives. It was right at your Christmas-time then, as well. I was so proud of him and he was so excited for the future—"

The absolute look of sorrow that passed the woman's face cooled Jennifer's anger. "Maybe I should sit down.” Jen settled across from the woman and studied her. She still couldn’t tell if this was a complete nutcase or a very clever blackmailer. "I don't even think I got your name."

"Nimue."

"Why... why didn't you stay?"

Nimue sunk her head and studied the tablecloth.

"There would have been too many questions, especially as he got older and I didn't age. Questions about my past, family, and all the other things that your press like to dredge up." She laughed mirthlessly. "Hello, my name is Nimue. I watched Camelot burn and made a deal with Death. Oh, I'm also pregnant out of wedlock with a respected senator. I'm all about those ‘American values’."

Jennifer snorted. "Good point." Fake or not she appreciated the keen sarcasm.

"Still," Nimue said and looked at her, "you don't believe me."

"No offense, ma'am, you've given me nothing but a wild story," Jennifer said, not unkindly.

"You have a birthmark on the back of your left leg. It looks a bit like a star. Your father's nickname for you was 'Pinkie' because you used to always grab that finger when you were an infant. You—"

Jennifer leapt out of her seat, panic clutching her. "Anyone could find—"

Nimue looked at her sadly. "You have dreams about a mist-shrouded isle across the ocean where everyone lives in peace. There is a castle there on a tall hill. The flag on the eastern tower has the symbol of a dragon on it. There is a man with blonde hair wearing a crown looking over the ramparts. Do you want me to continue?"

Jennifer gaped, unable to form words, and dropped heavily back into her seat.

Nimue reached out and took her hand. "It is an old ancestral memory of a place called Avalon that is passed down from mother to daughter. One day I will go there, as will you. My blood runs in you. Jennifer, my child, you will live longer than most people. I only hope that it causes you less heartbreak."

The clatter of china drew Jennifer's attention as a five-foot tall, mottled green creature wheeled in a serving cart. "Tea, mistresses?" it rasped.

"This is Aldu, my self-appointed butler," Nimue composed herself at his arrival. "With a splash of milk, please."

Jennifer was proud that she didn't freak out and even mumbled "thank you" when a cup was prepared for her as well. "Why didn't my father tell me?" she asked and took a deep breath. The demon, if that's what it was, rolled the cart out of the room.

"Jeb," Nimue sighed and continued, "was... cautious about how people thought about him. Did he ever tell you about the ghost? Most people thought he was crazy so he learned to stop talking about it but the General was no delusion. When I was with you, I think he was afraid of what people might do if they found out about me."

"But—" Jennifer began.

"But he was right," Nimue said. "The last thing either of us wanted was for something to happen to you so I... agreed to leave. It was better for your father to raise you so that I could not influence you. I made him promise to tell you about me when you were younger but I think those old fears are still with him. I forced his hand. I'm sorry I did it, but I wanted to see my daughter."

"Why now though?"

"Your Christmas-time is a time of forgiveness is it not? I was hoping that you could find it in your heart to forgive me," Nimue said.

"You don't have anything to—"

"Please, daughter, you do not get as old as I am without a sizable amount of regret. You may not fault me, perhaps not now, but I live with my decision daily."

Jennifer reached over and took her mother's hand. "The important thing is that I got to meet you and put some of my own ghosts to bed. Believing my own mother abandoned me wasn't easy to grow up with."

"It made you stronger," Nimue said.

"It did, but it was a bitter pill. I forgive you... mother."

“That means a lot to me,” Nimue smiled and Jennifer truly thought she was beautiful when she did. “Who knows? Perhaps we and your father, once he is done with his horrible job, can vacation somewhere. I can’t have him come here. He doesn’t like it,” she grinned. “I think he has had enough of the supernatural to last him several lifetimes without compounding the Christmas spirit onto it.”

By all rights, Rose Psychic should have been cold. Her silk skirt fell just past her knees and left most of her legs to brave the chill with only a pair of stockings to shield them. Under the faux-fur trim of her coat was a long-sleeved but thin dress shirt, and her hair was loose to the wind without a hat. It was Christmas Eve, coming up on midnight, and the snow that had begun to flurry a few hours ago had settled into a steady fall. But Rose walked on, too focused to feel the cold.

There ahead, she saw it again, already turning another corner. Rose’s flat shoes slipped along the icy sidewalk, but it only took a reflexive touch of magic to keep herself upright. Each time she thought she saw the figure clearly, it darted around the next bend; each time she thought she’d lost it, that shimmering shape stood still to wait. She’d seen spirits move quickly before, but not quite this fast. She was lured farther and farther from the Christmas party that she’d had the nagging feeling to leave, out toward the wide river and the city’s tallest bridge. And soon her focus shifted as she saw the girl.

Standing on the other side of the railing, in slipping sneakers and snowflake-patterned fleece pants, the girl was cold. One hand rubbed at her bare arm, while the other clutched the railing more tightly than she realized. Her short dark hair fell into her eyes as she looked down into the black, choppy water.

Rose stepped slowly up the walkway onto the bridge. The fluid figure passed before her eyes once more, and she knew the voice that she heard whispering in the wind. “Your turn…”

Rose shrugged off her coat and slid it across the girl’s shoulders. “Do you come here often?”

The girl wheeled around, holding tightly to the railing as her body dipped farther away. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. “Who are you? Get away from me!”

“My name is Rose,” she answered, and didn’t get away. “I’m just here to help.”

“God, of course you are! I don’t want help, okay, you can’t help me!” Her eyes were a violent shade of blue, magnified by the anger that shone out from them, and the sadness that hid behind it.

“I already did,” Rose countered with a soft smile. “You were cold.”

For the first time, the girl noticed the coat around her shoulders, and tugged on the collar with her free hand to keep it from falling into the river. “Oh…well…not for long. I’ll ruin it…” She handed back the jacket and the goosebumps rose up again over her skin.

Rose took the coat back and slung it over her arm. “What’s your name?”

“Noelle,” said the girl, and she laughed a dark and cynical laugh. “I swear to God, I finally decided to jump on Christmas just so I could see the headlines.”

“You know, there’s a small flaw in that plan.” Rose kept her voice light as she carefully started to climb over the railing.

Noelle didn’t notice but she did laugh again. “So some other sick freak can see the headline and get a kick out of it. It’ll be the only thing I can ever do for the world, and it’s just a sick joke.”

“What do you mean? You’re so young…” Rose stopped herself from saying ‘you’ve got your life ahead of you.’

“Yeah, I know. I’m young, and I’m broke, and I dropped out of school, and I can’t get a job, and all I can do with my life is chores at my parents’ house.” Noelle then asked, “You know what I majored in?”

Rose studied the girl’s face for a long moment, and carefully reached her finger out to brush the hair out of her eyes. If there were anything odd about the calm conversation while both perched on the edge of the bridge, she paid it no attention. “You couldn’t decide…Urban Planning, and Sociology.”

“How did you know that?”

Rose only smiled. “You’re a smart girl. And the world means so much to you, the people you wanted to help, what on earth makes you think you can’t do anything for them?”

“It’s too big!” Noelle shouted, and pulled her voice back. “The world…I can’t do anything, it’s just too much…billions and billions of people I can’t help because they’re too far away, and even the ones close enough, nothing makes a difference. If I feed a homeless man he’s hungry again tomorrow, and if I get him a job, there’s a guy who needed it who’s gonna be homeless instead. I mean, even the heroes, even the really, really big guys, they can save the cities dozens of times and it just never ends, it just doesn’t end!”

“Shhh.” Rose reached out now and took both of Noelle’s hands, prying the colder one from the railing. “Come with me.”

“What? Why?” The girl’s voice cracked and she shivered again, until Rose handed back her coat. “Where?”

“This way, because there are things you need to see.” Rose waited only long enough to be sure that Noelle would follow before she turned to face forward and walked along the slippery edge. Every so often, her foot landed on the air and didn’t fall, as she whispered under her breath and gestured toward the Trail that formed around them.

“Where are we?” Noelle asked in a tiny voice a few minutes later, when the bridge and the docks had given way to a crowded street. Their feet landed on the pavement where there had been air for barely long enough to notice.

“Thirty-Fourth and Main.” Rose allowed herself a cheeky grin and gestured for Noelle to keep following as they stepped through the throng of people, all quiet and patiently lined up in front of a shabby brick building.

“I already died, didn’t I?” She put a hand up to her shoulder and pinched the skin, and then finally put on Rose’s coat. “It takes like 20 minutes to drive here.”

“That’s why we didn’t drive. Now come on,” Rose opened up her arm, and Noelle came under it to look into the window.

Inside was a soup kitchen, bustling with holiday volunteers and packed to the gills with grateful guests. Rose took in the beauty of the shabby, flickering string of lights along the cafeteria line, the threadbare tree in the corner with donated presents piled high, and pointed toward the round-faced man in a chef’s jacket at the front of the line. “That’s Barry Carmichael. He was on the bus that almost crashed into the river a few years ago, do you remember? If Green Arrow hadn’t gotten those lasso arrows off in time –“

“I get it, he’d be swimming with the fishes,” Noelle said dully, looking inside without truly seeing. “And someone else would’ve taken this over, and all these people would still be hungry on Christmas Eve, and…” she trailed off when she saw the steel in Rose’s gaze.

“At the time, Barry Carmichael was a stockbroker. His wife had taken the kids with her when she left him, and he nearly had to sell his apartment to pay for the booze.”

Noelle did a double-take toward the smiling man as he doled out scoop after scoop of mashed potatoes. “That guy?”

“After the accident, he said something in him woke up. Well, I think the exact phrasing was ‘kicked my lazy ass in the ass’,” Noelle giggled to hear the turn of phrase coming out of Rose’s elegant mouth. “He sold the apartment after all, and put all of his savings into opening this place. And that,” she pointed out a boy of twelve or thirteen at Barry’s side with his same glow, ‘is his son Jim. Who, in all likelihood, will take over one day.”

Hungry people filed into the building as full and happy ones left, and Noelle stayed silent for a long minutes. “But they can’t stop people from being hungry.”

“No. But they can inspire more people to feed them.” Rose turned from the window and began to walk again, and as the mist enveloped her Noelle hurried to keep up. “There’s your problem. You keep expecting things have to be big to change the world.”

They landed on solid ground again by a wide park, a swing set and a jungle gym dusted with snow near a corner of the fence. A small girl sat on the farthest swing, kicking her legs back and forth morosely. She had a thick winter coat and a scarf made of bright fabric, but the light dust of snow in the air started to cover its colors. All they could hear was the creak of the swing; there was no one else in sight.

“Hey!” Noelle started to run toward the girl almost as soon as her feet hit the grass. Rose reached out at first, but then caught a glimpse of that shimmering form again, from the treeline. When it seemed to nod she Noelle go instead.

The little girl looked up and stopped swinging as Noelle reached her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Noelle, and who are you?” She bent down to be eye level with the child and smiled as best she could through her own turmoil. “And what are you doing out here? You’ll catch your cold out here, it’s freezing! Where do you live?”

“I’m Sandy.” She also gave a weak smile, then pointed toward a row of apartment buildings on the opposite street. “But I don’t wanna go back. I ran away.” she said with some pride, through chattering teeth.

“You ran away? Why?” When her legs cramped up from the cold cutting through her thin pajamas, Noelle took the swing-seat next to Sandy.

“They don’t want me there.” Her voice was sad, the words were matter-of-fact. “Daddy’s friends are having a Christmas party and I’m just in the way. I tried to sing carols, and show them pictures, and they just told me to go to bed.”

Rose watched from the sideline and watched the two of them talk. She closed her eyes to focus her power, and heard worried voices from the party when they realized the child was gone. Noelle listened to the Sandy’s sad stories as told from a child’s perspective in an adult world. Noelle got her to talk instead about her puppy, who she fed each morning after a playful lick; then about her grandmother, who would be so disappointed not to see her for Christmas dinner; about all the things she’d lost sight of in her young impulsive mind.

“So go on,” Noelle finally cracked a smile and reached her hand out. “You’ve got to get home before it gets colder. I bet there’s still hot chocolate left for you.”

“With marshmallows?” Sandy asked as she sniffled. They both heard a voice ring out over the park.

“Always marshmallows,” Noelle said as she and the girl ran toward her searching family with a bright grin. Rose took the girl’s place on the empty swing and silently waited, then had a big warm smile when Noelle returned to her.

“What?”

“You tell me.”

“I didn’t do anything. They were already looking for her.”

“Did you comfort her?” Rose asked, and once again Noelle looked away. “Did you hesitate for half a moment before helping someone in need? No matter how small and safe she really was?”

“Why did you take me with you?”

“Because you were cold, and lonely, and you needed someone to remind you. You already know all of this. Or you couldn’t have helped her. So it’s my turn to ask,” Rose stood again and brushed the snow from her skirt. “Why do you still not believe you should live?”

Noelle curled her knees toward her chest against the chill. “It’s not that…I just don’t matter. I can’t.”

Rose’s eyes shone with anger for the first and only time. This time she grabbed Noelle by the sleeve and pulled her into that misty Trail; this time she didn’t worry about treading carefully.

The family inside the cozy room was as normal and happy as could be imagined. A young mother sat on a cushion by the Christmas tree, nursing her infant. An older man squeezed the hand of his son, who beamed on the mother and child. Around her were siblings, nieces, nephews, parents, just by seeing the way they acted it was easy to tell how they all loved each other.

“Okay, so who got saved here?” Noelle asked. Rose was silent. Noelle kept guessing. “The mom? The grandpa? Some hero swooped up grandpa and now look how good he has it?”

“No one,” Rose said at last, and she laid her hand on the glass of the window they watched from. “Arnold Bishop was born in 1958. He married a woman named Anne, and they had five children. The youngest, Adam, married Susan almost a year ago. They named their daughter Chelsea.”

Noelle watched Rose’s fingertips point out each name, but she swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

“This is life,” she answered simply. “This is the world as it is, as it should be. This is what happens just by living and loving.” Something sad passed across her eyes before she continued. “Does Chelsea Bishop have to become a scientist or a politician or a famous artist for her grandfather’s love to change the world? She’s here. It’s changed.”

“But I – “

“Everything we do changes the world. The smallest person can make the biggest dreams come true.” Inside, Susan cradled her child with the look of a person completely fulfilled. Rose took her hand to Noelle’s shoulder and turned the girl to face her. “Everyone matters. Everyone.”

If not the examples that she’d been shown all night, not the people helped out by a former drunk, not the relief of sending a child back into the warmth, or the warmth of a family brought together by simple time, then the pure conviction in Rose’s eyes finally sparked something in Noelle’s heart. “You really mean that? You really believe in me?” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “How can you mean it? Can you tell the future, or something? What do I do?”

“I live in the present, just like everyone else. The future is it’s own kingdom a shadowy one with many signposts. Some true, some false.” Rose said gently, and moved her hand again to Noelle’s cheek, feeling out what she could.

“You see them?” She leaned into the cheek and sighed, trying to feel what Rose said.

“As well as anyone can. Maybe a little better than some others. And they tell me that if you just help one person, at a time, and let those little seeds help other people, you can do a lot of good. You have a bright future, if you want it. And I know you’re going to make it shine.”

“I think…can you take me home?” Noelle asked quietly. She started to shrug off the coat she’d borrowed, but Rose shook her head, and settled the fake fur trim in place at Noelle’s neck.

With the girl safely back in her bedroom, her sleeping parents none the wiser, Rose walked down the more mundane streets once more and rubbed her arms against the chill. Music wafted down to the street from cracked windows, and Rose started to hum along to it as she walked. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot…”

“He always brings you to mind.” The glimmering figure walked at her side, but made no noise, nor left any prints in the fresh dust of snow. “And he knows he’s on yours.”

“Hello, Cyril,” Rose turned with a sad smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Speed Saunders gave her a grin she hadn’t seen in too long. “You did well back there, with Noelle. The Doc would be proud. Of her, of all you’ve done this year.”

“Some days I wonder if I’ll ever see my Richard again,” Rose admitted. After all this time, it was a sharp thing to realize that she no longer thought of her beloved every day.

His ghostly hand landed on her shoulder and Rose felt the glimmer of warmth. “It’s Christmas. Miracles happen.”

Rose went to answer but the ghost was gone. It was a long walk home from this corner of the city. With the unearthly blue light of an early dawn spreading around her, Rose looked forward to the time to think.

Well, here we go again! Another year, another Christmas special, and both have been fantastic, don’t you think? We’re back with brand new books and returning classics and it’s starting to feel like the good old days if I do say so myself… and it wouldn’t be anywhere near that without you. Without the readers, the writers and the artists we’d be nowhere. It’s the community that keeps the DC2 going, and the fact we’ve been going for eight years is a testament to that. I’m so proud to be part of this resurgence, to be working with all my old friends again, and I’m even happy to have my arse kicked by Don Walsh every time I send an issue in for editing. Writing for this site makes us better and there’s nothing more we can ask for, is there? Hone our craft, have a laugh, and be part of something bigger than ourselves. This community, man. This is what it’s about. We started small, dreamed massive, and now look where we are! We’ve had covers from folk who have gone on to work with some of the biggest names in comics, we’ve got so many talented writers here that it hurts and more join us every month! It’s mad! I could go on and on but I think I’ll settle with this: 2013 was great. 2014 is going to be better.