Andor had finished his last Christmas delivery for Nicholas well before dawn. While he couldn’t be with a disappointed Claire on Christmas Eve, he had promised nothing would stop him from being with her and Jake on Christmas Day.

He’d returned to her cozy house in the small hours and found her sound asleep, curled around his pillow. The monitor by her bed emitted shuffling noises, but she didn’t awaken. Andor padded to Jake’s bedroom and found him sitting up in bed, stopping and restarting a favorite section of a cartoon video someone loaded onto a popular video site. The tablet’s screen flickered in the otherwise dark room.

Jake’s gaze slid briefly to Andor before returning to the tablet. “Hi, elf,” he said.

Andor grinned and sat down on the bed beside the little boy. In a few hours, Jake’s deep Sight, inherited from his mother, would no longer see the accentuated elfin features and pointed ears Andor hid behind his glamour. “Hey, Jake. You’re up early.”

Jake didn’t answer, just continued the repeated play of the single scene. Andor pulled Jake’s coat and a pair of sandals out of the closet adjacent to the bed. “Come on, Jake. Let’s go outside. I have something to show you.”

Dressed in Christmas-themed pajamas, socks, sandals and a light coat, his tablet clutched in his hands, Jake followed Andor quietly through the house and out the back door. The sky was still dark, a thin line of gray edging the eastern horizon. Claire’s backyard though was ablaze with light.

Tiny fairy sparks shot through the trees, swirling and diving across the lawn before curling around Jake in a luminescent spiral. The boy looked up from his tablet and pointed. The glowing lights bounced off his fingers before flying out into the yard once more. Jake followed, pointing and grasping at the lights by turn, his young features wreathed in a rare smile.

Andor sat down on the patio bench and watched. Firefly season was long past, but it was still dark, and he still possessed his magic for now. He could give Jake fireflies in December.

“That’s a fine thing you did. He may never tell you so, but he’ll remember this all his days.” Nicholas sat down next to Andor. His vestments were travel-stained; there was a crack in his crosier, and sometime during the night he’d lost his mitre. His white hair stood out in all directions, as if he’d been caught in a whirlwind.

Andor looked him up and down. “Did you get in a fight with a jötunn during your deliveries?”

The saint settled back on the bench with a tired sigh, his gaze following Jake who still hunted Andor’s fireflies. “No. A djinn.”

“Ugh. Nasty piece of work.”

“Always.”

The two men sat silent for a moment before Andor spoke again. “You’re finished early. Don’t you have a few million more houses to visit?”

Nicholas spun his cracked crosier in his palms. “Eh, I’m not worried. I’ll make it. Besides, this is your last time acting as my overgrown nisse. We should have a few commemorative words, don’t you think?”

“Twas the night before Christmas—”

“Stop. I hate that poem. My stomach doesn’t roll like a bowl full of jelly.” Nicholas patted his belly. Despite modern popular depictions, Nicholas was a slight, diminutive man. He did possess a luxurious white beard—something to counterbalance his balding pate with its fringe of spiky, windblown hair. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in presence—a blaze of power, magic and wonder all combined into a compassionate heart and soul that shone brighter than any star.

Andor couldn’t resist a final dig. “Your dimples are merry.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “Son, don’t make me close our time together by turning you into a slug.”

They both laughed. Nicholas held out his arms. The two men embraced briefly. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can get you to Ljósálfrheimr well before dawn and with plenty of time to deliver my last gifts.”

“I’m very sure.” Andor had never been so certain of anything in his long existence.

“It’s been a good thousand years for me, my boy. I wasn’t too sure at first, but I’m glad Dagrun sent you to me.”

Andor rubbed his neck. “And I’m fond of keeping my head attached.” The gray line in the east had widened and was now edged in pink. Christmas dawn. The rise of Solis Invicti. “You’ll still visit? Remember, Claire may no longer believe, but Jake and I do.” He turned to the saint and watched, a little saddened, as his mentor’s figure began to fade.

Nicholas grinned. “Every year, my boy.” He grew more translucent every second, his words softer, fainter. “Look for me beyond the gloaming.” Firefly lights danced behind him, lending a halo to his fading image. “When the darkness falls and the moon sails high...”

Andor touched the air where the saint disappeared completely. One firefly light lingered. “And all the stars look down,” he replied. “Until next year, my friend.”