Santa Claus nodded. "Yes, that too. And Saint Nicholas and Kris Kringle and many other names. And as it is Christmas Eve and you've eaten my lead reindeer, I'm afraid I find myself in a bit of a predicament, Mattie."
The werewolf looked at the bloody carcass of the red-nosed reindeer that lay spread around him and cringed. "Uh-oh."
"Indeed," Saint Nicholas said with a nod. "While it's within my power to raise a child from the dead, I'm afraid it doesn't work on reindeer. So, it'll have to be you, Matthias Vulfkind."
"Oh no!" Matt howled. He leaped to scramble over the nearest part of the stockade fence and found himself floating in the very thin air of the North Pole's perpetual winter like an ornament from a Christmas tree's bough.
"Oh, yes. Though you are now a man and half a beast, your childhood memory of me gives me power over you this day." Saint Nicholas held his crozier aloft as if the hook magically held Matthias in the air.
"I'm no deer!" the werewolf objected. "I'm big and I'm hairy!"
"Reindeer are hairy, too. You'll do."
"I'm a predator!"
"The deer won't mind - they've run with stranger creatures than you."
"But I can't fly!" the werewolf barked, which was certainly true when you considered the recent fate of the airplane.
"I can fix that. . . ." said Sinterklaas.
Saint Nicholas reached his free hand into his pocket and brought out a fistful of something that glittered and chimed with the laughter of small children. He flung the stuff toward the werewolf, muttering in Latin - Matt didn't know the words, but he rememberd the sound from his time in Catholic school - and a cloud of sparkling brown dust burst into the air and settled over Matthias.
The dust smelled of cinnamon and brandy and it tasted of gingerbread and apples, and where it fell into his eyes, Matt saw visions of magical creatures in diaphanous raiment who danced and spun on colored ribbons of magic. He sneezed and snorted and shook his fur, whimpered and rubbed his face in the snow, but he couldn't get rid of the stuff or the strange feeling that crept over him. And then the werewolf was overcome with a giggling, effervescent sensation as if his whole body were made of champagne bubbles. And oh, it tickled! And oh, it itched! And oh, how it made his nose wriggle and twitch and he didn't care for it one bit.
He set up a howl and pawed at the sky, which made him flip into the air and execute a perfect aerobatic loop that would have been the envy of any stunt pilot. He didn't like that much, either, especially when he knocked his head against the stockade railings on his way back down.
"Oh! Oh, what is that . . . stuff?" he moaned.
"It's Christmas Cheer," Kris Kringle replied. "It's made of the dust of Christmas cookies, some mulled wine, and a bit of Christmas magic. And cinnamon, because I'm very fond of cinnamon. Perhaps a hint of brandy, too. Just to keep warm, you understand."
"It's nasty!" Matthias whined, pawing at his poor, sensitive nose. He just couldn't get the smell of cinnamon out of it.
"Funny," said Father Christmas, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "I didn't know you were related to Ebenezer Scrooge. . . ."
"Who?"
"Oh, never mind. He reformed. Maybe you can, too."
Matthias growled.
"Now, now. None of that." And with no more than a nod, Santa summoned two elves who seemed to rise up from the very ground on each side of Matthias. They had long pointy ears and pointed chins and slanted, pointy eyes - in fact, they were altogether pointy and pale and rather terrifying. They reminded him of the administrators at the children's home and the nuns who'd rapped his knuckles with rulers and he quailed in remembered fear.
Without a word, the two elves put their hands on the werewolf and guided him out of the stockade and around a stand of firs to the courtyard of a large stone house that Matthias was quite sure couldn't have been there before. In the middle of the courtyard stood a huge, old-fashioned sleigh that was painted bright red with shiny black trim. A horse had been painted just in front of the driver's seat, and as Matthias was led past it, the painted horse turned its head to watch him. The werewolf shivered and turned his gaze to the team of eight reindeer harnessed to the strange vehicle.
He hadn't seen many reindeer before, but he was sure these were the extra-large size. Compared to them, his dinner had been a runt. Had he been on all fours, these fellows would have towered over him; shambling as he was, their gleaming eyes were not much below his own. The animals snorted and shook their heads so their crowns of thick, fuzzy antlers menaced the interloper. Plainly, they knew he had noshed on their diminutive red-nosed buddy.
It seemed strange to be in front of the reindeer. As the elves began buckling him into the harness, something clicked in Matthias's brain and he thought, "This time the prey will be chasing me," and a sudden horror came upon him thinking of all those sharp hooves and hard antlers just behind his brushy tail, the owners pawing the air as each and every one of the reindeer ran their enchanted hearts out in hopes of extracting revenge for Rudolph.
His docility dropped away and the werewolf fought and twisted, struggling to get out of the harness that would link him to the angry reindeer team. But no matter how he writhed, snapped, and clawed, he couldn't extract himself from the grip of the elves. In a twinkling he was strapped in tight. Just in front of two huge bucks who snickered and showed him their teeth. Oh, this was going to be a bad night. . . .
The sharp crack of a whip flicked just above his ears and his tormentor in red called out, "Ho, there, Matthias! Pull!" which was entirely unnecessary, as the gunshot sound of the lash had set him instantly bolting forward, baying in fury. The reindeer lurched forward also, clicking their antlers and gnashing their teeth at him as Saint Nick called out, "On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen!"
Matthias vaguely rememberd the poem about Saint Nicholas and his reindeer team, but he had never thought about which ones were which. Now he guessed the last were the names of the brutes behind him since they snorted puffs of breath as hot as hell's own on his back and snapped their teeth at his heels. He tried to turn his head and snap back, but the reins held tight in the red-suited tyrant's fists kept him from it. He yipped in frustration and ran as hard as he could, mounting into the sky with every bound.
The sky! At first, he thought he'd lose his lunch as the white land dropped away beneath them and the whole conveyance - reindeer, Santa, sleigh, and all - mounted into the crystalline blackness of the polar night with himself at the front, hauling like a dray horse and howling as he went. But as he pelted through the air, he noticed how fast he was going - faster than he'd ever run on land - and with such little effort! The night sky felt like black velvet against his paws, his nose smelled scents it had never smelled so crisply, and the giddiness of the Christmas Cheer drew a wolfen howl of delight from him.