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Jack did not think he would be done Christmas shopping until the day had come and gone. As Proustite he did not have to abide by Holiday Etiquette. He budged to the front of lines, ready to pay with cash. Anybody protests earned elbows to noses. Sometimes, he did not pay at all. Sometimes, he left department stores with arm loads of energy and starseeds and toys for Freddie, who would be turning six that March.

For Helga, Jack had selected a brand new television set. So large she'd need to move her lazy-boy recliner across the trailer living room in order to see the whole thing. Smart enough that she could switch between Netflix and Youtube and the Superbowl with a push of a button.

For Coleen, Jack had stolen a minivan. Large enough for her to cart around Freddie's soccer team. And then paid for its license plates with money stolen from the DMV. He'd gone out of his way to wrap it with an enormous red ribbon.

If his mother and his sister asked how he'd managed to pay for these things, Jack did not know what he would tell them. He was not particularly concerned about having an answer.

'I stole them.' He might say.

Or, 'I started selling drugs, and I can afford s**t like this now..

Or, 'A malevolent super force has given me the ability to do pretty much whatever the ******** I want. Merry Christmas.

The sound that Cassie heard in the alley was sort of, kind of a scuffle. Proustite had a pair of teenagers trapped and bound in Christmas lights that blinked red and green. He wore a Santa hat, and puffed on the end of a cigarette; a youma shaped like a vulture resting comfortably on one of his broad shoulders. The noise Cassie heard was one of them trying to escape, and then Proustite kicking their shins so hard that the bone cracked.

"H-hello? Is everything alright?"

It was a moment before Proustite replied. He held the string of Christmas lights in one hand, and then pinched his cigarette between the fingers of the other. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, dark eyes flickering from the pair of young men in front of him to the end of the alley- where the voice had come from.

"Yeah," he called back, "everything's just peachy."

One of the boys started shouting for help. Proustite rolled his eyes. Pulled the Christmas lights tighter. One of them popped and broke, little shards of green glass sprinkling the alley road.

Proustite watched Cassie flee with an indifferent expression, the end of the christmas lights clutched in his strong hands, and regretted that he'd left his gags at home when the second boy started to holler after her too.

"Shut the ******** up," he said, "or I'll rip out your tongues and feed them to my bird."

Both boys paled, lips suddenly pressed tight as though glued together with concrete.

He weighed his options, flicking the butt of his cigarette with his tongue so that it wriggled up and down. On the one hand, he could just let her go and finish his business with the boys in the alley. Let her call whoever she was going to call. If the police showed up he could just drain their energy and take their starseeds. On the other hand... say she wasn't calling the police. Say she was fortunate enough to have some ******** senshi's phone number, and then they showed up and tried shoving some kind of magic up his a**.

That would not do. That simply would not do.

Proustite snapped his fingers in front of Jackson's beak, and then pointed at Cassie before she'd cleared the alley. The youma squawked, flapped it's great wings, and soared into the air. It was the size of a small man with it's wings outstretched, and bore down on Cassie in a matter of heartbeats. Claws curled around the hand and the cellphone pressed to her ear. Took hold.

Jackson squawked again, beat the air with his wings, and tried to take it away from her. He was strong; capable of lifting her off the ground if she did not struggle too much, but would not be able to carry her off.