The Witching Hour

"Hello, troops," Eve said, striding into the office, Jacob, Cassandra and Santa piling in after her, "pilot in the plane?"

"Not exactly," Clara said stiffly.

"He's spending this most glorious holiday with his fiancé," Ezekiel boomed, startling everyone but Clara, "Merry Christmas, one and all!"

Eve just stared at him like he'd defecated in her presence.

Santa smiled, a nasty little knowing smile that made Clara see red. She'd just endured Cher's entire back catalogue being sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells' by Ezekiel and she couldn't take anymore. "Hey, you," she snapped, Santa glancing up at her, making him point to himself. "Yes, you," she said, advancing on him, "this is all your doing. So bloody undo it, savvy?"

"Santa is not savvy," he said, frowning.

"Ezekiel's losing his bacon," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "all thanks to your stupid hat!"

Santa sighed heavily before whipping the hat off Ezekiel's head, and placing it atop his own again.

"We have a plane, but not a pilot," Eve said slowly, returning to the matter at hand.

"You said hold the plane, so we are, sort of," Ezekiel argued, "Happy Holidays!"

"Ignore Ezekiel Jones," Santa said loftily, "Santa can fly large objects through the air."

"Be my guest," Eve said, holding the door open for him.

~*~

"Oh, my God," Clara said as something flashed past the window, "was that Flynn?"

"You should know," Ezekiel said grumpily, "he's your boyfriend."

"I think I just seen Flynn fly past on a broomstick," Clara breathed, pressing her face against the glass.

Jacob just shrugged his shoulders, not interested in Flynn's theatrics, the others similarly uninterested.

"Well, we're in the cargo bay of a cargo plane on Christmas Eve," Cassandra said gloomily. "Can life sink any lower?"

"We're flying, Cassie," Jacob reminded her, "not sailing on a ship."

"Well, it's not exactly festive," Cassandra pouted.

"Don't say that word," Ezekiel grimaced.

All of a sudden, alarms started ringing, red lights flashing, making them all clutch each other. To Clara's horror, the rear door started opening, the wind roaring through the bay, snow whirling in its wake, Ezekiel screaming like a complete girl. Then Santa's lost sleigh descended from the sky outside, Dulaque and Lamia at the helm, faces mockingly triumphant. As the rear door clanged shut again, Cassandra got up, fists clenching at her sides.

"What kind of person steals Santa's sleigh?" she challenged childishly.

"And what kind of person backstabs their friends quite literally?" Dulaque smiled, his gaze flickering to Clara, making her take a step back.

Cassandra paled, falling silent.

"We saw your fancy man," Lamia fired at Clara, "but we sent him on his way."

"Enough of that oaf," Dulaque snapped, rounding on Lamia.

"What do you want?" Clara said, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

"Santa, obviously," Dulaque said, clasping his hands together. "If you don't, you all die. If you do, you still all die. Excepting yourself of course," he said, inclining his head in Clara's direction.

"Why?" Clara whispered as he and Lamia drew their swords.

But before Dulaque could answer, everything tipped sideways, Santa suddenly collapsing in the cabin, sending the plane into a downward spiral, knocking everyone off their feet. But by the time Eve set the plane on autopilot, dragging a now unconscious Santa into the cargo bay, it was only to find the others pinned against the walls, Dulaque and Lamia holding swords to their throats, Clara just standing there helpless, caught between what she knew and what she couldn't know.

~*~

"Ah, quick service," Dulaque drawled, appraising Eve, "nothing like it."

"You can't have him," Clara said, stepping forwards.

"Dulaque cannot have Santa," Santa echoed, struggling to raise his head from Eve's shoulder.

"What's wrong with him?" Eve demanded.

"We poisoned him with holly and mistletoe back at Chamberlain House," Dulaque said, looking bored, "a piece of hedge magic that even Morgan Le Fay would be proud of."

"Why are you doing this!?" Clara screamed, startling them all.

Dulaque hesitated, looking troubled as well as taken aback at her outburst. "I have killed more Librarians than you've seen stars, dear one," he said gently, "it is something you used to appreciate, the spectacle of their deaths amusing you above all else."

Clara just stared at him in disbelief, feeling the storm rising in her heart.

Lamia looked at Clara, jealousy seizing her, remembering what had passed back at Buckingham Palace, Guinevere laying claim to her Lancelot once more, barring Lamia out. With a snarl, she grabbed Jacob, flinging him to the floor, making Clara start forwards, only for Dulaque to raise his hand, immobilizing her.

"Don't make me do this, Gwen," Dulaque said quietly, unaware his words were already fading from Clara's memory.

"You can't have Santa," Clara spat again, shaking her dark hair back.

"The Round Table!" Ezekiel yelled, startling everyone, Santa's magic still addling his brain.

"You will pay for using these words in my presence," Dulaque hissed, before whirling on Lamia. "Disable the plane," he ordered, Lamia then throwing open the control panel, stabbing it with her sword, sending sparks flying.

Clara stared at Ezekiel, and before anybody could stop her, she suddenly sprung forwards, snatching the hat from Santa's head. In a flash, it was on Dulaque's head instead, falling over his eyes, making him instantly cut a ridiculous figure. "My greatest wish is that you and Lamia would so kindly take your departure," she said, slumping against the wall, "that you would leave Santa here, safe and sound. It would make me so happy - in fact it would make my Christmas, all our Christmases actually."

"It would make my year," Jacob said, glaring at Lamia.

"It would make my life," Ezekiel added.

"It would be the icing on top of the cake," Eve said, struggling to support Santa.

"The absolute cherry," Cassandra chirped.

Dulaque stood there, swaying, his brow furrowing, eyes clouding over. "Lamia, we're leaving," he said uncertainly, the hat working its magic on him.

"What!?" Lamia exclaimed in disbelief.

"We're leaving," Dulaque said, clambering into the sleigh.

"No, we're not" -

- "We are!" Dulaque roared, cowing Lamia into uncharacteristic submission. Without a word, she climbed into the sleigh beside him, her jaw tightening as Jacob gave her a sarcastic little wave. The rear door opened with a snap of Dulaque's fingers, and then they were going, going, gone, an obliging gust of wind whipping the hat off his head, sending it flying back into the cargo bay. Clara picked it up, setting it atop Santa's head again.

"That really worked," Ezekiel said in disbelief.

"I know," Cassandra said, eyes wide with wonder.

"Won't he just come back?" Jacob said, gesturing to the hat.

"The magic lingers," Clara explained, gesturing to Ezekiel, who was now humming 'Deck The Halls' again. "It should linger long enough to send him back to London."

"Right, Nick, do your thing now," Eve said, nervously glancing around her.

"I can't," Santa said simply. "I contain the energies; the goodwill of all mankind, but I cannot focus."

"He's not speaking in the third person anymore," Ezekiel helpfully pointed out.

"Is it the hedge magic?" Clara said quickly, Santa nodding. "Then what do we do?" she asked, kneeling down in front of him. "Tell us what to do."

Santa hesitated, before speaking, his ancient eyes becoming filled with pain. "I possess the power but not the will to deliver the gift," he said tiredly, "we need a new vessel. Someone else must channel the power, becoming Santa for just this night." His gaze travelled over them all, before settling on Eve, his expression almost pleading. "There's no guarantee a mortal would survive the process," he then said, bowing his head, "but it has to be someone bound to Christmas, a child born on the last stroke of midnight, so named by her parents as the girl born on Christmas" -

- "Eve," Eve finished, looking dazed.

Santa just smiled sadly at her, the others falling back, recognizing they had no place in this.

Without a word, Eve held out her hands, spreading them wide, before pressing her palms against Santa's, closing her eyes, letting the magic wash over her, becoming its vessel, becoming Christmas itself, and somewhere far away, a clock struck twelve, echoing through eternity.

We swam among the northern lights
And hid beyond the edge of night
Waiting for the dawn to come
And sang a song to save us all...