Yuletide Immortal (The Immortal Chronicles Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

you haven’t left because you have no place else to go.”
    “That’s… actually, that’s true.  But only because I never have any place to go.  It doesn’t mean I won’t go.  I’ll find someplace I like better, which is everywhere.  Europe, maybe.  New York is already proving more annoying than it’s worth.”
    Santa laughed again, although I really wasn’t kidding.  “It’s going to snow for Christmas this year, I can feel it!  Have you ever seen this city in the snow?”
    “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said.  He was surprisingly enthusiastic about seasonal events for someone his age.  I’ve seen more snow than any man alive.  I’ve seen glaciers.  Snow isn’t much of a thing, and he was more qualified to recognize this than most people. 
    “It is!  How can you not be excited by snow?”
    “I know it’s easier to track a mammoth when there’s snow, that’s about all.”
    He grumbled.  I may have been wearing him down.  “At least stay in the city until after the holidays, Stanley.”
    “And help you find this kid’s mom’s family heirloom, I know.  It’s been a year, what makes you think the vase is still there?”
    “Of course it is.”
    I drunk deeply from the beer I’d ordered to go with the steak.  It was the cheap, domestically bottled species of beer, marginally worse than the stuff on tap at the bar down the street.  America makes lousy beer, but at a time when we weren’t on great terms with Germany it wasn’t a shock that there was nothing better to be had.  This was another good reason to consider returning to Europe.  Either that or switch to aged scotch, which is harder to screw up.
    I needed something, because Santa’s relentless positivity was just brutal.
    “I know I’m going to regret asking this,” I said, “but why are you so sure the vase is still there?”
    “It makes for a better story.”
    “Ah, of course.”
    “In my experience, the better stories always end up coming true.”
    From the perspective of an imp this was undoubtedly the case, but only because imps are notorious for ignoring inconvenient facts and inventing better ones in the service of a good story. 
    “You also realize you aren’t actually Santa, right?”
    He looked wounded.  “Of course I am!”
    “All right, you sort of are, in the sense that nobody else has as good a claim on it, outside of your family.  That’s not what I mean.  You can’t slide down a chimney, no matter what the stories say.  Not that there’s going to be a chimney involved, because that kid gave us an address in an apartment building.  With no supernatural assistance, how are you going to get the vase under the tree?”
    “I can give it to little Davey,” Santa said with a shrug.  “Or rather, you can.  This is your redemption, not mine.  I’m perfectly happy this time of year, you’re the grumpy Methuselah in need of Christmas spirit.”
    “Methuselah only lived to about seventy-five,” I said.  “And I seriously doubt this will have any impact on my mood.  It may worsen it.”
    *   *   *
    We started looking the next day.
    Pawnshops, it should be noted, were much more common in the fifties than they are today, so it wasn’t a surprise that although we were notified as to which shop the vase had been pawned, we still went to the wrong one.
    “It’s not here,” I said quietly.  We were in an uncomfortably small storefront surrounded by the detritus of modern consumerism, which is just the sort of place to make one feel worse about Christmas at a time when one is supposed to feel better about it.  That Santa was standing in the middle of it as well made the whole tableau not a little bit ironic.  If I’d thought about it at the time, I’d have taken his picture.  I didn’t own a camera, but the place had four to choose from.
    “Then we must be in the wrong place,” he said, with unwarranted conviction.  “We’ll try the next block.”
    “We’re going to check