“Don’t be blaming me for the fact they can’t spell.” He blamed the public education system. Today’s youth were woefully incapable of matching his wits. It wasn’t even any fun anymore making truly lopsided deals for human souls.

“You should do the right thing,” his wife declared. “Give them to Santa.”

The very idea. Lucifer choked and grabbed his chest. “You trying to kill me, wench?”

“Just saying it doesn’t have to always be about you.”

Was she new? “But it is all about me.”

Her gaze narrowed, and she injected a warning tone. “Luc.”

“What is it, my wench?”

“Those letters belong to children.”

“I am aware of that fact, and as you well know, I would never hurt a child.” He did have standards after all. That said, once they became adults, all bets were off.

“There are different kinds of hurt. Like destroying their belief in the real Santa.”

“Bah, hellbug,” he exclaimed, huffing smoke. “You’re nitpicking!”

“I better not find nits,” she said with a glare at her spinning spiders. who quivered and shot out a useless gob that made her sigh as she snapped the thread and tied it off. “Aren’t you busy enough without stealing Nick’s mail?”

Nick now, was it? As if he needed another reason to be stubborn. “Never too busy for my fans.” Lucifer didn’t get as many letters what with the postal service and their difficulties delivering to the first ring of Hell. Apparently, neither rain or snow didn’t extend to brimstone and hellfire. Pussies. The rare few that made it to his mailbox didn’t make it past his hellhounds.

“Fans?” She snorted.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Not really. I prefer actions to words. My fans show their love with tree plantings and luscious gardens. By protecting wetlands. And the carbon tax.”

Lucifer snorted. “The carbon tax is a scam created for yours truly.” He was quite proud of the way he’d managed to make the rich even richer.

“You are reprehensible.”

“I know.” He winked. “And yours are dicks.”

“They are not!” she huffed.

“I’ve seen how they show their appreciation. Ever increasing plastics in your ocean. The mowing down of rainforests. The smog.” Oops. Too late he shut his mouth, closed his eyes, and waited for her to smite him.

When the expected smiting didn’t occur, he opened one eye and saw her calmly knitting. “Um, not gonna argue?”

“As if I’d argue with you over something so silly.” She tittered.

Uh. Oh.

She was pissed.

An itch began in his manly parts. A really bad itch that turned to burning.

“Ouch!” Lucifer hopped out of his seat, dug around inside his trousers, and ripped free the silken boxers she’d knitted for him. They smoked into ash as they dropped to the floor. He proffered the mightiest of glowers.

As usual, his wife didn’t appear impressed.