Las Vegas had many luxury shops, and by a fortunate coincidence, they all had huge sales. After filling their inventory with presents, Cora and Rowan headed to the Castle Casino’s portal center, escorted by Viscardi. Lord Blackswarm had opted for a central transportation hub with fixed portals framed by an artificial contraption. The gate marked Reno had a double lane, with important incoming traffic of heavy trucks. At that moment, two more portals were built for Randolph and the other for Goblin Town.

  Rowan extracted two cores from his inventory and offered them to the Vampire. “Look, Viscardi, I had no idea what to buy you as a Christmas Gift to a Vampire—please don’t say virgin blood or some shit—so, I hope you’ll like these. Use them as you see fit.”

  The Vampire swapped the cores into his inventory, then patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Thank you. And congratulations on yesterday. You won the duel fair and square.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re a lousy shot.”

  “And you’re a lousy swordsman. My wife and I decided to give you a special present.” This time, the Vampire was the one with two spheres in his hands, only smaller than the cores, at most three inches in diameter, and made from a sort of gray steel.

  “Err… thanks?” Rowan frowned, clueless about their meaning.

  “These are true artifacts, old and unique. In your character sheet, you’ll notice a separate tab, a sketch of your body, with armor and weapon slots. Put them there. One is an armor, and the other a weapon. They’ll take any shape you want and feel like an extension of your body, enhancing and projecting your skills without latency.”

  That’s how Victoria put that DOT on us in Rome… Rowan bowed. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. It seems the portal is on.”

  After a handshake, they parted ways, and the couple went through the bluish light inside the arch. They exited in Elkins’s new Main Square, near the town hall, near a few other similar portals in the process of self-building themselves.

  “My flying suit is also an old Artifact,” Cora said as they walked home. “It’s indestructible, but it takes a lot of effort to insert tech in it.”

  “Indestructible, like invulnerable?” Rowan asked.

  “It absorbs a large amount of damage, but eventually, it must regenerate and dismiss itself. If you lose a true Artifact, it will teleport back to you at midnight; if it breaks, it will self-reconstruct. It’s a great gift. I'll add some tech enhancements as soon as possible.”

  “Grea— Err… What’s Dmitri doing?” Rowan frowned, stopping short of entering the house. The Greek was sitting on a bench in the garden, smoking, a distressed expression on his face. “What’s up, man? Is anything wrong?” R|owan asked.

  “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Dmitri snorted. “On the contrary, all is for the best. It’s wonderful. As good as it gets.”

  “Dmitri is the annoying type, always avoiding explaining things directly,” Rowan said to Cora, more like an indirect admonishment to the Greek.

  As they approached the house, a loud voice reached their ears. “And for the last months, everyone asked: Are you related to the Count? Of course not, I said. I put a sign on the shop: NOT related to the Count. Then, people started watching my shop around the clock. The most suspicious was my new massagist. He had no idea how to do a back massage. I asked him: are you FBI?”

  “FBI?” a voice asked.

  “I had some problems with them before. They tried to frame me with something I didn’t do. And he says: no, I’m a Healer; we were sent to protect you around the clock. Then he slaps his mouth and says: oopsie, you weren’t supposed to know. And guess what? I was related to the Count, after all, because he’s none other than my bloody son.”

  “Oh, fuck…” Rowan sighed, stopping for a second.

  “What’s up?” Cora grabbed his arm, startled.

  "Karma striking back." Half-shrugging, Rowan entered the house. “Hi, Papa.”

  A tall, old man, wrinkled but in good shape for his age, snorted, crossing his arms. “Dead in my sleep, huh?”

  “Sorry, I had to. You always embarrass me in front of everyone.”

  “At least you weren’t murdered with a hammer,” a woman in her late fifties or early sixties said. She sat on the couch near a shorter, plump man.

  “But you were murdered with a hammer,” Grace said from an armchair, with her arms crossed. “I killed you countless times in my daydreams. Bam, Bam! I could see it all… the bones cracking, the blood. Rowan, meet my parents. I’ll not charge your memory with their names. They're not worth the effort.”

  “That’s… interesting,” Cora said, her eyes widened, her ears and tail fretting. “You both lied about your parents being dead?”

  Rowan let himself fall on a chair. “Thank goodness…” he sighed. “You were beaming with happiness whenever you told me they were dead. I was sure you and Isla killed them because they wanted you to give Lizzie up for adoption or something. "

  "That’s exactly what they did. And do you want to know how much they helped us? Zero! Not one dollar, not a day of babysitting. Nothing. And now, guess whose grandparents' instinct came to life and want to bond with Lizzie?”

  “Where’s she?”

  “With Isla. I called her as soon as these assholes appeared. She took Lizzie and Thomas out for a Christmas movie.”

  “We’re sorry, OK? We truly are,” Grace’s father pleaded.

  “Goodness…” Rowan facepalmed with both his hands. “Guys… You don’t appear on Christmas Eve and expect to be forgiven instantly. These things take time.”

  “Forgiveness is quite the big trope for the holidays, son,” Rowan’s father said.

  “Not in my house,” Grace put weight on the words. “Rowan, can you kill them for good, please? And make them suffer.”

  “I won’t do that, but I can throw them in prison for trespassing. Seriously, guys, just leave. Grace and I will talk and let you know what we decide.”

  “Come, Peter,” Grace’s mother said, pulling the man up. “I told you they won’t be reasonable.”

  Looking at the pair rushing out, the elderly woman fuming, Rowan shook his head and hugged Grace, who started to cry her heart out. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should have come home earlier.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Do you want me gone too?” his adoptive father said, crossing his arms.

  “Nope,” Rowan let out a long sigh. “You’re a decent old bloke, Papa. I forgive you everything.”

  “You forgive me what, exactly? I did nothing,” the elderly man became agitated, wagging his hands in protest.

  “Not yet. You like to brag about every good thing I do. Remember when you visited that Bourbon factory and told my boss I’m a good forklift operator because you taught me how to read a bicycle?”

  “It did improve your coordination, didn’t it? And look at you now, you’re a count. My stubborn little boar, a noble.’

  “Err… stubborn little boar?” Grace asked.

  “That’s one of the nicknames I gave him. There was also Ro—”

  “Don’t go there!” Rowan frowned.

  “When I adopted him, he was the most ugly and unfriendly kid on Earth. Short and stocky, always ready for a fight, that’s why the boar thing… And here he is now: tall, handsome… educated. Because of me.”

  “See, that’s exactly what I meant,” Rowan raised his hands heavenward.

  “Thank goodness my parents are dead,” Cora sighed, sitting on a couch. “They’d kill themselves if they’d see this raving circus. No offense, everybody, but humans are nuts.”

  Core, are you online? Do we have any Rezz spots free? Rowan asked in thought.

  [The Butler]: Currently, we have 12 spots free, Master.

  Please attune my father for a Recall and Resurrect spot.

  [The Butler]: Order acknowledged, Master. At my current processing level, it will take 5 minutes.

  Can you speak less formally, please? Without the Master thing?

  [The Butler]: This is the less formal I can do, Master. Formal quotes all your titles using My Liege.

  Never mind, then. Keep up the good work.

  [The Butler]: Thank you for your kind words, Master.

  Meanwhile, Rowan’s father approached Grace, who was sitting at the dining table, lighting a smoke, her hands slightly shaking. “I apologize,” he said. “This… drama is my fault. Let me explain. When—”

  “Please keep it under half an hour, and don’t use any word we’d need a dictionary to understand,” Rowan said. “Sorry, but he’s the bombastic type.”

  “It’s called being a gentleman, and I still hope you’ll become one eventually. I was trying to tell your lovely wife that when I found out the notorious Count was my son, I did inquire around. Elkins Town’s site mentions you and Grace as Count and Countess.”

  “I shouldn't have allowed the site to be accessible from the outside,” Rowan ground his teeth.

  “It's good PR,” Grace said.

  “Grace’s bio links her artistic career with her maiden name. It’s not a common name, so I searched for her parents online and found her mother was a singer herself. I found her number and called. We agreed to come and visit you together, but the only window of opportunity was Christmas. Your mother has a busy agenda.”

  “Of course, she sings the Evil Witch part in every other musical,” Grace said.

  “I live in Philly, they live in DC, we met in Baltimore and drove on with their car. The County online visa application provided us with a special app to avoid government controls and roadblocks. Then, a portal opened for us in Winchester. That’s unimportant… the idea is they came because of me.”

  “It’s OK, you couldn’t know,” Grance said.

  “And let me guess, on the way, you complained about me every other second, right?” Rowan asked.

  “I had the right to. Just a few emails now and then? Making me believe you're still in Louisville and all is normal? Putting Jim to cover for you?”

  “So that’s why you put your email setting on private?” Cora asked. “I thought you wrote to some ex.”

  “Sorry?” Papa Allinder interjected, looking at the two in befuddlement.

  “Papa, meet Cora, my second wife. I’m also married to Isla, the blonde you saw earlier. There’s no hierarchy; that’s the order I married them. Ah, and by the way, Cora's not a Japanese Anime fan. She's an alien. Those ears and tails are for real.”

  “S-sorry?” the old man stuttered, putting his right hand on his chest.

  “Don’t worry, you can have as many heart attacks as you want because you’ll be Rezzed. Your attention, everyone,” Rowan raised his voice. “I won’t have this little mishap ruin our Christmas. Let’s have a big and nice family dinner. Papa and I will cook. We’ll not, and I repeat, not talk about any business or quest. Sweetheart, if you want to nap and relax, please do.”

  “I sure need to. I’ll join Isla and Lizzie for a walk. We’ll talk about her grandparents,” Grace said.

  “Include me in that conversation, please,” Papa Allinder said.

  In the end, cooking had been a collective effort. Grace made a bean soup, and Rowan and his father meatballs and mashed potatoes, with the meat—a mixture of boar and deer—offered by Snemc and Fenrri, who were also invited. Isla brought crafted beer; her parents helped prepare salad, pastries, and entries. A giant Panettone arrived through an interdimensional email from Count Lepastrina. Dmitri had procured the wine, as usual. The food was excellent, and the conversation was sparse until the eating part was done.

  “And what about your magic, dear sir?” Papa Allinder asked the Shaman.

  “Magic is simple,” the Shaman waved his hand. “Just be one with the universe and empty your mind. Then—”

  “This is for the Charisma builds,” Cora interjected, a little irritated. “The proper way is knowledge. Let’s imagine you want to shoot a fireball. Will you ignite oxygen or hydrogen or act directly on atoms, creating plasma? How do you avoid being burnt? Do you create it at a distance or envelop it in a forcefield? How do you want to deliver it? Throw it like a baseball or shoot it through a magnetic accelerator?”

  “You just let your instinct do the work for you,” Snemc repeated.

  “We’ll be going, sorry. We have a winter solstice ceremony to attend,” Isla's mother said, and after a few brief hugs, Isla’s parents left.

  “Mommy, can I go play in my room?” Lizzie asked.

  “Err… It’s not polite to leave so soon,” Grace tried to resist the girl’s puppy eyes.

  “Sit near me, and I’ll tell you a secret,” Papa Allinder patted the vacant seat near him. A little confused, Lizzie approached. “Give me a hug, please. Oh… This feels so nice… When I adopted him, Rowan was about your age, but he wasn’t a great hugger.”

  “He is, now,” the girl said.

  “Really? Then come and hug your old papa, Rowan. Let me be the judge.”

  Rolling his eyes in reluctance, Rowan obeyed.

  “Not bad. A lot of improvement, but you can put more heart into it. Lizzie’s a champion. What I’m about to tell you, Lizzie, I also told Rowan when he was a kid. Getting through a family reunion might be boring, but we must endure it. It’s not about politeness. It’s about love and learning. I don’t particularly care about magic, but I want to learn as much as possible about the new world my son is living in.

  “You might not enjoy hanging around us, but staying brings joy to my old heart… I lived to see my son married, and he gifted me the sweetest granddaughter I could wish for in the process. You’re the best Christmas present. Here, this is a small gift for you,” the old man said, reaching behind the chair in a small suitcase and producing a children's book. “Maybe you could read it on the couch while we, adults, talk our nonsense, thus allowing me to enjoy your company a little longer?”

  Wordless, Lizzie hugged the old man again, snatched the book, and ran to the farthest couch in the living room.

  “This is what a good education looks like,” Fenrri, the Shaman’s wife, said. “Beats a beating…”

  “Guys… err… could you help me with that thing we talked about?” Rowan said. “Papa, go with them on the porch. There’s a gift for you there… They’ll help you unwrap it. It’s a big one."

  “Hm… you’re thoughtful, for a change,” the older man furrowed his brow. “This awakening suits you well.”

  “Put these on,” Rowan offered him a pair of slippers.

  As Rowan went to the mudroom to leave the shoes, the old man walked toward the back porch, followed by the Shaman and his wife. Seconds later, screams and struggle noises were heard. After a minute, a disheveled Papa Allinder entered back, struggling to put his shirt back into his pants with one hand and waving the other before his eyes.

  "Success," Snemc said. "And quite a breakthrough. Sage, Epic."

  “What have you done to me?” Rowan's father yelled. “I see blue things!”

  “He has a lot of stamina for his age,” Fenrri said, sitting on the stool she had brought for herself to avoid breaking the furniture. “I used both my hands to restrain him.”

  “You got a Class,” Rowan said. “Our Town can Awaken people as long a priest performs a ceremony. I asked Snemc to do it because he’s much better at his job than the local priests.”

  "How can I make these things d-disappear?” Rowan’s father stuttered, trying to slap the screens in the air.

  “Think ‘dismiss notifications.’ I’ll help you get your bearings tomorrow.”

  “But I have no intention of becoming a hero!” Rowan’s father protested.

  “Relax. It’s not about being a hero but about quality of life. Think about it like vitamins. Even at level one, you’ll reach one hundred and twenty and play with your grand grandkids.”

  “Do I have to move here?” the man looked around, still disoriented.

  "We have a couple of spare rooms," Grace said. "You're welcome to stay."

  “Look, spend the holidays here, then decide," Rowan said. "If you want to move in, we have plenty of space. We bought the adjacent houses. As soon as the Holidays are over, we'll renovate them and join the courtyards together."

  The older man waved his hand, wobbling on his feet. “T-this is too much… I need a drink…”

  “It’s Bourbon time!” Rowan cheered.