WHO: Robin Burke & Richenza Selwyn WHAT: Wreaking festive havoc. WHEN: December 23 WHERE: Knockturn
Robin barrelled into his flat after work, all motion, throwing his bag filled with work projects onto the sofa and heading straight for the bedroom. Debbie lifted her head, briefly, from her resting spot on the windowsill and then returned to promptly ignoring him once he’d greeted her, content to perch out of the way and declare herself exempt from the Christmas celebrations that were about to ensue. Robin didn’t blame her — she’d unfortunately been on the end of something one time that had left her fur bright red and her tail very stumpy until it had worn off.
“Don’t worry, Debs,” Robin said, pulling open a drawer. “We’re leaving you out of it.” He grabbed around, picking up bits of potions and shoving them in his pockets just in case, before apparating to Richenza’s. He didn’t bother waiting outside and instead popped in with a, “Honey! I’m home! Come greet me.”
“Oh, welcome home, darling!” Richenza called from the kitchen. She glided out with a snack in hand, setting it on the coffee table so she could throw her arms around Robin’s neck and press an overly sloppy kiss to one of his cheeks. It left quite a lot of her lipstick behind. “Dinner’s nearly ready! I tossed your slippers into the fire, though.” She stepped back with a dismissively apologetic tilt to her head and finally realized Robin was alone.
“What, no Deborah?”
“You scared her off last year,” Robin said, solemnly, reaching up and rubbing at his cheek. Some of Richenza’s lipstick disappeared; some of it was just smudged, giving him the appearance of unusually rosy cheeks. “What’d you do that with my slippers for though? You know I love to watch things burn.”
“Ugh, I’m a wretched housewife,” Richenza lamented as she reached out to try and wipe the rest of her lipstick away from Robin’s cheek. “If you want to divorce me, I’ll understand. We’ll have to fight over custody of Deborah, of course.” Some of the lipstick seemed to have rubbed in even further and she pulled a face that was actually apologetic now. “It will get excruciatingly ugly.”
“You know how I feel about ugly things,” Robin said, with no small amount of glee in his tone. He laughed and then reached into his pocket, sliding out the small spherical potion bottles. “Speaking of ugly, I brought some things we could throw at people if we get bored or need a distraction.” He presented them to Richenza like they were a rich, luxurious display.
Richenza’s eyes lit up and she reached for one of the bottles, turning it this way and that in the light. “Oooh, what do they do?”
“I think that one just causes a bit of an explosion,” Robin said, as if it was a letdown. “This one might make someone throw up a lot. I should have labelled them. Does it look like the vomit one?” He held his bottle up towards the light, pressing Richenza’s hand out of the way.
“Shall we try it on you?” Richenza teased, poking Robin in the stomach. She handed her bottle back to him and stepped away to retrieve a bag of decorations. “For decorating Elderly James this year.” She opened the bag for Robin to see inside. “I tossed in the star he loathes.”
With a mournful shake of her head, she added, “He really should try harder not to fall asleep when we’re around.”
“Or be a better looking Sleeping Beauty,” Robin said, laughing as he peeked in the bag. He could see the bright tinsel and the baubles and his whole face lit up with joy. “We’d probably give him more leniency if he wasn’t so ugly.”
He doubted it, but it sounded good.
Glancing up at Richenza, he said, “Will you really feed me before we go out, because you will be my favourite person and I’ll probably think the world of you.”
“Obviously,” Richenza said, dragging her fingers through her hair and settling it over her shoulder. “I’m not a monster.” She paused, though. “I had better already be your favourite person. You can think the world of whomever, but I demand to be your favourite!”
Robin grinned at her. “Demand honoured.”
*
It wasn’t that late, but the vibe at the bar was always the same. It seemed later than it was, lights dimmed, music turned just loud enough that it was hard to hear someone unless they were raising their voice. The bar was mostly populated by locals, who drifted in and out in varying degrees of sobriety. Elderly James was already there, perched in his usual booth, a glass in front of him and his hat low on his head. Robin waved at him and the man blearily stared back.
James was not going to be their first victim.
“I’m going to boobytrap the mens loos,” Robin said, into Richenza’s ear. “Coming?”
“Obviously,” Richenza said back, loud enough for Robin to hear. A few of the bar’s patrons raised their eyebrows as she followed her cousin into the men’s room and a few more raised at the barely audible click of the lock behind them.
“Are we going to make it festive?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. It smelled. Of course it did.
“Of course,” Robin said with delight, walking along and slamming open every door. It was empty, the perfect scene for the first crime. Robin turned and barely restrained the desire to clap his hands with glee. Instead, he clapped them together and rubbed them. “I was thinking we could make urinals shoot tinsel out. Or the toilets. Is tinsel funnier in your face or aimed at your ass?”
“I don’t see why it can’t be both” Richenza said, moving to peer down at one of the urinals. She wrinkled her nose again. “I wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out.”
“So face and ass,” Robin said slowly, as if he was discussing some huge, philosophical topic. “It’s marvellous.” He cast one spell and then another and then lamented, “I wish festive magic left behind a cinnamon smell. Like Christmas candles, but for magic. We should work on that, somehow.”
For a moment, Richenza considered Robin and, then, between her thumb and her forefinger, plucked up a spare urinal cake that managed to look a little used despite not being housed in a urinal. A flick of her wand transfigured it into a bundle of cinnamon sticks that she offered to Robin. “For now, anyway.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Robin said, laughing. “All for me?” He took the cinnamon sticks and twirled them, as if they were some kind of precious bouquet he could do a trick with. It was not a very impressive trick. He started to place one of the cinnamon sticks at every sink, tapping his wand to stick it onto the mirror. They’d move in turn with the reflection: cinnamon stick moustache.
He grinned at his reflection and the cinnamon stick moved to his height. “I love them.”
Richenza moved to stand behind him, pressing her cheek to Robin’s shoulder. “I’m so pleased! That’s all you’re getting for Christmas this year!” she teased. The cinnamon stick wavered in its perch above Robin’s lip, like it wanted to move onto hers, so she quickly hid her nose against his arm. “Let’s charm the taps to run peppermint liqueur. That’s festive, isn’t it?”
Robin laughed, turning his head to dip towards hers. “It’s very festive,” he told her crown. “We can drink toilet tap water after, as well. Get charming, Richie. You always say you are.” He was laughing as he shoved her towards the taps.
Managing to preen even as she stumbled away from Robin, she insisted, “I am charming.” Laughing, she prodded at each of the sinks with her wand, filling the room with the smell of peppermint as she tested each one. Steaming hot peppermint liqueur was strange but she went with it.
“My finest work!” she proclaimed, gesturing proudly as one of the cinnamon sticks gave her a moustache anyway.
Robin laughed and laughed and reached for his phone, snapping pictures quickly. It was a scene to be immortalised: another in a line of Christmas messes. Summoning glasses that came zooming through the window, he filled them with peppermint liqueur and toasted Richenza as he swished his wand. Christmas music started to play from in the toilets, the bowl of the toilet acting as some kind of volume enhancer.
It was perfect.
“Have we completed our bathroom masterpiece?”
“I believe we have!” Richenza smiled proudly at Robin and the rest of the bathroom. “I honestly do not understand why they don’t ask us to do the decorating for them every year.” She pressed a hand solemnly to middle of her chest. “We’re magnificent!”
“We are,” Robin said, cradling his glass. He flicked his wand at the door and it sprang open. On the other side stood one of the patrons, who eyed them warily as they slid past. Robin’s backpack followed them out of the room, nudging at their backs.
Elderly James was still to be dealt with.
His head was listing and it looked like he’d decided that his drink was going to be his last for the night. Sleep had obviously crept in on him. Robin’s grin was sharp. “Tinsel, Richenza.”
“Tinsel,” Richenza repeated, businesslike as if she were Robin’s surgical assistant.
She draped the end of the tinsel over Elderly James’s shoulder and wound it around the dozing man, passing the entire bundle off to Robin once she reached the other side. She dove back into her bag to procure the other decorations she’d brought along and setting them helpfully on the table in front of James.
Robin wound more of the tinsel around Elderly James, tying it off around one wrist, the brightly coloured garland weaving around him. He moved slightly and it rustled; the noise made Robin grin. The next to be added to the mix was a string of beads, which he looped around James’ middle. “Do you think we can hang baubles from his ears?”
Richenza considered the man’s ears for a moment, holding a bauble out as if appraising it. The hanging hook on it seemed to glint dangerously in the low light of the bar. “Oh, wait, did you mean over his ears?” She tapped the hook with her wand and it grew longer and wider until she was satisfied that it would hang from his ears without having to give him a new piercing.
“Yes,” she said, affixing the bauble. “I’ll let you do the star this time.”
“Your generosity knows no bounds,” Robin said, grinning as he moved in, the star in his hand. Elderly James kept dozing, the soft noises leaving him. His ears were glittering with baubles and he was extremely festive looking. Robin started singing a carol as he placed the star on top of James’ head.
When he stepped back, he clapped the two of them and then wiped a fake tear from his eye. “It’s so…beautiful.”
She hooked her arm through Robin’s and feigned the same emotion, pressing a hand to the middle of her chest and sniffing. “He’s our best tree yet,” she said, proudly.
“I’m immortalising this,” Robin said, taking his phone out again. “Get in the picture. Smile your best smile. It’ll go on our Christmas cards.”
“Ooh, gladly!” Richenza said, perking up right away. She ducked a bit, posing next the Christmas Tree James with a wide smile. Once the picture was taken, she snatched the phone from Robin to make sure it was a good picture of her. Satisfied it was, she waved a hand at the old man. “Now your turn, Robinet.”
“Oh, yes,” Robin said, sliding into the seat next to James. He tilted his head towards the camera, a wide grin on his face, beaming into it. “This is going to be the best Christmas card we’ve ever done.”