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She turned so that she was standing beside me, facing the same way I was, and gestured a small hand out at the crowd gathered. The party’s attendees included all of the new women here – Valeria, Priya, Zuh-Tephanie, Taylor, and Abby, along with their mates and, in Abby’s case, her child, sleeping against her shoulder. Nasrin and Tilly were in attendance as well, milling about the group, untethered by the large, looming males who remained so close to their mated friends. Some of the Deep Sky women had been here earlier, but they’d largely trickled back to Gahn Errok’s mountain. I had to imagine they were as unimpressed by the pee-tzaw as I had been.
“I do not understand the new day’s eve party,” I admitted.
She chuckled. “It’s not ‘new day’s eve,’ it’s a New Year’s Eve party.”
“What’s a New Year’s Eve?”
“A year is three-hundred and sixty-five days. It’s like a Sea Sand age but for humans. When one ends, we celebrate everything that’s happened and look forward to what’s coming.”
I let that settle, then gave a grunt of acknowledgement.
“At least that makes more sense than Zanta Claws day,” I said. Fiona shifted slightly, and the crinkly coat of her sleeve brushed my arm, ceasing all thought in my head for so long that I almost missed her next words.
“‘Zanta Claws day?’ You mean Christmas?”
“Yes,” I said. Blast, now my arm was tingling. I uncrossed them and hoped she would not notice as I subtly shook them out at my sides. “The one where the man with long claws dressed all in red comes into your home at night and you fight him.”
“You what!?”
She rounded on me with such a look of disbelief upon her little face that I knew I must have gone wrong somewhere. But as this was what I’d gleaned from the little bits I’d heard of Zanta Claws day, I doubled down.
“He comes into your home at night,” I said slowly, wondering if she’d be offended that I was trying to explain her own strange celebration to her. “And then you fight him. And you’re rewarded with gifts if you win.”
“You don’t fight Father Christmas. Are you insane?”
I frowned.
“It seems rather more insane not to fight an unknown male who wanders unbidden into your dwelling. And I’m not talking about the krizzmas father. I’m talking about Zanta Claws. The red one. With the chin hairs.”
“Father Christmas is Santa Claus. Same bloke, different names. And he doesn’t wander in unbidden! He comes in to deliver gifts!”
“But you have to fight him for them.”
“No! You absolutely do not fight Santa Claus!”
There was a beat of silence.
“Well. I would fight him,” I finally muttered.
She gave a short laugh, then shook her head.
“And I’d beat him,” I added, just for good measure.
Her mouth opened in some as-yet unspoken retort, but the sudden human cry of, “Oh my God! Ten! Guys, guys! Eight! Seven-” cut her off.
“Why are they counting? And why are they doing it backwards?” I asked, watching in confused fascination as the other new women began to count as well, as if in some sort of sacred chant.
“It’s the countdown to New Year’s!” Fiona said quickly. “Fuck me, I’m supposed to kiss somebody.”
She looked around wildly while I stared, hard, hard, hard at her.
“Five!”
Her eyes reluctantly met mine.
“Four!”
She was supposed to kiss somebody. She’d said so herself.
