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to himself his new name, “I am the Crest of Dragons.”
    He pushes the accelerator all the way to the floor, heading east into the coming storm—though he knows that the real storm is within him. The true storm is Him. And he is coming.

Three
     
    Standing on the curb that skirted the rental office, the staff member sent them off with a wave. Whether that was how it was always done at Adirondack Regional Airport (the rental employees picking up their clients in the rented cars and then swinging by the office before handing over the keys) or whether the storm coming was incentive enough to rewrite policy so as to avoid being stranded in the airport over the holidays, they didn’t know. Their only concern was that any such snowstorm held off long enough for them to escape its reach.
    Flipping a coin to determine who’d first be piloting the Taurus through the wilderness roads of upstate New York, Marcus had laughed heartily when the face of a dead president exonerated him from the task.
    And so they were off, Ian behind the wheel, Marcus beside him with his iPhone already mapping their course, and the two girls reclining comfortably in the back seat. The heat was on, the tank was full, and there was nothing but an open road through the forest ahead of them.
    “We take 186 west until it turns into 30,” Marcus said, tracing his finger over the face of the phone.
    Nodding, Ian unbuttoned his gray peacoat, revealing the white T-shirt beneath, and leaned over to turn on the radio. The car’s interior filled with a blast of static that made the girls screech from the backseat, the rear speakers right behind their heads. “Sorry,” he said and turned it down. “See if you can find something, Marc.”
    “Sure thing.” Marcus slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and took over at the center console, flipping through symphonies of static.
    Ashley looked out the window and up at the passing pines. “Wish I had my bag. We could listen to some Nat King Cole Christma—”
    The static suddenly fell away, uncovering the crystal-clear sound of a Christmas album recorded long ago. “ Fall on your knees, Oh hear the angel voices, Oh night divine —”
    Nat King Cole sang triumphantly through the car’s sound system, an unnatural quality to his voice that seemed to surpass the old recording and its rebroadcast over the airwaves.
    Marcus slowly turned his head to look back at Ashley, mouth open in disbelief.
    Ashley raised her eyebrows. “That was weird,” she whispered.
    The legendary baritone sang them back into a thousand Christmas memories, each one unique and seeming so long ago. They sang along, laughing and punctuating their lines with exaggerated hand motions.
    When “Oh, Holy Night”was over, Nat handing the mike off to Dolly Parton (who wasted no time in getting down with “Jingle Bells”), Marcus turned the radio down. “Okay, here’s where 186 turns into 30.” He pointed ahead. “We’ll be on 30 for twenty minutes or so.”
    “Hey,” Heather called up to the front, her eyes on her phone. “I just uploaded you snowboarding.”
    Marcus turned in his seat, knowing she was talking to him since Ian had decided to stick to his skis on this trip. “You got me snowboarding?”
    “Yup.”
    Marcus clapped his hands, smiling wide as Heather leaned over and let her sister watch the video.
    “You put that one on?” Ashley laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
    Marcus’ smile faded. “What are you talking about? What one?”
    “That’s low,” Ashley said, shaking her head.
    Heather chuckled.
    “What?” Marcus fished his phone back out of his pocket. After a couple finger taps, he was on Heather’s YouTube channel and watching himself land on his head. “Are you serious?”
    They all laughed.
    “Oh yeah?” he said, spinning back around in his seat. “Two can play at that game.”
    Heather leaned forward, sudden concern rising on her face. “What does that mean?”
    But Marcus was already