Krampus: The Yule Lord (27 page)

“The only truth I know for certain is that when I fly around the world giving gifts, helping those in need, it is only then that I forget the pain of my past. Beyond that, beyond the gods and where I might fit in their great designs, it matters not.”

“He is coming.”

“Krampus?”

She nodded. “The signs are in the bones.”

“I knew he would.”

“I believe it will be soon.”

“I am ready.” Santa Claus hefted his broadsword from the corner, sat it on the desk. “Did the bones give away any other secrets?”

“No. Do you fear him?”

“He can do me no injury. The gods have seen to that.”

“Why then do I read worry upon your brow?”

“It is the sack I fret over. He could bring it harm. I do not know where I could ever find another of its like.”

“Then you must see he does not escape.”

“He will not. Not this time. This last of Loki’s treachery will die with him.”

Chapter Eleven
Dark Arts

K
rampus held the sack wide-open; Jesse watched the darkness shift and swirl. The Yule Lord nodded and Makwa set one foot in, then the other, slid down to his waist. Krampus tugged the sack up over his head and just like that, the big man was gone. The brothers, Wipi and Nipi, followed without hesitation, needing no command. Isabel went next, and Vernon, who gave Krampus a look of utter contempt but went in without a word.

Krampus looked at Chet and the General. The General took a step back, his fear plain on his face. He shook his head. “No, sir, I ain’t going in there.”

“You’re all hot air, ain’t you?” Jesse said with a sneer. “Always figured you weren’t much of nothing without your kin backing you up.”

The General seemed not even to hear him, just stared at the sack.

Jesse shoved the General aside and stepped up, ready to get this show done and over with. The mead warmed his blood, making him feel a bit crazy, a bit mad, and he liked the feeling. He stuck a foot in, sucked in a deep breath—he was still having a bit of trouble breathing, but the pain was fading. He slipped in the other foot.

Krampus sat a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Time to put things to right.”

“Just don’t get us killed,” Jesse said and slid down into the sack. There came a moment when he felt nothing below his feet, a sensation not of falling but more like sliding down a velvet chute. A second later he found himself on his butt in soft dirt and scattered hay. He blinked and the world came into focus. It was night, the air warm. Jesse had never been to the ocean, but knew that must be what he now smelled. He heard the distant sound of waves crashing on rocks and stood up.

“Get down,” Isabel whispered, grabbed his arm, and tugged him into a stall. The Belsnickels were crouched against the inside wall, sharing the stall with an old green sleigh. They peered out into a courtyard surrounded by white stone walls, at least twenty feet high. They saw not a soul, but there were gas lanterns flickering about every fifty feet along the wall. The stall butted up against a larger structure. Jesse smelled hay and manure and guessed it to be a stable. Across the courtyard stood a stately house of arches and turrets, built of the same white stone as the walls and stable but topped with a red-tiled roof.

A cowboy boot connected to a leg suddenly appeared out of thin air right in front of Jesse. A moment later the General sat on his backside in the dirt. The General glanced around wild-eyed, pointing his handgun in this direction and that. Jesse, fearing the man would begin shooting randomly at any second, leapt forward, pulled him into the stall. Shortly after, Chet and Krampus arrived. Krampus stood tall, right out in the open, hands on hips, surveying the courtyard. He spotted the old sleigh, walked into the stall, and ran a hand along its weathered sideboard.

“This is mine,” he said in a low tone. “He stole it. One of many things he stole. One of many things I have come to reclaim. Come.” He left the stall and walked along a cobblestone path; the Belsnickels followed. He stopped in front of the stable, looked it up and down. “This will do.” He slid one side of the tall carriage doors open a crack and peered in. “Yes, perfect. Chet, I want you and your little troll friend to stand guard out here. Give us warning if any should come. It is my command.”

Chet nodded, but the General seemed lost, his eyes shifting this way and that. Jesse felt sure the man was going to blow the whole operation, couldn’t understand why Krampus would leave these two out here alone.

Krampus entered the stable; Jesse, the Shawnee, Isabel, and Vernon all followed. Two gas lanterns flitted from their perch inside, casting long shadows down the stalls. A second-story loft, stacked with hay, ran the length of the structure. The middle lay opened all the way up to the ceiling. The stalls began about midway in, leaving a large, open space for loading, unloading, hitching, and other tasks. Krampus strolled into the middle of this space and, standing there, spear in hand, he struck Jesse as some devilish gladiator awaiting challenge.

“Find cover,” Krampus said, pointing with his spear to a set of stalls. “All on one side, so as to avoid shooting one another.” Jesse got the feeling Krampus had things more planned out than he let on. He hoped so, anyway. Jesse started to follow the other Belsnickels when he caught movement in the loft above. He squinted into the shadows, found his newly acquired ability to pierce the darkness amazing, but still saw nothing or no one. He glanced at Krampus. Krampus nodded. “There are eyes on us. Have been since we first arrived.” Jesse swallowed. Things were getting very real, very fast.

Jesse slid behind a large wall post and waited, having no idea for what or for how long. Isabel and Vernon found cover behind a stack of crates, and the Shawnee crouched in an empty stall next to Jesse. Somewhere a goat bleated. Jesse glanced behind him. Several reindeer looked back at him from their stalls, snorting and stomping in agitation. Jesse leaned his rifle against the post in easy reach, pulled the revolver from his belt, started to check the chamber, when a blast of gunfire came from outside, followed by a scream. Jesse jumped, almost dropping his pistol. He managed to get a hold of the grip and pointed it toward the door just as another round of shots rang out. A second later something hit the doors with a loud thud. Chet rushed in, fell, and tumbled across the ground, losing hold of his weapon.
“Fuck,”
he screamed, snatching his gun back up as he scrambled to his feet. Krampus grabbed him, held him.

“He’s out there!”
Chet cried, looking backward over his shoulder, trying to twist away from Krampus. “Shot him. We both did. Shot him right in the chest . . . in the head. Didn’t do a thing! Not a fucking thing! Didn’t even slow him down!”

“Go, stand with the others,” Krampus said and let him loose. Jesse was struck by how calm Krampus sounded. Chet dashed for the stables, slid in behind the giant post next to Jesse. “We’re fucked, man,” Chet said, his chest heaving, his breath coming hard and fast. “That thing, there’s no stopping it. It’s a monster. A real live monster!”

Jesse found his own breath speeding up, found himself badly in need of another shot of mead. He heard the patter of little feet above them, caught sight of a few boyish figures dashing about in the rafters.

“Shit,” he said, switching to his rifle. “They’ll get the drop on us.”

But no fire came from above, only the occasional eyes peeping down at them.

“Don’t like this,” Jesse said, keeping a bead on them. “Not one bit.”

Something flew through the door, hit the ground, and rolled across the straw-littered dirt, coming to a stop at Krampus’s feet. It was the General’s head—the neck cut clean, the eyes gone. Jesse’s mouth became dry, his heart drummed in his chest, he forgot about the figures above, could only stare at the gory sockets that used to be the General’s eyes.

“Fuck me,” Chet whimpered.

“Krampus,” a voice thundered from outside. “Your time is done.”

Krampus smiled, glanced back over his shoulder. “Hold your places. Watch the rafters. And don’t waste any bullets on our dear old friend Santy Claus.”

Jesse caught sight of a dark shape approaching the carriage doors. Far too wide to slip through the gap, it gripped the massive doors and effortlessly shoved them apart to arm’s length. It was him, there could be no doubt, Santa Claus,
Baldr.
He stood there in the flickering lantern light with a look of supreme confidence on his face. Not as a man coming to battle for his life, but a man coming to stomp upon vermin. He was as far from the image of the plump, jolly Santa Claus of vintage Coca-Cola ads as Jesse could imagine. Jesse even had a hard time making this be the same man he saw running across the snow so long ago in the trailer park. This man looked more like a Viking lord. Gold hoops in his ears, his white hair tied into a topknot, his long beard braided and running down his bare barrel of a chest. He wore red leather britches with stockings and curled-toed shoes adorned with big brass buckles, thick leather wristbands, and a wide harness studded with brass rings atop white fur. Much shorter than Krampus, but stout, solid, hard-packed muscle like a bull, thick through the neck, wrist, and ankle. Hands and forearms that looked able to easily tear apart phone books. He held a broadsword, blood dripping from its long, wide blade. Jesse could see the smoke burns from the gunfire, they ran across his chest, his face, but found no trace of any wound.

Santa Claus slid the heavy doors shut behind him, pulled the slide bar in place, barring them all in. He shook his head, a look upon his face of a man who has a distasteful chore before him. “Krampus, you have become most tiresome.”

D
ILLARD FLIPPED THE
deadbolt and opened the basement door. Linda sat midway down the stairwell, her back to him with Abigail sleeping in her arms. Her lip was swollen and an ugly bruise was blooming along her cheek. He tried not to look at it, tried to pretend it wasn’t there. He let out a deep sigh. “How about we give this another try? What’d you say?”

She didn’t answer, just slowly got to her feet, cradling Abigail. Abigail woke, saw Dillard, and pressed her face into her mother’s chest. Linda marched up the steps, tried to push past him.

Dillard didn’t budge.

“Move!” she hissed.

“I think it’d be good if we talked.”

She pressed her back to the wall, refusing to look at him. He could see her trembling, fighting to control her temper.

“I need you to understand I done what I done because I had to . . . to protect you, to protect that little girl of yours. Jesse, now he’s the one that fucked up. What he got, he done to himself. You know it. He crossed a line with the General. That’s done and over with . . . ain’t nothing you, nor me, nor anybody but Jesus can do for Jesse now. Time to think about what’s best for you and Abigail.”

He reached out, stroked Abigail’s hair. “Linda, you need to understand that the only reason that little girl of yours is here safe and sound is because of me. The General, well, he had other plans, wanted to use her to get at Jesse for what he’d done, and it weren’t easy to convince him otherwise.”

Linda glared at him. Dillard saw the fire and blinked. “What you done,” she said, “amounts to murder. No different than if you done it yourself.”

Dillard ground his teeth, fought down the heat rising in his chest. “I need to make something clear to you . . . absolutely crystal-clear. The General, he gets dangerous when he thinks someone might start gabbing about his business. And if you were to get it into your head to talk about what went down with Jesse, so much as a single word, there wouldn’t be a goddamn thing I could do to keep you and Abigail safe. And after what you said in front of Chet and Ash, about the sheriff, they’ll be watching you, you can count on it.”

She stared at the wall, shaking her head.

“Christ, Linda. Can’t you see I’m doing my damnedest here to keep you two safe? Can you not try and understand?”

He waited for a response, some sign that all was not lost, but she continued to stare at the wall as though he wasn’t there.

“Why are you making this so hard?” he asked.

“Really? Are you kidding me?” The venom in her voice surprised him.

Dillard made himself look at her swollen lip.
Why do things always have to go this way with me?
“I’m . . . sorry,” he said. “Sorry I lost my temper. About as sorry as I can be. Do anything I could to take that back. I mean it, Linda. Things got out of hand . . . won’t ever happen again. I swear it. Swear to God.”

Linda’s lip began to tremble and she wiped at her eyes.

Dillard thought maybe some part of her understood. He hoped so. “You got every right to hate me right now. But I’m hoping you won’t. That maybe after a bit you’ll come to forgive me. All I ask is that you try and remember I made my decisions, right or wrong, for you, baby.”

He gave her another minute, hoping she would say something. She didn’t.

“Listen,” he said. “However you might feel about me, I still need you to stick close for a few days . . . until things with the General calm down a notch. That will give me a little time to convince him you understand the ways things are. If you want to leave me after that . . . well . . . I won’t stand in your way. But, Linda . . . I’m hoping you won’t. I’m still hoping we can build a life together.”