Chapter 5
Chapter five
NPC: Eln the Stonemender
A golem-sage whose arms are wrapped in silver ivy. "Strength forged in solitude cracks first. But open hands receive the forgefire's gift. Speak truth and I open the Vault."
"What grows weaker the more you hold,
and stronger the more you trust?
You cannot wield it alone—
but it will carry both."
Patrick
It was incredibly boring sitting in the ER bay for another hour. The nurse checked on me every ten minutes or so, but the hot doctor never reappeared.
He'd run for his life. I'd totally embarrassed him. He probably wasn't even gay, despite the warmth I'd detected in those gorgeous gray eyes. The man was a doctor. Doctors were supposed to be warm and compassionate. The good ones anyway. It wasn't personal.
God, I felt like such a tool. At least I had a concussion to blame for my desperate flirting. Anyway, that was my story, and I was sticking to it. It had nothing to do with the fact that the doctor was tall—at least 6'2"—and solid as a brick wall. And those eyes! Le sigh.
Rebecca caught me looking at my phone every time she entered.
"No screens!" she reminded me, multiple times.
Yeah, yeah. I got it on principle. But it was so mind-numbingly boring.
I read every sign on the wall at least three times.
And if I ever have a bladder infection, by God, I'll recognize the signs!
Finally, I was allowed to leave. I walked out of the hospital feeling like Dantès being released from a French prison. Outside, it was overcast, still midafternoon, though it felt like it should be later. It was cold and snowing. I then realized I didn't have my car. Awesome.
I opened up Apple Maps and clicked on the "WORK" preset. The office was only twelve blocks away. There were holiday decorations up everywhere, and the snow was pretty. Maybe a stroll on Christmas Eve was just what I needed.
Probably Dr. Gray Eyes would not want me to walk after my recent accident. But Dr Gray Eyes wasn't here. Sadly.
I'd just started walking when I got a text.
It was from Traya. For a moment, I was confused about how she had my number.
Then I remembered Eleanor had put together a team contact list in a Google doc, insisting we might need to reach people in a hurry during crunch time.
Traya must have gotten my number from there.
TRAYA:
Did some research on your Krampus. It's a thing! People report getting a similar figurine and then having bad luck. Like, it's cursed. So go home and be safe! (Or you can still give it to me.)
I read the message a few times.
I texted back:
PATRICK:
Girl, lay off the Christmas horror movies.
Traya replied with a Reddit link. I tapped it.
A thread came up in a group called r/CursedObjects.
The OP had given the post the title "Krampus Curse" and lots of people had responded, some with pictures of a Krampus figurine.
None looked exactly like mine, but I couldn't deny mine was in the same ballpark.
The reports of weird events read like a bad movie script. A woman fell down an elevator shaft. A man was chased by a rabid dog in the middle of Wall Street. Another guy came down with shingles. Half these people had to be making it up.
I snorted a laugh, shaking my head. People were weird. Then I thought: where was my Krampus, anyway?
My backpack was on my back. It had survived the fall, and the trip to the hospital, and had sat in a chair next to the bed in the ER until I'd put it on to leave.
I took it off and opened it, half hoping Krampus would be gone.
But it was there, right on top. I took out the strange little figure and studied it.
I mean… it's just carved wood.
It did look a bit devil-ish with the black horns and black hooves. People were superstitious about that sort of thing. They'd attribute "curses" to anything that looked evil. It was all projection. Or something.
Explain that to the concussion.
That was a coincidence, nothing more. I squinted at Krampus. "Do not fuck with me."
Krampus said nothing as I shoved him down into the backpack and zipped it up.
Three blocks later, I stopped to admire the windows at Macy's.
The display featured a homey scene with life-sized Santa and Mrs. Claus animatronics watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on a vintage TV.
If you could forgive the inherent anachronisms, it was sort of cute, though both Claus costumes were threadbare.
The fact that Santa's bowl of popcorn looked tantalizing reminded me that I'd never had lunch. My stomach growled.
"They've been doing this window display since dinosaurs roamed Macy's. Back then, the animatronics were steam-powered," said a woman next to me.
I glanced at her. She was in her forties, stylish, and dressed up in a faux fur coat. I liked her snarky tone.
"Now that I'd like to see," I replied. "T-Rex in a Santa hat. There's nothing like a little yuletide terror."
"Well, you know what they say. It's not Christmas unless a child cries in front of a mechanical elf." She winked at me.
I laughed. I was aware that I normally would not chitchat with a stranger, but, hey, I was going to enjoy my concussion-inspired sociability while it lasted.
I was about to reply when there was a squeal of brakes and a woman's blood-curdling scream.
I whipped around in time to see a black SUV swing wildly to avoid a homeless man shambling across the street.
The SUV fishtailed into oncoming traffic in slow-motion.
A pickup truck, its bed stacked with two-by-fours, slammed on its brakes.
Honest to God, it was like a scene from one of the Final Destination movies, an epic accident happening frame by frame.
Like any horror movie fan, I knew the two-by-fours were bad news the moment I saw them.
Sure enough, the sudden stop of the truck caused a piece of lumber on the top of the pile to fly into the air.
It sailed through space, heading right for me like a bolt of lightning thrown by Thor himself.
Somehow, I had the time, and the wits, to shove the faux-fur coat woman hard to the left while I lunged to the right.
I felt the two-by-four rocket over my head—I could swear it actually parted my hair.
I tripped over my own feet, caught myself, and stumbled several more steps backward as I heard the sound of shattering glass.
The noise of glass breaking and falling and tinkling seemed to go on and on as I pinwheeled like a drunken ballet dancer.
I finally got my balance and came to a stop, hands on my knees, panting.
Damn, that was close! I could be dead. Right now. My head could have merged with a wall stud. I looked up and saw the two-by-four was piercing Santa's lap. Bits of white popcorn rained down on the shop window, the sidewalk, and the scattered people nearby.
Dr. Gray Eyes would be so proud of me for not falling and bonking my head again.
"Dude, look out!" someone shouted.
I looked around and realized I was standing in the middle of a lane of traffic. And then a blue convertible hit me.
To be fair, it wasn't a very hard hit. I saw the panic-stricken face of the woman behind the wheel and could tell she'd slammed on the brakes.
But not soon enough. The car was going maybe ten mph when it struck me.
It hurt, though, knocked the breath out of me, and I found myself flying through the air much like the two-by-four.
I landed, with a jolt of agony, on my left arm.
I may or may not have screamed.
Everything went black.