Chapter Fifteen November Twenty-fifth
Pine Ridge, New York
AKA Situation Room Central
“We should get some cheese and crackers. Chips and dip. Should I wear my dress?”
My wife isn’t acting right. And yes, I’m calling her my wife. She needs that. Imogene needs to know that what happened a few hours ago doesn’t change anything between us—even if she clearly thinks it does.
Right now, she’s wandering around the house, shaking, empty-eyed, and pulling out all the glasses and cups we own. Ten of them, if you count all the free plastic ones that random restaurants send to the members of MenuGenius.
“We don’t have any juice, only Pedialyte.
It’s after midnight, so the Fresh Market isn’t open.
I’ll make some ice. Ice water isn’t fancy, but it’s what we have.
Do you know I never had cranberry juice until I met you?
Only frozen orange juice mixed with water.
Sometimes.” She stops and stares into the freezer, and I wonder if she’s wandering down a bad, dark memory lane, back to a lifetime of pain and cold.
I rush to put my arms around her and shut the freezer door. “Sweetheart. Sit down. People are coming to help us, not to have snacks.”
“Other than having Libby over for coffee that one time, we’ve never had company. I don’t know what to...”
I take Immy’s shoulders, steer her to the sofa, and kneel in front of her.
“Imogene. We’ll have a big party here. On Krampusnacht, if you want.
A wonderful, joyful celebration for all our friends and neighbors, okay?
A way to tell them all that they never need to be afraid of you, if you think that’s necessary.
I don’t think it is. No one who knows you would ever think badly of you. ”
“Bu-but I think badly of me. I wanted to hurt him,” she whispers, lips trembling.
I think about what Milo, Libby, Tess, and Charlotte told me about the krampus guy who’d bothered my wife.
They all arrived in two cars, barely forty minutes after I’d dropped Imogene off.
They’d texted and called me, of course, and then they arrived, Milo carrying in a barely coherent Imogene.
They left us but said they’d be back with “reinforcements.”
I was too busy worrying about Imogene, Laurel, who wanted a bottle immediately, and the fact that I was supposed to work in a few hours, to press them on that.
“Immy, I want to hurt him, too. Isn’t he someone who hurts kids?”
She looks terrified. “He says all krampuses do. It’s in our natures. The only reason I haven’t hurt someone is because I... Because I didn’t have a chance. I was kept inside a house in the middle of nowhere.”
I look at Imogene and know she’s rattled, or this would have already occurred to her.
“Honey. If you were going to hurt a human, keeping you isolated wouldn’t have mattered.
You were literally with the bad people, the people who locked you away, who cut off your beautiful horns, your tail.
.. Imogene, they deserve whatever you want to throw at them. ”
“Not murder.”
“Okay. Not murder. Prison. A curse. Hey, isn’t Tessa a witch? You think she’d use a little magic to make Barton’s hair fall out? Or maybe he could grow a tail and horns?”
Immy cracks a tiny smile. “Maybe. But no! No, Arthur.”
Yipes. Full name.
“If I give in to some deep-seated evil urge and harm humans, then I’ll have to leave Pine Ridge. Dead or alive, I won’t be staying here. This town is for monsters who are gentle. Peaceful.”
“Um. That’s not entirely true, if you’ll pardon me for interrupting.”
I whirl. Mr. Wickstaff is standing in the doorway, his key dangling from his fingers and a giant picnic basket in his arms. “I heard there was a spot of bother in the market. Georgia sent me over with all of the day’s leftover pastries and breads.
Some folks are traveling for Thanksgiving, but those of us who are still in town and aren’t on patrol are on the way over. ”
Mr. Wickstaff is an Orc. I can see that now.
“Dinnae tell me ye had a wife and bairn,” he huffs.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know if he’s about to raise the rent or kick me out.
“Y’should’ve. We could have talked about you owning the place sooner than later, laddie. But that’s a conversation for later.”
“You might not want me to stay,” Imogene hugs herself and won’t look at our guest.
“I’m sorry, she’s upset.”
“Aye, and well she should be, some fool blathering at her, spreading lies. No, I know how some of us have lived, hiding in the shadows, never sure if we’d be spotted. But humans, no offense, Mr. Taylor, couldnae see a monster unless it bit ‘em. What do you know about Orcs, Mrs. Taylor?”
“They’re green?” she whispers.
“Aye, and they used to kill humans. Humans used to kill us, too. We fought for land. We’re bigger, but there have always been more humans.
Now? My in-laws are Orc and human. My sister-in-law is human.
My wife is half-human. So don’t you fret about some nonsense about you being bound to hurt others. ”
“But if I do—”
“Do you want to?” he demands loudly.
Upstairs, Laurel lets out a sleepy wail. I risk a glare at the guy who could break me in half.
He winces, which is gratifying, and drops his voice. “I’m sorry. But answer.”
“No! I never want to hurt anyone. I love my husband. My baby. I want to stay here and keep them safe,” Imogene hugs herself again, and the sobs start over. I sit on the sofa and pull her into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around her.
I swallow down the tears rising in my own throat. “This is the first place either of us has ever been safe. Ever had a happy home,” I explain, swallowing hard.
“Aye, and that’s good. That this is a happy home, that is. Mrs. Taylor, you said this is a place for gentle monsters. You’d be right. But what do you think gentle people do when they have to defend their homes and children? Let the evil monsters walk in and do their worst?”
Imogene lifts her head and shakes it slowly. “No?”
“You’re right.” Mr. Wickstaff puts the basket down and walks to the door. He opens it even before there’s a knock.
I guess Orcs have good hearing.
Mr. Minegold and a few other figures are on the doorstep—including Alban Wymark, Milo, Tessa, and Jesse, Sophie’s husband.
“May we come in?” Minegold asks as if he’s requesting someone to pass the sugar, not having a council of war about some murderous monster in our midst.
“Everyone, come in. Quietly. Sleeping kid.”
Douglas Wickstaff immediately asks, “Mr. Minegold, what do members of the Night Watch do when confronted with vile beings, monsters or humans, who harm innocents?”
Mr. Minegold, who looks pale and perfectly calm, suddenly smiles.
His eyes glint like rubies, and there’s a tiny prick of a fang in his smile.
“We do not allow that. We cannot, I’m afraid.
All that evil needs to prosper is for a good man to do nothing.
This is doubly so of monsters.” He strides into the living room, picks up the basket, and plops it among the baby toys and bibs on the coffee table. “May I, Douglas?”
Wickstaff nods. “Have at it, Jakob.”
“Here, my dear.” The vampire holds out a beautiful cherry tart to Imogene, who takes it with a shaky smile.
“We haven’t met, although I’ve seen you in passing, and my daughter-in-law, Sophie, speaks most highly of you.
I don’t know what this brute said to shake you so, but you should know that there are many krampuses who no longer participate in the barbaric rituals of kidnapping and eating children, or even hurting them in any way.
Many still have a strong sense of right and wrong.
I’ve known several krampuses over the years—most prefer Europe, you see.
Now, let me think. One was a headmaster at a very fine school, one was a district magistrate, and one was.
.. Dear me, what was Hilda? She was either a forensic analyst or a forensic detective. .. It’s been forty years.”
“Dad. Get to the point.” Jesse nudges his father’s arm.
And some time, I’m going to have to work out how come Jesse Smith calls Jakob Minegold dad when they’re both vampires. As soon as I think it, it clicks. They’re blood relatives, all right, but not in the biological sense of the word.
“I’m getting to it, son!”
“He means that you don’t have to worry about something you’re supposedly going to do because you’re a certain race or being. Vampires are supposed to be seductive killing machines. We’ve never harmed an innocent in our lives.”
Imogene looks slightly reassured, but she still leans heavily against me, her tart untouched. “But when he spoke to me... I wanted to hurt him.”
Mr. Minegold smiles. “He is a wicked beast who murders children. He threatened you, yes?”
Imogene nods. “He said he’d take Laurel.”
My blood goes cold, and I clutch Imogene. It’s been hours, and she didn’t tell me that until now. For a split second, I’m angry, and then I realize how traumatized she must have been to keep that to herself, to hide that from me.
“He said I’d kill someone I know. Someone close to me.
” Her hands shake so hard that the pastry falls to the ground.
I catch the tart and shove it back on the coffee table as the other guests pull in chairs from the dining room or sit on the floor, all calmly helping themselves to pastries while watching Imogene with sad, grave eyes.
“Then he clearly does not know you, Imogene. You are a loving wife and mother.”
“Best mother in the world,” I pipe up.
“So, a strange krampus in town boasts that he kills children, threatens to take your child, and you think you should be rebuked for wanting to harm him? No, my dear, you should be commended for wanting to strike down evil and protect your baby! That is what it means to keep our community safe, to be counted among the good. Not just to be absent from bad deeds, but to actively fight against them,” Mr. Minegold soothes.
“I... I felt like I wanted to claw him into pieces. I wanted to hurt him.”
“There are primal urges that we carry in us. There always are. It’s how you use them that matters here, or anywhere.” Mr. Minegold sits down on a vacant chair and pats Imogene’s hand. “You are a brave woman.”
“The bravest,” I whisper. “She’s my hero.”
Imogene whips her head around. “Oh, Artie, really?” Tears trickle down her cheeks.
I sponge them away with my fingertips, then kiss each puffy eyelid. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. You must be a bit braver for a little longer. Tell us what he said, what he did, anything you can recall. If he’s still in the area, we will find him, and if he’s not—we will protect this town from him.
If he is indeed clinging to the old ways, he’ll return to his native home after Krampusnacht, which isn’t far away. ”
Imogene looks at me, then at the rings of friends we’ve suddenly acquired. “He said he’d come for me, for us, before then.”
Mr. Mingold’s gentle smile shrinks and shifts to something cold. “Then we will be ready. Before then.”