Chapter Seventeen December First #3
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, baby, and I’m so sorry.” Artie’s whispers finally reach me.
“What?”
“You’re a hero. You’ve always been my hero, ever since you stepped in to save us.”
But that makes no sense. Artie saved me. I was friendless, jobless, homeless... Broke, no phone, no car, no skills, no papers... “You gave me a real life,” I whispered.
“Are you kidding? You gave me a real family! The first shot I ever had at happiness, or success, or loving anyone was only possible because of you. And look what I let happen to you.”
I can’t tell the tears from the trails of water from the shower.
I can’t tell what’s happening.
“Where’s Laurel?” I finally ask.
“With Milo and Libby in her nursery. She and Illias are sacked out together in the crib. You’re not gonna believe this, but there’s a centaur in the hall—fixing the door I kicked in.”
“You kicked in a door?” I’m impressed. Proud of Artie. My own badass.
“I thought you’d be more surprised that there’s a centaur handyman, but yeah, I guess it’s surprising my scrawny ass could break a toothpick.”
“Shut up. I love you the way you are.”
“I love you the way you are.”
I look down at my skin. Red, white, purple, and pink. I’m hideous now. “This might scar.”
“Because you saved our daughter! Honey, you saved every other kid that guy would have gone after. Do you know that?”
I nod, but it’s a fuzzy kind of knowledge.
“Are you worried about scarring? Because... Because I bet there’s some potion or ointment that can help. Plastic surgery. Laser treatment. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. If you just... If you just stay with me,” he whispers, voice breaking.
“Stay with you?” Doesn’t work in the fuzz.
“No, Artie... You don’t understand. Blase only got in because of me.
The wards didn’t work properly because I weakened them.
My being half-krampus messed them up. It allowed him to finally get in and.
.. and he said they wouldn’t keep out evil because of me.
All krampuses are evil by definition. If we stay here, I can’t stay.
You and Laurel would never be safe. Evil would always have access to you. It’s in me.” I shudder.
Artie looks confused. “So you want to move?”
“No! I... I don’t know.”
Artie finishes gently sponging me off with one of Laurel’s ultrasoft baby washcloths and rinses the last bit of soap off of me.
“I’m confused. If you’re worried about keeping evil out, I’d say this is the best place, not the worst. I mean, you were alone in the middle of Alaska, and your evil stepfather did—” Artie stops, hand lingering over the spot where my tail used to be.
“And don’t get me started on some of the truly evil and messed-up shit I saw in foster care.
Other kids torturing littler kids. Social workers turning blind eyes.
Foster parents in it for the money... Evil is everywhere, Imogene.
But you know where it’s not? It’s not in you.
It’s not in Laurel, and don’t forget, she’s half-krampus, too.
If what the bastard says is true, then it wouldn’t have mattered where you were, because I’d still have had Laurel.
If it’s a choice between the wards working or sticking Laurel out in the cold—”
“No!” I bark out one word, and Artie stops speaking. We both do.
He smooths my hair back and kisses my forehead, waiting.
Words finally come out, my voice uneven and hoarse. “But I wanted to kill him. He said evil would reveal itself in me, one way or another, and then... It was like I could see it. I knew I would use those chains to rip his horns off. To break his neck.”
“Yeah, babe, that’s called being a genius and a stone-cold badass under pressure. I would have just peed myself and started screaming.”
“No. No, you wouldn’t have.” I blink and let myself be led from the shower and wrapped in a towel. “Weren’t you holding up Laurel’s teddy bear lamp like a club?”
“The nursery is not well-stocked with weapons. Oh, except for my warrior wife, who stomped a murdering child-eater the size of my car.” Artie shakes my shoulders lightly.
“Imogene! If it’s evil to want to stop bad people from hurting your kids, then call me evil!
I’m ready to be eviled up. I’ll get a t-shirt that says “Mr. Evil.” I’ll get a tattoo. ”
I don’t know what’s happening. I’m laughing. I’m crying. “I’m not bad?”
“Her-o. Hero. Say it with me,” Artie chants.
I fling myself into his arms and let the shaking reach its peak. My bones are mush, everything hurts, and I don’t want to think about what downstairs looks like. Or what the people in town will think about me now.
Artie ties a towel around his waist and picks me up. “You need to rest. There’s a whole herd of people downstairs who want to see you, but I’ll tell them you’re okay. Well, not okay. But getting there?”
“People?”
“The Pine Ridge Coven—that’s Tessa, Madge, Mrs. Fenclan, and a couple of other folks I don’t know, are re-warding the house and erasing blood stains out of the carpet.
Charlotte and Robbie are doing something in the kitchen.
Milo and Libby are babysitting Laurel and Illias.
That big gargoyle and the centaur are fixing doors.
Mr. Minegold is pacing. I think he’s like the unofficial mayor of this place, and he wants to do a debrief—and he said he finally got through to some of his old krampus contacts and he wants to speak to you about them. ”
I brace myself. “Bad news?”
“No, I don’t think so. He didn’t look upset. Well, he did, but only because there was an attack.”
"Oh my God. The body. The police...”
“Police already came. There’s a pooka on the force.”
“What’s a pooka?”
“It’s an Irish fae shape-shifting thing. He wrote up the incident as home intruder repelled by heroic lady of the house.”
“That’s it? No murder? No death?”
Artie shrugs. “There wasn’t a body by the time I came back down from getting you upstairs.”
“What? Where is it?” Is he really dead? If he’s alive, I’m not a killer—but I want him to be dead, so... I shake my head.
“Uh, yeah. Alban Wymark stopped over. He said not to worry about it, and they’ll explain when you’re better.”
Artie carries me out of the bathroom. The hall is quiet, but voices hum from downstairs. “I want Laurel,” I say.
“I’ll get her.” Artie puts me on the bed, and something else clears in my sluggish, overwhelmed brain.
“Wait.”
“What, honey?” He pauses in the midst of pulling on clothes.
“There are people here.”
“I know. I told you. Milo, Libby, Tessa, Charlotte, Robbie, Mr. Minegold, the centaur—his name is Neville. Or Nigel. Nigel!” Artie snaps his fingers and puts his glasses on. “Babe, did he hit your head? Do you remember me telling you that?”
“No, no. I mean, yeah, I know you said that. But they’re here. They’re not mad at me?”
“What? No! Sweetie, if a human woman got attacked by a crazy child-abducting maniac, and she defended herself and her baby, people would put it in all the papers. There would be parades. Statues made of her. I don’t understand why you think you did anything wrong.”
“Because he only came because of me. He only got in because of me. And then... Because I didn’t just hold him off, I ripped off a horn!” I touch my own broken nubs. “I killed him, and I liked it.”
That freaks me out. I feel sick. I wait for Artie to look sick, too. He doesn’t. He pulls on a t-shirt and says, “Okay. So, there’s a houseful of other monsters and humans here. Wanna kill them?”
“What!? Oh my God, no!” I screech and clap my hands over my mouth. “Arthur Taylor—”
“Imogene, I don’t think you enjoyed killing.
I think you enjoyed ending the life of a murdering intruder who wanted to take our daughter.
You are not a killer. You are a mother.” He sits next to me on the bed, takes my hands in his, and kisses them fervently.
“You are the mother of my child. Of our children. The heart of the home, the defender of our home. You deserve someone who can protect you, who will never let you be put in this position again.”
My fingers cling to his, “I don’t want anyone else. You protect me all the time, in ways you don’t even realize.”
“Not tonight. Not when it counted.”
“You can’t beat yourself up.”
“Then neither can you.” Artie rises. “I’ll get the baby.”