Chapter 4
His voice was a rumble that I felt more than heard, a deep vibration that traveled through the floor and up through my bones, settling somewhere in my chest and making my ribcage hum.
It was dark chocolate and whiskey, gravel and silk, a sound that should not come from any living throat.
But it was also… cultured. Precise. The kind of voice that belonged to an ancient being who’d been woken from a very important nap and was deeply unimpressed with the circumstances.
“Uh,” I said, which wasn’t the brilliant comeback I’d been hoping for. “Yes? But I didn’t mean to.”
“You performed a summoning ritual at midnight during the darkest days of the year.” He crossed his arms over his chest, chains jingling with the movement. “What, precisely, did you mean to do?”
“I thought it was folklore. Stories. I didn’t think it would actually work.”
“And yet you drew the circle. You spoke the words. You offered blood.” His gaze dropped to my pricked finger, and his nostrils flared again. “Willing blood. The ritual is complete.”
I scrambled to my feet, swaying slightly. Schnapps and terror were not a good combination. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll just… I’ll send you back. There’s got to be a reversal spell or something, right?”
“There is not.”
“Oh.” My knees felt wobbly. “Oh, that’s… that’s not great.”
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His eyes tracked over my face, down to my oversized hoodie and back up again. I had the distinct impression he was cataloging everything about me, filing it away for some purpose I couldn’t fathom.
“You are drunk,” he said finally.
“I am not drunk. I’m… festively relaxed.”
One dark eyebrow rose slightly. The expression would have been funny on anyone else, but on him it was somehow intimidating and oddly attractive at the same time. Stop it, I told myself firmly. Do not find the demonic goat man attractive. That way lies madness.
“You summoned a being of ancient power because you were ‘festively relaxed’?”
“No! I summoned—” I gestured helplessly. “I was desperate, okay? My shop is failing, my grandmother’s legacy is dying, and I’m out of options. The book said this was for people in direst need, and I am in direst need. The very direst.”
His expression didn’t change. “All who call upon the old ways believe themselves desperate.”
“I’m not lying.” My voice cracked. “I’m losing everything. The bank is foreclosing. I have three weeks until they take it all.”
“And you thought to bargain with forces beyond your understanding for what? Money?” The contempt in his voice stung.
“Not just money. Hope. Help. A miracle.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the layers. “The book said Yuletide aid for those who need it most. That’s me. I need it. I need…”
I trailed off because his eyes had gone from amber to a deep, glowing red. Not angry red, but something else. Something that made the air between us crackle with tension.
“You called for aid,” he said slowly. “But aid from what? The ritual you performed was not for Santa Claus, little human. It was not for angels or saints or any gentle Christmas spirit.”
“Then what was it for?”
He stepped closer to the salt circle, and the line flared brighter, forcing him to stop.
Good to know it still worked. “I have little patience for those who invoke the old ways without understanding them. I am a Krampus. Winter’s punishment.
Balance to the season’s hollow joy. And you, little human, have called me from my duties for…
” He looked around the attic with obvious disdain. “This.”
A Krampus.
I knew that name. Everyone knew that name, or at least everyone who’d grown up with Christmas folklore.
Krampus, the anti-Santa. The punisher of naughty children.
The demon who dragged bad kids to hell in his sack while Saint Nicholas rewarded the good ones.
But that’s just a story, I thought desperately. A way to scare children into behaving.
Except he was two feet away from me, very real and very solid, his chains jingling softly as he shifted his weight.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes burning into mine.
“I am ancient. I walked this world when your ancestors cowered in caves and prayed to forces they could not name. I am the reckoning that comes when deeds go unpunished. I am the balance to Christmas cheer.”
My mouth had gone dry. “So you’re here to… punish me?”
“That depends.” His gaze raked over me again, slower this time. “Are you wicked?”
“No! I run a Christmas shop. I sell ornaments and cocoa mugs. The most wicked thing I’ve done recently is eat the last gingerbread cookie before offering it to a customer.”
“You summoned me with a ritual designed to call the old powers in exchange for judgment.”
“In exchange for help,” I corrected. “The book said aid.”
“All aid comes at a price.” He circled the salt line, studying it from different angles. The chains draped over his shoulders jingled softly with each movement, and I found myself tracking the sound, mesmerized despite my terror. “You made the offerings and spoke the words. The ritual is binding.”
“Binding how?”
He stopped circling and faced me directly. “Until the terms are fulfilled, you and I are… connected.”
“Connected.” The word came out flat. “What does that mean?”
“It means, little human, that I cannot leave until the bargain is complete. You called for Yuletide aid, and Yuletide aid you shall receive. Or not, depending on what I find.”
“Find?” I didn’t like how ominous that sounded.
“The ritual binds me to observe and judge. To determine if you are worthy of the aid you seek, or if you are simply another greedy human seeking reward without merit.”
“I’m not greedy!”
“That remains to be seen.” He gestured at the salt circle. “This will not hold me much longer. The ritual’s completion weakens such barriers. You would be wise to break it yourself before I am forced to do so.”
I took a step back. “What happens if I don’t?”
“I will break it anyway, and you will have wasted an opportunity to demonstrate good faith.” His eyes flashed red again. “I am bound to you until Christmas Day, Noelle Green. Whether you accept that willingly or unwillingly changes only how unpleasant the experience will be.”
“How do you know my name?”
“The ritual bound us. I know many things about you now.” He tilted his head.
“Your full name is Noelle Margaret Green. You are twenty-six years old. You take your coffee with too much sugar. You speak to your plants when you water them. You have not been on a date in fourteen months. You cry during greeting card commercials. Should I continue?”
My face burned. “That’s invasive.”
“That is the nature of the binding. Just as I know you, you will come to know me. The magic does not discriminate.”
I looked down at the salt circle, glowing faintly between us. “If I break it, you won’t hurt me?”
“I cannot hurt you unless you transgress, and even then, the punishment would need to fit the transgression.” He paused. “Though I should mention that lying to a Krampus is considered a transgression.”
“Good to know.” I took a shaky breath. “And if I don’t break the circle?”
“I will stand here until it weakens sufficiently for me to cross. That will take approximately four hours, during which time I will be forced to listen to you breathe and smell your fear. Neither prospect appeals.”
Four hours standing there while he loomed over me, growing more and more irritated? Or breaking a barrier he was going to break anyway? I reached for my mug, hoping for a little more schnapps fueled courage, but it was empty. Dammit.
Praying I wasn’t making a huge mistake, I reached out with a trembling foot and smudged the salt line.
The change was instantaneous. The oppressive pressure in the attic intensified for a heartbeat, then vanished, replaced by a crackling, charged silence.
The faint glow of the salt circle died. The frost on the beams melted, water dripping onto the dusty floor.
The temperature rose back to merely cold instead of arctic.
He was even more intimidating up close. The chains wrapped around him weren’t rusty iron, but something dark and ancient, and they didn’t jingle with every movement, only when he shifted in a certain way.
The fur covering his arms and chest wasn’t coarse, but thick and dark, shot through with strands of what looked like silver, like frost on tree bark. And his body…
Don’t think about his body. Don’t think about—
Too late. I’d already catalogued the broad chest, the powerful arms, the way the leather and chains somehow emphasized rather than hid the muscular frame beneath the fur.
He was terrifying, but he was also magnificent.
He took a step towards me and despite every survival instinct telling me to run, I held my ground.
Mostly because my legs still weren’t working properly.
He was close enough that I could see the individual links in his chains and the way his eyes weren’t just glowing but seemed to have actual flames dancing in their depths. Close enough to smell him—smoke and winter air and something spicy like cloves.
“I am Bastian,” he said formally. “Last of the Krampus of the Black Forest, Keeper of Winter Debts, Judge of the Naughty. And you, Noelle Green, have bound yourself to me until Christmas Day.”
“That’s less than two weeks away,” I said, grasping for anything resembling good news.
“Indeed. Ten days and twenty-three hours, to be precise. Ten days during which I will observe you. Your deeds. Your thoughts. Your true nature.” He leaned down slightly, bringing those burning eyes level with mine, and I could see actual flames burning in their depths.
“Ten days to prove whether you deserve the aid you seek, or whether you are simply another human who mistakes want for need.”
“I do need it,” I whispered. “I’m not lying. I need to save my shop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s all I have left of my grandmother. Because it matters to people. Because—”
“Because you’re trying to avoid failure at the cost of everything else,” he finished. “Because you’re trying to prove something to ghosts and memories. Because you’re trying to earn a love that was always freely given.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back furiously. Because he wasn’t wrong, and apparently, I couldn’t lie to him.
“The ritual revealed much,” he said, straightening. “But revelation and truth are not always the same thing. I will observe. I will judge. And on Christmas Eve, I will render my verdict.”
“And then what?”
“Then you receive aid, or you receive correction. It depends entirely on what I find.” He turned, surveying the attic with obvious disdain. “I assume you have somewhere less… cluttered for me to stay?”
“Stay?” My voice went up an octave. “Here? With me?”
“The binding does not allow for distance. We must remain within a certain proximity.” He looked back at me, and I could have sworn I saw amusement flicker in those burning eyes. “Surely your festive relaxation did not prevent you from reading that portion of the ritual?”
I hadn’t read that portion. I’d been too focused on the summoning itself. Idiot, I thought desperately. You absolute disaster of a human being.
“How close is a certain proximity?”
“Approximately the length of your dwelling. Any farther and the binding will cause… discomfort.”
“For both of us?”
“For both of us,” he confirmed. “Though I have endured far worse than magical bindings. You, I suspect, have not.”
I looked at him—all seven feet of demonic Christmas monster with glowing eyes and actual horns—and tried to imagine explaining him to Mrs. Haversham.
Or anyone. Hi, yes, I accidentally summoned a Krampus and now he’s staying at my place for two weeks.
No, he’s not a boyfriend. Yes, he’s terrifying. No, I don’t know what I was thinking.
“This is a disaster,” I said.
“These are the consequences.” He moved towards the attic stairs with that same impossible grace.
“You performed a ritual without understanding its full implications. You called upon ancient powers while intoxicated. You drew a being from the space between worlds because you could not manage your own affairs.” He paused at the top of the stairs, looking back. “What did you expect would happen?”
“I don’t know! A loan officer? A business consultant? Maybe a helpful elf?”
“A helpful elf,” he repeated, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now. “The old magic does not send elves, little human. It sends judges. And I am here to judge whether you are worthy of salvation, or whether your failure is simply justice being served.”
He descended the stairs, ducking slightly to fit his horns through the doorway. I stood frozen in the attic, surrounded by boxes and broken Christmas decorations and the lingering smell of schnapps, trying to process what had just happened.
I’d summoned a Krampus. An actual, literal Krampus. And he was going to stay here, in my apartment, for ten days, observing and judging everything I did.
“This is fine,” I said out loud to the empty attic. “This is totally fine. Everything is fine.”
Everything absolutely wasn’t fine, but what choice did I have? Hiding in the attic for the next two weeks wasn’t going to save my shop. I sighed and followed him down the stairs.