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.”
DILLARD 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.”