Krampus dropped the gems back into the tray and moved on, losing himself in a ragged book of hand-scrawled symbols and runes, leaving the Belsnickels standing about gawking like children in a curiosity shop. Jesse peered into the hollow eye sockets of what appeared to be a baboon skull, painted red and stuck full of nails. Jesse decided that jolly old Saint Nick wasn’t exactly the person he’d always believed him to be.
Chet slid over to the tray of gems, scooped up a handful, and slipped them into his coat pocket. Jesse started to follow suit when Isabel nudged him. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What? Why not?”
“Might be poisonous.”
Jesse took a closer look at the dusty gems, bit his lip, and started to take a few anyway when Krampus slapped the book shut with a loud clap. Jesse jumped and snatched his hand back from the tray.
“Here, look here,” Krampus called, leading them all over to a tall shelf. The Yule Lord hefted a cotton sack about the size of a bag of sugar, untied the sash, and scooped out a handful of brown grit, letting the fine grains sift through his fingers and back into the sack.
“Sleeping sand. Baldr used it to keep nosy parents and bratty children from interfering with his pursuits.” He tied the sack closed, pulled a second one off the shelf, and handed both of them to Vernon. “Carry these. Be sure not to get them near your face, or you might be in for a long nap.” Vernon looked even less pleased than usual.
“And here, look here. See this?” Krampus plucked a key ring off a hook. Six keys of various sizes and shapes hung from the ring. “Skeleton keys,” Krampus said, delighted. “They can open most any key lock. They were mine, a gift from Loki. They are mine again.” He looked closer. “Interesting.” He examined the smaller, more modern-looking designs. “There are three new ones. Jesse, come here.”
Jesse did as he was bidden.
“You shall be my key-bearer.” The Yule Lord slipped the keys into Jesse’s coat pocket and gave them a pat. “Seems dear old Saint Nick was not sliding down chimneys after all—”
Krampus stopped. His face grew stern. He walked over to a table upon which sat a goat skull, its horns cut off at the base. The horns and what must be its bones, fur, and hooves were stacked beside it, all cleaned and dried. Next to them stood a device with a large crank; it reminded Jesse of a sausage-grinder. Krampus gave it a crank and chunks of finely ground gray matter fell from the bottom and into a waiting bowl. He pinched the grounds, put them to his nose.
“This is dark magic,” Krampus growled, his face grave. “These bones are those of a Yule goat. So few remain and now we have one less, nothing more to dear Santa Claus than ingredients for his potions. The Yule goats were beasts of the gods and flew of their own magic. He has butchered them for that magic. I suspect it is from this that his flamboyant display of flying reindeer have come.”
Krampus snatched up a large flask and hurled it across the room, crashing into the wall of jars, startling them all. “Is it not enough that you stole my traditions!” he cried. “Distorted them for your own selfish design. Now you twist the very life, murder the very soul of Yule itself for your own glory!” His voice dropped, little more than a whisper. “There is so precious little magic left in this world . . . so little. Why must your ambitions come at such a cost?”
He picked up another flask and threw it after the first, another, and another. “Blood, bones, and death . . . that is the truth behind Santa’s Christmas magic!” The jars shattered and crashed to the floor, the ingredients spilled and mixed together, sizzling and bubbling. Flames bloomed and spread, noxious smells and fumes of colorful gas began to curl upward into the rafters.
“I am done with his depravity . . . the world is done!” Krampus shouted and led them from the room, down the long rows of toys and back out into the night. “All is not lost. There is still time to undo his great injury. Time for me to bring back Yuletide, to spread its magic and heal Mother Earth!” He grinned, his teeth set in a grimace, eyes afire. “Time to help mankind find its spirit and remember whence it came. Yuletide shall reign once again, and I . . . I the Yule Lord shall lead the way.”
They crossed through the garden and into the courtyard, back to where the two Yule goats stood tied. The stables were now completely engulfed in fire. Giant flames leapt skyward, bathing the entire compound in an orange glow. They stood and watched the cinders spin and dance about them.
“Beast! You shall burn in Hell!” came a sharp cry from behind them.
Jesse started, spun round. They all did, and found six women standing within the wide arch leading into the topiary garden. Five of them were dressed in flowing white gowns, young, plump women with long hair and full, curvy figures. They watched the flames, tears streaming down their faces. The sixth one was not crying. She stood in front, whip-thin, hard of face and mouth drawn. Impossible to gauge her age, but something in her eyes made it plain she was older, much older. She wore a full-length dress of dark crimson trimmed in gold swirling snakes, and her wavy white hair flowed down past her hips, billowing about her.
“And who might that be?” Vernon asked.
Isabel shrugged.
“Maybe it’s his wife?” Jesse said. “Y’know, Mrs. Claus.” And if indeed she was, Jesse thought she was a far shout from the sweet grandmotherly soul he’d always imagined. This woman looked like she would cut out your liver and eat it raw.
“What about them?” Vernon gestured at the girls. “Think those are his daughters?”
“Daughters.” Krampus snickered. “Those are all his wives. Baldr was a man of large appetites.”
“Wives?” Vernon marveled.
The plump women pointed at Krampus and began to wail, their volume rising to shrieks, screaming in tongues the way Jesse had heard the Pentecostal women do. Except he decided these weren’t prayers but curses.
Krampus pulled the whip from the sleigh and smiled, baring his teeth. “It has been a long, long time since I have had the pleasure of spanking a few bratty bottoms.” He cracked the whip and took a step toward them. The shrieking dropped down to hysterical sobbing and the girls fell back, but the woman—she did not flinch. Krampus took another step, cracked the whip again. Still the white-haired woman held her place. She raised an accusing finger. “Beast, you dare sully these grounds with your foulness? Bring murder to this house? Santa Claus is the beloved son of the gods. Cherished for his grace and selflessness, a noble knight of charity, a celebrated stalwart of—”
“Poppycock.”
“It is truth!” she cried. “You saw his warehouse, not just toys, but shoes, clothes, basic necessities for those without. He toiled every day into the late hours to make Christmas more than just a festival, but a magical time of hope. He traveled the globe spreading charity in the wish that his example would inspire people to be kind to one another, that this kindness would spread, would elevate their souls.”
She appeared to grow taller. Jesse realized she was floating, looking down at them with glaring, glowing eyes. The snake designs in her dress came to life, began to hiss, swirling about her, snapping at them with dripping fangs. Jesse fell back.
“Santa Claus spreads hope,” she hissed, her voice the same as the snakes, echoing about the grounds; the very air felt alive, chilling Jesse’s skin. “What do you bring, demon? You wallow in flesh and debauchery, demand tribute and sacrifice in your name. Death and blood is all you know!”