“Hey!” I wave down one of the Christmas cops. “Did you see a guy run past here? I think he hurt someone,” I tell them urgently.
One of them looks at the other, a big bushy-bearded man. “Remy, you want to do the honors?”
I don’t wait to see if they follow the perp. I just race back to follow the cries for help.
They’re coming from a stall painted all black with weird sigils all over it.
“Help!”
“Willow? Willow!”
“Hughes!”
I step back, take two steps, then kick in the door. Wood splits. I kick it again, then the metal latch breaks off the wood, and the door slams open.
“Oh my god! Willow!” I gather her to my chest. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
I squeeze her to me, kissing her hair, her cheeks. I cup her face. “What happened? How’d you get locked in here?”
“I don’t know. I was investigating and—” She looks around wildly. “I have so much to tell you.”
“Okay, come home where it’s warm.” I take off my trench coat and wrap it around her.
“I’m really fine. I promise.”
A black cat crosses in front of our path and yowls eerily.
“I think I’ve had enough Christmas market for one day.” Willow shivers.
“Funny, because we didn’t say you could leave,” someone says.
Two black-haired twins materialize out of thin air.
“You broke my sister’s stall,” one of them says.
“Yes, and you need to repair it.”
I look back at the busted door.
“I’m a computer software engineer, not a woodworker. Can I just pay you for damages?”
“You can come work at the stall to pay off your debt,” the twins say as one.
“You don’t take cryptocurrency?” I grimace.
“Money is the root of all evil,” the left one states flatly.
“I can give you gold galleons…”
They stare blankly.
“Fine, indentured servitude it is.”
Horses snort, then the huge animals round the corner, half dragging a man in black with them.
“Damien?” Willow says, shocked. “You’re the killer?”
