The Wolves glanced at each other in silent communication. The leader finally nodded at him.
“You drive,” he said. “We’ll follow. And if you run, we’ll come back here first.”
Dylan fumbled with the phone to get the address of the Claws Out Reindeer Farm. He memorized it and then dialed 911 with quick, shaky fingers. As the phone rang through to the chipper ‘What’s your emergency?’ operator, he handed it back to Alice.
She clutched it in one hand as the operator pressed for information.
It was the best Dylan could do. He left them both there and followed the Wolves out of the shop.
Chapter Ten
WaterdrippedfromSomerset’shair and chin. He sucked in a rough, raw gasp of air and blinked ice out of his eyes.
“Well?” Ket asked. He crouched in front of Somerset, his hook dangled between his knees. “Are you going to tell us where Santa is? Or do you need another reminder of where your loyalties lie?”
Stúfur nudged the trough in front of Somerset with his foot to underscore the point. The crust of ice on top cracked, and the water sloshed up over the edge, turning the ground to mud under Somerset’s knees.
“Go fuck yourselves,” Somerset said.
Stúfur made an aggrieved noise down his still-healing nose. He grabbed Somerset by the back of the head and shoved him down, through the ice and into the water. Cold, reindeer-sour slush caught in Somerset’s throat and nose, and then Stúfur froze it around him. The cold crusted his eyes shut, sealed his lips, and expanded the water he’d sucked in until he could feel the pressure of it behind his eyes like a punch.
His hands were tied behind his back. Despite his best intentions, he clenched his fists and bucked against Stúfur’s grip. His brother put a knee in his back to hold him in place as the ice closed in around his temples and jaw.
Lack of air made Somerset’s lungs ache, hot and parched feeling, until finally, Stúfur yanked him back up.
Chunks of ice fell from his hair and splashed back into the trough.
“Have you had enough?” Ket asked.
Somerset snorted two ice splinters down his nose and laughed, his voice rough.
“Seriously?” He hunched his shoulder up and used it to rub the crust of frost out of one eye. Once he could see again, he squinted at Ket. “We used to do this to each other as kids. Did you really think it was going to work?”
Stúfur slapped him on the back of the head. “It was worth a shot. You’ve been living the good life out here, in their world. Who knows how soft you’d gotten.”
There was a chunk of ice frozen between Somerset’s back molars. He poked at it with his tongue until he dislodged it and could spit it out.
“It’s been twenty years,” he said. “Not two hundred.”
Ket straightened up out of the crouch. He slung his hook over his shoulder and looked at Stúfur.
“Enough,” he said. “We can take him back with us. The Court can crack him open.”
Stúfur spat his opinion of that. “Then we’ll get the gold, and they’ll get the credit,” he said. “Fuck that. We found him. We beat him—”
“There are two of you,” Somerset said. “I wouldn’t boast about that.”
Stúfur shoved him over onto his side in the mud.
“Shut up,” he said. “You don’t get a say. Yule Lads only. And this Yule Lad says we sweat him longer. He hasn’t even told us where Gull is.”
Ket shook his head. “There’s no time for that,” he said. “It’s not long till tomorrow, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Do you know what happens if Santa isn’t on his sleigh when the hour strikes?”
“No,” Stúfur said sullenly.
“Me either,” Ket said. “And I don’t want to find out. We go back.”
He turned and trudged away from the trough. As he passed the fence, the witch’s cat, perched on one of the posts, hissed and struck out at him with a front paw. He yelped, stripes of blood raised on the back of his hand, and the cat jumped down and tangled between his feet before it ran into the house.
