“Fuck—”
A sudden crack interrupted Somerset’s disgusted profanity. One of the wolves’ front legs exploded in a shower of charred splinters and half-dead foliage. The wolf, Somerset’s seal still wrapped around its muzzle, pitched forward at the unexpected mess and tumbled tail over ears down the road.
The last wolf skidded to a stop, legs spraddled as it looked around. Unlike the others, it looked like it had thrived, draped with boughs of fir and mistletoe.
A second crack blew a hole the size of a child’s head through its shoulder.
From the top of a sedan, Stúfur whooped as he lowered his gun. He looked over at Somerset and gave him the finger.
“Just needed better bullets,” he yelled over the storm.
An elbow to the chin snapped Somerset’s attention back to the job at hand. He spat out a bit of his tongue and grabbed the back of the wolf’s head to grind it into the road.
All he needed was a…few…more…minutes.
Jars snapped the last ribs just as the wolf started to stir, the strings of briar pulled tight as the husk of its host was pulled back inside it. He reached in and unceremoniously yanked both women out by the scruff of their collars.
As the wolf scrambled back to its feet, still unsteady and clumsy, Ket and Gat came out of the storm to grab the woman. They threw them over their shoulders and took off at a run as the snow dropped behind them.
The wolf under Somerset screamed in raw, inchoate rage and hammered at the road with bark-thickened hands. He threw Somerset off and clawed himself along the road until he could stagger to his feet.
“Why?” he demanded as he turned on Somerset. “You’ve gainednothing. All you’ve done is make yourself weak. I’ll find them. I’ll give them to the Kallikantzaroi in return for a way home. What have you gotten from this?”
Somerset shrugged. “Pissed you off,” he said.
The wolf wrinkled his lips back and took a step forward. Then it stopped and looked up. Dark, wiry figures with rodent heads and cloven hooves appeared on rooftops along the streets. More horns joined the slowly going flat blare of car alarms, and the sound of a mob eddied through the snow.
“Let them have you,” the wolf said. “And when you die, know that I’ll find your brothers and kill them too.”
The pack leader ripped out of his human skin, briars and withies knit together into the bulk of a huge, heavy-boned wolf. The snow clotted on exposed, wet wood and hardened, frost thickened on its nails. He dropped onto all fours, showed one last fang to Somerset, and disappeared into the storm.
As he did so the other wolves pulled themselves back together and lurched after him, on half-formed legs and broken branches.
This time it was Stúfur who offered a hand up. Somerset regarded it dubiously but accepted the yank up onto his feet.
“Admit it,” Stúfur said. “The gun’s a good idea.”
“No,” Somerset said.
They backed up across the road until they met Jars at the steps of the bank. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder as the Kallikantzaroi came running out of the storm toward them.
“If I have to die,” Somerset said, “I suppose I always assumed you’d be there.”
“Really?” Stúfur asked. “I’m touched.”
Somerset licked blood off his lip. “I mean, I assumed you’d be killing me,” he said.
“Fair,” Jars noted. “And same.”
The wave of Kallikantzaroi were nearly on them. Somerset braced himself. He hoped that at least one of them would trip over his corpse and break its neck.
The sound of bells broke through the storm. Somerset thought it was his imagination at first, but then he heard it again. A second later he saw a dark shadow look out of the misty veil of snow and Santa’s Sleigh broke back onto this side of reality right on top of the Kallikantzaroi. The reindeer swung their massive horned heads like hammers and sent the goat-rat bodies of the twisted Saint-blood flying. They were the lucky ones. The restwere trampled under dinnerplate-sized hooves and run over by the sharp metal runners of the Sleigh.
Dylan stood up in the Sleigh, legs braced and reins gripped tight in both hands.
“Get on!” he yelled as he snapped the reins. The Sleigh veered toward them. Somerset gawped at it for a second and then laughed in delight. He dodged to the side and jumped up onto the running board as it passed. Habit made him stick out a hand to grab Jars’s arm and drag him up behind him. Stúfur grabbed a harness strap and hauled himself up onto one of the reindeer’s broad, furry backs.
Nik was squeezed into the corner of one of the Sleigh’s seats, one hand white-knuckled around a leather strap. He gave Somerset a wild look.
