But I remind myself that most monsters in Pine Ridge are kind, and that I’m the last person who should be intimidated by appearances.
“This place... This place is not good picking, is it? And in our country, it is even less so. We are a caricature now, with silly dances and parades. Women flirt with us. Children mock.” His voice carries a rich, unfamiliar accent, and the tone is charming, even courtly. The way he bends his tall, muscular body down to address me is... I don’t know. An odd sort of attentive. Different from Artie’s attentiveness.
I step away, uncomfortable with how curious I am. I’m not attracted, but... But! There’s someone else in town like me. Likemy father. Wow. Was this what he looked like? Would I have horns like that if I hadn’t been maimed? Will Laurel?
“Oh, please, I am in your way.” The stranger bows and smiles.
Devilishly handsome. I get the definition now.
Okay, I see why my mother could have been tempted in a moment of weakness. Hell, with Barton, she could have been tempted as a moment of strength!
“No, you’re fine. I’m just waiting for a couple of friends of mine. I’m a little early. I’ve never been here before, and I wanted to look around.”
“Ah! Yes, me, too. I had heard in New York City about this place. The mountains, the woods— that it would be more to my liking. The mountains—ha, they are nothing like my mountains, but...”
“The Alps.” I looked at a map of Bavaria, of course, when I learned about my mother. It’s beautiful. Picturesque. The woods look like something out of storybooks, and it’s no wonder so many dark fairytales emerge from there. If he’s not from around here and he’s from the mountains, I take a guess that he’s from the Alps, and it seems I’m right.
The krampus nods and looks around, a slight frown on his face. “You are... You are staying here?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Good, good. I did not like the city, but of course, one goes where one is believed in, where one draws one's assignment. Still, no need for me to waste two weeks in that cramped, treeless concrete desert. I will stay farther north until nearer to the night. What about you? Where are you assigned?”
“Uh, sorry?”
“You are confused?” He looks at me again, and something is changing about his expression. Like something is clicking.
I wish I could share whatever revelation it is. “I’m from Alaska, originally,” I finally spit out.
The stranger laughs, and I back up farther. It’s not a nice laugh. At least, I don’t think it is. It mocks, and his eyes are now peering underneath my hood, which has tipped backwards a little in the chilly gusts that blow across the Night Market. “Oh,schwesterl, I had not observed you closely. You’re not atrophäenkind. You are abeschämtenmannskind!”
“I’m not what?”
“Trophäenkind.A trophy child.When a krampus takes a pretty maiden and keeps her until she submits to him and bears him children. Then she is made his bride, and his children are raised as full krampus, not half-human.”
I stare. Wait. Does that mean that if my birth father had wanted to, he could have taken my mother with him—and me? He could have raised me? I would have grown up in a family, in a community?
He is still speaking, slowly wagging his head at me, dark horns jingling faintly. I see there are tiny silver chains wrapped around the base of each horn. “But you— You have made yourself blend in with the humans, yes? Not for ease of hunting, but for ease ofhiding. You are a shamed man’s child. Your mother was a naughty one, yes?” He smiles broadly, and his eyes rake up and down me, stopping at the boots I’m wearing. “Aprettyone, young and foolish. You are not the trophy. You are the punishment.”
I say nothing. I want to run. I want Artie. But I also want to know more. “What about it?” I whisper, defiance in my tone.
“Ooh, I didn’t mean offense,” he says with a faint sneer.
If that was kind, I’d hate to be on this guy’s bad side.
“In some ways, it is quite the legacy. You are often the most vicious, the most keen to take to the hunt. You have so much to prove. I imagine you have all the human men believing you aresweet and showing you their naughtiest natures, so that you can fully wield your punishment on Krampusnacht. There are many cleverbeschämtenmannskind,you know.”
Krampusnacht. I’ve heard of that, of course. It’s a night when certain cultures say that krampus comes and punishes naughty children. I’ve pored over legends from all across Germany, Bavaria, Austria, and other European countries. When researching, I saw that it’s become a festive time, with parades and dancers, drinking and laughing. No one is truly afraid. But if the legends are true—they should be. Children kidnapped and beaten. Killed. Missing. Even eaten, in some legends.
Monsters are just legends, and we’re real. So I think that the horrors of the krampus legend must be true, too.
I swallow hard and remind myself that I love the way Artie tastes because I love him. When I’m around other human men, like kindly Dr. Vaughn or Mr. Wymark, I feel nothing but grateful for their help.
I’m not a monster, not like the krampuses in dark tales of death. The “monsters” in this town are not evildoers, either.
“This is Pine Ridge. It’s not a place for wicked monsters. We live in harmony with our human neighbors. We don’t—”
“Argh.” He lets out a cry of disgust. “When my acquaintance said it was a haven for monsters, I did not press him for many details. I’m usually so much more attentive, but I was chosen for New York City at the last minute.”
