I guess Orcs have good hearing.
Mr. Minegold and a few other figures are on the doorstep—including Alban Wymark, Milo, Tessa, and Jesse, Sophie’s husband.
“May we come in?” Minegold asks as if he’s requesting someone to pass the sugar, not having a council of war about some murderous monster in our midst.
“Everyone, come in. Quietly. Sleeping kid.”
Douglas Wickstaff immediately asks, “Mr. Minegold, what do members of the Night Watch do when confronted with vile beings, monstersorhumans, who harm innocents?”
Mr. Minegold, who looks pale and perfectly calm, suddenly smiles. His eyes glint like rubies, and there’s a tiny prick of a fang in his smile. “We do not allow that. We cannot, I’m afraid. All that evil needs to prosper is for a good man to do nothing. This is doubly so of monsters.” He strides into the living room, picks up the basket, and plops it among the baby toys and bibs on the coffee table. “May I, Douglas?”
Wickstaff nods. “Have at it, Jakob.”
“Here, my dear.” The vampire holds out a beautiful cherry tart to Imogene, who takes it with a shaky smile. “We haven’t met, although I’ve seen you in passing, and my daughter-in-law, Sophie, speaks most highly of you. I don’t know what this brute said to shake you so, but you should know that there are many krampuses who no longer participate in the barbaric rituals of kidnapping and eating children, or even hurting them in any way. Many still have a strong sense of right and wrong. I’ve known several krampuses over the years—most prefer Europe, you see. Now, let me think. One was a headmaster at a very fine school, one was a district magistrate, and one was... Dear me, what was Hilda? She was either a forensic analyst or a forensic detective... It’s been forty years.”
“Dad. Get to the point.” Jesse nudges his father’s arm.
And some time, I’m going to have to work out how come Jesse Smith calls Jakob Minegold dad when they’re both vampires. As soon as I think it, it clicks. They’rebloodrelatives, all right, but not in the biological sense of the word.
“I’m getting to it, son!”
“He means that you don’t have to worry about something you’re supposedly going to do because you’re a certain race orbeing. Vampires are supposed to be seductive killing machines. We’ve never harmed an innocent in our lives.”
Imogene looks slightly reassured, but she still leans heavily against me, her tart untouched. “But when he spoke to me... I wanted to hurt him.”
Mr. Minegold smiles. “He is a wicked beast who murders children. He threatened you, yes?”
Imogene nods. “He said he’d take Laurel.”
My blood goes cold, and I clutch Imogene. It’s been hours, and she didn’t tell me that until now. For a split second, I’m angry, and then I realize how traumatized she must have been to keep that to herself, to hide that from me.
“He said I’d kill someone I know. Someone close to me.” Her hands shake so hard that the pastry falls to the ground. I catch the tart and shove it back on the coffee table as the other guests pull in chairs from the dining room or sit on the floor, all calmly helping themselves to pastries while watching Imogene with sad, grave eyes.
“Then he clearly does not know you, Imogene. You are a loving wife and mother.”
“Best mother in the world,” I pipe up.
“So, a strange krampus in town boasts that he kills children, threatens to take your child, and you think you should be rebuked for wanting to harm him? No, my dear, you should be commended for wanting to strike down evil and protect your baby! That is what it means to keep our community safe, to be counted among the good. Not just to be absent from bad deeds, but to actively fight against them,” Mr. Minegold soothes.
“I... I felt like I wanted to claw him into pieces. I wanted tohurthim.”
“There are primal urges that we carry in us. There always are. It’s how you use them that matters here, or anywhere.” Mr. Minegold sits down on a vacant chair and pats Imogene’s hand. “You are a brave woman.”
“The bravest,” I whisper. “She’s my hero.”
Imogene whips her head around. “Oh, Artie, really?” Tears trickle down her cheeks.
I sponge them away with my fingertips, then kiss each puffy eyelid. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. You must be a bit braver for a little longer. Tell us what he said, what he did, anything you can recall. If he’s still in the area, we will find him, and if he’s not—we will protect this town from him. If he is indeed clinging to the old ways, he’ll return to his native home after Krampusnacht, which isn’t far away.”
Imogene looks at me, then at the rings of friends we’ve suddenly acquired. “He said he’d come for me, for us, before then.”
Mr. Mingold’s gentle smile shrinks and shifts to something cold. “Then we will be ready. Before then.”
Chapter Sixteen: Thanksgiving
November 27th, 2025
