I don’t breathe as I pick up Laurel, pushing a pacifier into her mouth to quiet her happy babbling. “It’s okay,” I breathe, and she snuggles in.
My daughter believes in me. That it will be okay. So whatever is downstairs—has to be something that I can make okay. I pat my pocket for my phone and realize it’s not there. It’s still downstairs next to my coat and bag, ready to run out.
I can stay still. Hide with Laurel. Keep her safe until Artie comes back.
I realize that I’m not even wondering what the sound was. I know in my gut.
It’s Blase. He wants to collect.
And if he thinks he can hurt me, then he can probably hurt Artie, too. He can definitely hurt Laurel.
The rage that I’ve been afraid of is swimming through my head, making things hazy. Words stop working.
I see things in images. Me, keeping Blase away from my husband and daughter.
Safe daughter. Safe Artie.
I wrap Laurel in a blanket, kiss her head, and push the crib back into the closet. I drop a bunch of soft baby books and toys into the crib with her, exit the room, and lock the door behind me, knowing that isn’t going to do a damn thing if someone wants to break it down, but it’s a second I get to keep her safe.
Need my phone. Need help.
I move in the hall, silently.
I choke back a scream, and the air vanishes from me in a silent sob when I see him at the bottom of the stairs.
Black horns are bigger now. The chains wrapped around them are huge and spiked, and they trail down his back and sides. He grins up at me, and frothy drool drips down the long, matted beard. “Ah,schwesterl.Good evening.”
I want to ask what happened. He’s no longer the pretty, polished thing I met in the market. He’s bigger, bulging, and more demonic, snorting, snarling, and leering with eyes that are practically aflame.
“Leave.” My voice shakes. He’s blocking my exit. I can’t get to my phone. Can’t get out. Can’t leap from the second floor with Laurel. Can I?
“With you and the spawn, yes. Is she pink like you? I think I have a fondness for pink.” He puts a huge hoof on the bottom stair.
“Stay!” I warn, an edge of hysteria in my voice.
Blase laughs. “No, no,schwesterl. I am going to take you and the child, or I’m going toslaughteryou and the child. Your choice. But you cannot keep me out when I want in. You had some witchinglings helping you, yes? But they are stupid, for they had to leave the house so you and the brat could dwell here. Go in and out. They kept out evil—but not krampus. You half-krampusbeschämtenmannskindhave been weakening the wards, making it so that the house and town will allow a krampus while trying to keep out evil. Shoddy spellwork, I suppose. By definition—weareevil. And you will feel it sooner or later. With me, it will just be sooner.”
My fingers flex. The thoughts in my head are flashes of sight and sound again, no words.
Those chains. Rip them off. Horns broken. Bloody stumps. Hitting him. Clawing. Screaming.
His screams. Mine.
Because I’ll win. I have a child to fight for. He just has his sick sense of duty.
“Know what?” I snarl, my voice so deep and dark that I don’t recognize it.
Blase stops, hand on the bannister. “Hm?”
“You’re right.”
Then I lunge.
THE DOOR TO MY HOUSEis open.
Immy isn’t outside.
I leave the food in the car and scramble from it.
