“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, baby, and I’m so sorry.” Artie’s whispers finally reach me.
“What?”
“You’re a hero. You’ve always been my hero, ever since you stepped in to save us.”
But that makes no sense. Artie savedme. I was friendless, jobless, homeless... Broke, no phone, no car, no skills, no papers... “You gave me a real life,” I whispered.
“Are you kidding? You gave me a real family! The first shot I ever had at happiness, or success, or loving anyone was only possible because of you. And look what I let happen to you.”
I can’t tell the tears from the trails of water from the shower.
I can’t tell what’s happening.
“Where’s Laurel?” I finally ask.
“With Milo and Libby in her nursery. She and Illias are sacked out together in the crib. You’re not gonna believe this, but there’s a centaur in the hall—fixing the door I kicked in.”
“You kicked in a door?” I’m impressed. Proud of Artie. My own badass.
“I thought you’d be more surprised that there’s a centaur handyman, but yeah, I guess it’s surprising my scrawny ass could break a toothpick.”
“Shut up. I love you the way you are.”
“I love you the way you are.”
I look down at my skin. Red, white, purple, and pink. I’m hideous now. “This might scar.”
“Because you saved our daughter! Honey, you saved every other kid that guy would have gone after. Do you know that?”
I nod, but it’s a fuzzy kind of knowledge.
“Are you worried about scarring? Because... Because I bet there’s some potion or ointment that can help. Plastic surgery. Laser treatment. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. If you just... If you just stay with me,” he whispers, voice breaking.
“Stay with you?” Doesn’t work in the fuzz. “No, Artie... You don’t understand. Blase only got in because of me. The wards didn’t work properly because I weakened them. My being half-krampus messed them up. It allowed him to finally get in and... and he said they wouldn’t keep out evil because of me. All krampuses are evil by definition. If we stay here, I can’t stay. You and Laurel would never be safe. Evil would always have access to you. It’s in me.” I shudder.
Artie looks confused. “So you want to move?”
“No! I... I don’t know.”
Artie finishes gently sponging me off with one of Laurel’s ultrasoft baby washcloths and rinses the last bit of soap off of me. “I’m confused. If you’re worried about keeping evil out, I’d say this is the best place, not the worst. I mean, you were alone in the middle of Alaska, and your evil stepfather did—” Artie stops, hand lingering over the spot where my tail used to be. “And don’t get me started on some of the truly evil and messed-up shit I saw in foster care. Other kids torturing littler kids. Social workers turning blind eyes. Foster parents in it for the money... Evil is everywhere, Imogene. But you know where it’s not? It’s not in you. It’s not in Laurel, and don’t forget, she’s half-krampus, too. If what the bastard says is true, then it wouldn’t have mattered where you were, because I’d still have had Laurel. If it’s a choice between the wards working or sticking Laurel out in the cold—”
“No!” I bark out one word, and Artie stops speaking. We both do.
He smooths my hair back and kisses my forehead, waiting.
Words finally come out, my voice uneven and hoarse. “But Iwantedto kill him. He said evil would reveal itself in me, one way or another, and then... It was like I could see it. I knew I would use those chains to rip his horns off. To break his neck.”
“Yeah, babe, that’s called being a genius and a stone-cold badass under pressure. I would have just peed myself and started screaming.”
“No. No, you wouldn’t have.” I blink and let myself be led from the shower and wrapped in a towel. “Weren’t you holding up Laurel’s teddy bear lamp like a club?”
“The nursery is not well-stocked with weapons. Oh, except for my warrior wife, who stomped a murdering child-eater the size of my car.” Artie shakes my shoulders lightly. “Imogene! If it’s evil to want to stop bad people from hurting your kids, then call me evil! I’m ready to be eviled up. I’ll get a t-shirt that says “Mr. Evil.” I’ll get a tattoo.”
I don’t know what’s happening. I’m laughing. I’m crying. “I’m not bad?”
“Her-o.Hero. Say it with me,” Artie chants.
I fling myself into his arms and let the shaking reach its peak. My bones are mush, everything hurts, and I don’t want to think about what downstairs looks like. Or what the people in town will think about me now.
