“When is it?”
“Tomorrow,” she says with a grin, rising from her chair as her heels echo against the tile.
When she leaves, I look back down at the invitation. There’s no doubt that Candy will be there—and she very well may not bethrilled at the idea of seeing me. What is the term the mortals use? Ghosting? It’s exactly what I did, and I’m ashamed of that, but the way I felt around her was unfamiliar and wholly terrifying.
Krampus is likely busy terrifying children in the night. The chances of him being there are low, at least I hope.
Will Candy look at me with irritation and disgust? Has she already found someone else? Or has she been reliving that night over and over like I have in the past six months?
Of course she hasn’t. Someone so sweet, caring, and soft surely has found someone else during these long months.
I was a scared fool, afraid of how good it felt to smile, how good it felt to have her in my arms. Perhaps, deep down, I saved us both. Someone so bright shouldn’t be with someone with such a dark soul.
Then there’s the thought that she’s with Krampus. That she chose him, that he didn’t run away in fear. She deserves more than that beastly sadist at her side. Surely she saw past his beauty to see him for what he truly is.
Broken, just like me.
In a way, kissing Krampus was like kissing myself. A reflection of the darkness lingering within me. I had no choice but to leave it in the past and come back to Purgatory to do what I do best.
I keep reapers in line. I keep the mortal realms running as we usher souls to their final resting place. Shouldering this darkness is mine and mine alone. There’s no world where Krampus and I don’t consume those around us.
Especially not someone as precious as Candy.
I’ll go to the party, meet Morticia’s demands, and then everything will go back to normal. I’ll stay in the darkness where I belong and Candy will stay in the sunshine that is Cupidale.
It will be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?
Santa pulls out the bright red stamp and pushes it down on my paperwork.
The bold capital letters stare at me like a brand, and I blink at my boss.
“Retired?” I say in shock.
For centuries, I’ve been terrifying children into behaving during the Christmas season. It’s always been my purpose, what I’ve lived for. I’m not exactly sure where the rumor got started that I eat them, but I can promise you it’s all just bad/good press. I’ve never consumed human flesh, and I’d testify to that in front of every being.
“I thought you would be excited,” the large, smiling man says, handing me my pink slip.
“This is all I know. It’s who I am.”
“You’ve done your job. You’re a legend. They hold parades in your honor. Children fear the tales of Krampus.”
“Right. That means that I need to keep up appearances so their fear stays alive.”
Santa sighs and rubs his belly. “Listen, Krampus, we’re going in a different direction. You know the North Pole appreciates all your hard work.”
“But you’re firing me?”
“No, Krampus. Retirement. No one is replacing you. I thought you’d be excited? Now you can go live your life.”
My heavy brows furrow, and I unconsciously scratch a horn on the top of my head.
“This is my life.”
Santa smiles, his cheeks full and as pink as the mortals draw him.
“Consider it an early Christmas gift,” he says, handing me a bright pink envelope.
It smells like candy canes, and as soon as I open it, a mix of pink confetti and glitter falls out.
