by Ellen Mint
Dropping his head, Aaron sighed. “You’ve always lived for Dad, for the family. We all knew it, sometimes got a bit jealous of how you could throw yourself in. But Naddie, life isn’t gifted to us, not really. You’ve got to take it yourself, even if you have to start a few fires to get it.”
“You lit that fire in the barn. I know it wasn’t the damn cow. Who’d even keep a lantern there in the first place?” She reached back to their winding past because it was easier than letting his words sink in. Still, they lingered like musk on the pillow come the morning after. What did she want? Not out of this moment, but all of life.
“Well, unless you’re going to buy them all Happy Meals, I’ve got to go.” Aaron slugged her once more in the shoulder and dashed for his SUV. Before sliding into the driver’s side, he paused. “Thanksgiving’s in a couple of days…”
“Dad’s busy, the schedule…” Nadire instantly found an excuse to keep herself apart from the mortal realm.
Aaron laughed. “By busy you mean he’ll sit in his stuffed chair and yell at parade Santas all day. I get it, I get it.”
He moved to vanish back to his daily grind of average, normal, brief life. Nadire staggered a step forward and shouted, “Happy Hanukkah.”
A snicker tumbled out of the driver’s side window as it rolled down. With a wave of his hand, Aaron called back, “Merry Christmas.” Just before he drove off, he gave a great, “Ho-Ho-Ho,” to bring a scowl to his little sister’s face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SWEAT POOLING AT the small of his back, Emeric gulped to escape a heat that was fully Krampus-made. He should have returned to his home in the city instead of following his father to the ancestral cabin in the literal black forest. Though, as he drew his hands over the mantle above the blazing fireplace, Emeric sighed. This was the true home, a beacon he always returned to when life turned bleak. Everywhere else was simply a bed.
Except, right now home felt as if it were on the sun instead of in the midst of a chilly early December hidden deep in Germany’s trees. “Vati!” Emeric shouted, glaring at the five-alarm blaze better meant for a deep blizzard instead of light jacket weather.
His father had been in as silent a mood as he got on their plane ride home. Emeric offered to wait behind in the States, to see if he could rustle up a new defense that wasn’t just ‘And the bastard went and destroyed evidence’ but Mirek wouldn’t hear of it.
“Holiday coming up,” he’d grumbled, “got to have you home.”
The feast of Saint Nicholas was in two days, a minor blip to the now heavily Christmas focused west, but it was what his father most wanted to crack. And Emeric failed him.
“What?” Mirek shouted, a foot kicking open the front door. Instead of snow, leaves blew inside after him, piling at the wooden entryway. Dressed in little more than a fur stole tugged over his shoulders, Mirek carried a pile of logs that’d cripple a grown man. Without a second thought, he dropped them before the fireplace, then tugged open the chain grate.
“Do we really need the fire? It’s a hundred degrees in here,” Emeric whined, trying to mop the glow of exertion off his body. It was the nicer way to think of it than the swamp established in his nether regions.
“Ja.” With no lawyers or judges breathing down their neck, Mirek devolved back to his thick, throaty accent born before Germany existed. Dumping yet another log onto the blazing yule, his father rose to his hind legs and patted the lingering soot and bark off on his thighs. “Got to keep the bastard from dropping by, nearly the sixth already.”
“Father,” Emeric sighed, pinching into his eyes. Before, he’d give into his father’s whims to keep a massive fire burning in their hearth from the fifth to the seventh without it dampening for a moment. But now he knew that Saint Nicholas, despite the tales, didn’t truly travel by chimney. All that his father’s obsessive need for flame would do was keep the birds away for a three-mile-radius. Or attract the attention of nosy rangers. That was a fun Christmas, his father struggling to hide in the back, standing on pillows to dampen the sound of his cloven hooves.
After giving the flames another jab with the poker for good measure, Mirek closed the gate. “Look, boy…”
“I am hardly a boy,” the weary man responded.
“Yer still a pup compared to me, but fine, yes. Man. Is that better? Want me to get you a lolly to make up for it?”
“For the love of…what, father?” Emeric was beyond exasperated, he was exhausted. They’d barely touched down in Munich before the long car ride into the forest. His jet lag had jet lag.
Seeming to read his son was nearing an exploding point, Mirek gently patted a hand against the man’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
“Really?” Emeric snickered. “Did you have some other lawyer working your case that I missed? A shame, perhaps he’d have helped share the load.”
His father waited for the diatribe to end before shaking his head and sighing. “Nick never made anything easy, and he’s only getting worse with age. Curse of being old, too old even for the world. All except the trees. I wonder how they get on watching the birth of time and fall of man.”
So his father was in that kind of mood. While Emeric wanted to kick and punch, despite there being a lack of options this far from society, Mirek was in full pithy quote mode. God save his soul if his father got a Pinterest account.
“Welp.” Mirek hauled up his ax which was forged on Hephaestus’ anvil—or so his father liked to claim. “Got some dying trees to clear out in the back. Keep the fort?”
“Don’t I always,” Emeric said, watching the only other person he had in the world slip out the backdoor.
They owned these woods. Not officially, not by any documentation. But people knew better than to venture too deep into the forests of the Krampus. And, those who were lost, who stumbled into the dark places and feared for their lives, often found themselves rescued by a strange old man in a black fur coat. Emeric had tried to talk his father into moving into town once if only to make his life easier.
It lasted for a month before the old man drove him up the wall. He also came to suspect the decline in the squirrel population was due to a Krampus with nothing left to hunt.
Scratching at the stubble he let percolate across his chin, Emeric stared at what may as well be the family crest—a massive goat skull hung above the fireplace. His father told him, when he was so tiny the skull was nearly as big as Emeric, that there once was a giant goat rampaging through a town. Must have been devil made, he’d say, the way it was eating up livestock and trying to kill people who drew too close.
They didn’t know who to turn to, all the brave men of the village fleeing in terror. Until his father hefted up his old workhorse ax and split that skull. Emeric could still see the bone fragment at the top where the ax went in to kill the goat.
That was the first mask the Krampus wore, the skull of a killer goat strapped across his face as he stalked the lands trying to bring justice to the dark world. It could be a story his father made up. God knew the man loved to prattle. But Emeric liked it, often treating it as a fable bearing more truth than lie complete with a nice mantle piece for decoration.
Another wave of exhaustion shook his body, and he growled at the fire. He could douse the flames and act surprised when his father returned, but that’d only sour his mood more. Or worse, he’d start to consult the signs again.
Overheating and not in the mood to deal with his father’s superstitions, Emeric tugged off his shirt. That he threw onto the old chair wound together by branches and fallen trees. It looked ancient, but he knew it to be at most 10 years old. His father was hard on furniture—turning into a three hundred pound goat-man would wear on anything.
He tried wiping the sweat off his chest, flinching at the birthmark on his pec, but all his pawing did was nestle the sweat into his chest hair. They did glisten like dewdrops, but it didn’t solve his problem of melting through the floorboards. Tugging apart his belt, Emeric slithered out of
his jeans, leaving him in only a pair of skin-tight thermals he thought he’d need while in the forest.
The one good thing about being out in nowhere, pants were forever optional. He hurled his towards his room, the door hidden behind the staircase to the loft. It was a minor gift of privacy, partially due to his bedroom having previously been the storage closet in the cabin.
For a final cool down, Emeric spotted a bucket of water his father left beside the fire should the worst come to pass. Without a second thought, he shoved his head clean into it. Silence invaded his ears, his eyes shut tight as a dead calm tried to wash away his woes.
It wasn’t for long, Emeric yanking his head out and whipping the shaggy black hair to and fro. Water droplets splattered against the walls, some hissing when they drew near the fire, but he was too busy wiping off his eyes to care. The sudden change from heat to cold water caused goosebumps to rise over his chest, Emeric shaking off the shiver.
With a damp head, a naked torso, and only skin-tight leggings for pants, the lawyer sat on the sagging divan and cracked into his case files.
At least he tried to. He kept reading through the first few lines of a brief. His eyes were giving it their all but his heart, that foolish heart kept wondering if she’d cared. If she’d been told what happened. If she’d ever appear again.
Dumb, to put it mildly. Nicholas, if he ever got wind of what happened between them, would no doubt put an even greater lockdown on his holiday. And he’d probably lock his only daughter up in some tall tower while at it.
Emeric frowned at the thought, fairly certain Nicholas wasn’t the type to do that, and also that he’d be foolish enough to ride to her rescue. An idiotic idea, no doubt. She’d given no inclination to care for him beyond how their bodies fit together. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Trying to shake it all off, he resumed diving into his work, when a knock broke on the front door. Odd. He placed a finger in his book and stared at the wood. Another knock happened, sounding more uncertain than before.
No one came out here. Not unless they were hopelessly lost. But even then, this time of year the Krampus gave out an aura that you didn’t want to draw near. It kept people away for months, even if they had legitimate business.
A third knock, this one with more force, caused Emeric to rise to his legs. “Vati?” he called, wondering if his father accidentally locked himself out. But no, if he’d done so Mirek would have shouted before knocking. Muttering to himself, Emeric said, “Did you order Thai again?”
They were the only business willing to deliver all the way out into the forest, which was probably due to their delivery charge being twice the cost of the food itself. Still, his father adored it, often inviting the man that ran the food out to sit for a spell and listen to all his stories. Laughing to himself, while also feeling a rumble in his stomach at the prospect of pad thai just a door away, Emeric lifted the latch.
As the door swung open, his jaw plummeted to the floor. She stood there, her teeth chewing on her lip, her fingers knotted, her eyes drawn, her clothes wrinkled from a long trip.
She was more beautiful than he could ever remember.
“Emeric,” Nadire spoke, walking a step towards him, “we need to talk.”
“We need to talk…”
As the words plummeted from Nadire’s worrying lips her eyes danced down Emeric’s distractingly naked body. His chest glistened as if he’d taken a bath in rich oils, the goat-shaped scar nearly bone-white against the black hair surrounding it. Unable to stop herself, she kept staring further down, taking in not only how the thin stretch of his pants suckered against the swell of thigh muscles but also the rise in said trousers from her sudden arrival.
“Nadire?” Emeric breathed as if fearing she was a spirit come to torment him. Rather than waft a hand through her form to make certain, he moved to cross his arms, when the appearance of her flush connected to his nearly nude state. “And I’m…” Emeric tried to slap hands over his chest as if to hide away his nudity, but the nearly translucent fabric of his thermal underwear kept tugging further out.
“Merciful God,” Emeric spun on his toes, dashing inside. “I’m…give me a moment,” he shouted, making a beeline for a room deeper inside.
“May I enter?” Nadire called. Despite the blush on her cheeks, she did pivot her head to watch his buttocks rise to form hard apples as he ran for it.
“Yes, yes,” Emeric shouted, a bare hand waving through the air as he dove headfirst into a room. The sound of a zipper and much cursing followed, Nadire chuckling at his adorable fumbling.
Cautiously, she stepped across the threshold into the Krampus’ lair. Her skin didn’t peel off, nor all her hair fall out, so it probably wasn’t cursed. On the whole, it was nicely decorated. It wasn’t a cabin about to appear on any magazine covers, perhaps a Bachelor’s Hunting Edition. But the place was livable and clean.
A blazing fire chewing through a whole tree was recessed not inside stone but a deep oak fireplace. Rustic carvings of goats, horses, and deer played out circling the lower half of the mantle. The sides of the fireplace were supported by reliefs of a man with hands extended up as if he was holding the mantle.
She didn’t know what she expected in the realm of the Krampus. Deer carcasses dangling from the ceiling? Open fire pits blasting flames into the air? Demonic cackling at all times? Somehow the idea of a sofa half-covered with a fleece throw decorated in fluffy cats holding coffee mugs never crossed her mind.
It wasn’t much by way of size, a staircase on the left leading up to what looked like the bedroom proper. But even that was easily half the area of hers at home. The living room held not only the fire but a small desk at the side with an ancient computer. No doubt it was Emeric’s laptop stashed on the end table, piled above the messenger bag she always saw him use.
While the floor was spartan of decor save a single bookshelf and a giant horn tipped in gold, the walls were covered. Pictures and paintings hung from every available space. Some were so coated in dust, Nadire couldn’t make out anything beyond a few dark patches. Colors from the paintings faded to that drab autumn morning grey, the Krampus not one to know how to maintain art from the sixteenth century. The pictures themselves were fading from the sun.
Blacks of the old photos were bleaching, leaving even Emeric’s midnight mane a strange grey as he stood atop a boat in an old photograph. His face looked the same as now, despite the Victorian era garb. The full-breasted suit, pinstripe probably though it was harder to tell, and a pocket watch hanging off a chain. God save her, but the tiny glasses with the round hooks for the ears made him even more striking than his current pair.
“You, um,” his voice carried from wherever he ran to. Nadire turned to find he’d hidden away his glistening muscles under a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
“Is that…?” she crinkled her nose, thrown from seeing the man dressed in Victorian garb in the picture to what any modern thirty-something would wear to the grocery store. “Space Jam?” Nadire read off the logo fading off his shirt, not from age but by design.
Emeric shrugged, fingers weeding through his hair. “It’s a movie from…”
“I know, with the rabbit,” Nadire said. “I just didn’t expect to see you so dressed down. You’re always in suits and the like.”
He tipped his head, a smile curling over those wetted lips. “I do occasionally relax, when I find the time. It remains to be seen if you’re capable of such a feat.” Those silver-blue eyes cut over her no-nonsense sweater and black jeans combo, belted off by a thick black strip of leather.
“Please,” Nadire scoffed. “I own the rattiest pair of fleece pajama pants you’ve ever seen.”
“I wish I could,” Emeric whispered, causing her to shiver. That move must have been enough to remind him that she was here on his territory. “What…what did you want? To talk about?”
She’d waffled for a half-hour after Aaron drove off, fighting with herself, arguing about how what sh
e wanted wasn’t possible. But no one ever won by refusing to play the game. She’d discovered Emeric’s location and landed outside his door…only to begin questioning herself again.
If he hadn’t answered by the third knock, she’d have walked away leaving him with a minor curiosity and nothing more. Now she was here, staring into his perfect sky eyes, her heart thundering with a thousand requests.
“This,” she shouted, spinning on a dime and slipping back to cowardice. “Is this…my father?” Nadire pointed to a black and white photo scuffed at the edges. The man in the center looked like Santa Claus with the full glimmer in place, but some were so good at the fake beard and jolly face it wasn’t always easy for her to tell.
“Yes.” Emeric jerked his chin to the photograph barely larger than his palm. He seemed as happy about the distraction as she needed it. “And that’s my father up there in the corner.” He pointed to what was Mirek and not the Krampus proper leaning against the fortifications for a trench.
Men, no, they were practically boys, huddled around her father. He’d taken up in a wooden chair, his legs spread with one hand on his knee and the other reaching to accept a soldier’s smoke. Most were still in their helmets, guns with bayonets stacked at the back. Mud covered nearly everyone’s faces save the two men of the holiday, rendering the setting bleak and despairing. But, despite all of that, the soldiers were smiling so brightly at the camera. They looked proud to have Santa himself in their trench wading into the war together.
“When did this happen?” Nadire breathed. Her fingers wrapped around the frame, about to yank it off the wall before she remembered this wasn’t her place.
“WWI, I can’t remember which year.”
“He always avoided air flight during the wars,” Nadire whispered, before amending, “The big ones, at least. There are so many now it’s not possible. I don’t remember him doing this.”