by Johnny Miles
And with each thrust, with each grunt, Jackson felt more of himself gradually fading away. Until he felt nothing. Not even fear. Thought and memory slowly disappeared as the hulking mass above him continued to carry out that most primal of instinct.
Whatever was on top of him grew hot and sweaty. The stench became unbearable, overpowering Jackson’s soul. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he supposed, he willed this to be over.
And then he heard a howl that made him cringe.
Jackson, though he now doubted who he was and whether he even existed, thrashed as something bit down at the back of his neck and dug deep. He felt himself being shaken, like prey. His own teeth seemed to rattle in his head, and he feared his brain might become dislodged.
Growing darkness seeped across his limbs, his organs, his mind—or perhaps the lights had gone out a second time—as the seed of hate spewed from Black Pete’s loins, washed over Jackson with the oppressive weight of all the sorrow and hurt in the entire universe and all its realms. Jackson felt claimed, his soul possessed, as he sank into nothingness.
And even as he faded, he managed one final thought, which he sent out into the universe.
“Griffin. I’m so…sorry.”
Chapter Twelve
One minute Griffin had been standing in the cell, awaiting Kris yet frightened by the voices in the dark. The next minute, frigid winter air smacked him in the face.
Griffin looked about in confused panic. To his left and down the steps, almost directly in front of the walkway that led to the station, was a sleigh. In the back, Griffin saw Bucket’s visible face, the rest of him covered with Griffin’s jacket.
The wind picked up. The slow, fat flakes that had fallen earlier now turned into tiny pellets that hurt as they struck his face. Griffin turned to Kris, thankful it wasn’t Piedmont who’d grabbed Griffin. After popping out of the cell, Kris held him steady. Griffin was grateful. Had Kris let go, Griffin might have collapsed.
“They’re coming. Take Bucket and go. You can’t risk—”
“Listen to me, Griffin. They’re not coming. Not yet. I cast a spell. They’re trapped inside. It won’t hold, but it will buy us time. I tried transporting us to the sleigh, but magic’s gone wonky in this realm. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. Now let’s go before they break free.”
Kris released Griffin and started down the steps. Griffin followed, then stopped dead in his tracks.
“Griffin. I’m so…sorry.”
“Oh, my God. Jackson. He’s here,” Griffin muttered.
“What?” Kris stopped several feet below.
“I’m sorry, but…I can’t leave him. I have to find him.” Griffin turned, hell-bent on going back inside the station.
Kris clicked his tongue with impatience. “Stop. You can’t. We’ve got to go!”
Griffin turned, but before he could answer, a powerful gust of wind knocked him off his feet. He all but flew, pushed back into the air to land on his ass at the top of the steps. He slammed against one of the doors, hitting it with his back, shoulders, and head. Griffin winced as he raised a hand to his crown. A bump the size of an egg had already appeared.
On the walkway, Kris managed to stand despite the funnel cloud that appeared suddenly between them.
Griffin felt his body grow cold with fear as dirt, leaves, and broken twigs swirled rapidly in the murky gray funnel cloud. Faster and faster it went, getting wider and growing in power. He watched the cyclonic force suck in pebbles, gravel, an empty beer can, all manner of trash. Even Kris, big as he was, began to slide toward the suction, despite his struggles. That was when Griffin realized he, too, was being sucked in. He planted his hands and feet into the concrete but slid all the same. He scraped against the rough asphalt beneath him and knew his palms would be bloodied but continued to fight against being swallowed by the vortex.
With a flash of lightning, the wind died abruptly. Griffin half expected Dorothy’s house to come hurtling down from the heavens and was startled to find, not a house, but a tall, slender, unbelievably angular man with long white hair and frosted blue eyes that shone with an inner light. There was no doubt in Griffin’s mind who the man was. Griffin swallowed nervously as the otherworldly, ethereal, and ancient-looking man drew near, gliding on air.
“Where is he? Where’s my son?”
The voice that assaulted Griffin’s ears hurt his brain. It was the sound of ice crackling, of police and ambulance sirens wailing mingled with the thunderous roar of iceberg chunks breaking off and falling into the ocean…except magnified a hundredfold.
Griffin didn’t reply. And he was damned if anyone else was going to come along to kick him when he was down. He struggled to his feet on wobbly legs and moaned from the pain of brushing his palms against his pants.
“What have you done with—?” the old man demanded, but Griffin snapped.
“Christ almighty! What the hell is wrong with you people? Whatever happened to saying hello before attacking a guy?”
Griffin gasped suddenly as something cold and invisible wrapped around his neck. His body rose several feet off the ground, and his legs swung back and forth. He clutched at his neck, as if he might free himself from the man’s invisible grip. In the blink of an eye, the man stood before him, one arm raised and commanding the situation without actually laying a finger on Griffin.
“Don’t mock me.” The man’s voice was deeper, angrier. “Now…don’t make me ask you again. Where’s…my…son?”
“I-I don’t know!” Griffin feared for his life, unable to defend himself except to use Mindspeak.
“Liar!” the old man roared aloud. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The pressure around Griffin’s neck increased, and he thought his windpipe would be crushed. Already he could scarcely breathe, and he felt the blackness encroaching.
“Stop!” Kris raced toward them, taking the steps two at a time. “He’s telling the truth. Let him go.”
Griffin noted with great relief that the pressure around his neck lessened, even though the crazy man still held him aloft.
“You’re certain of this?” The old man glanced over his shoulder at Kris, who nodded. The man turned back to Griffin, looked him in the eye, then let go. Griffin collapsed to the ground, coughing. Kris took the last few steps and helped him up.
“That’s…twice today someone’s tried to…choke me. What the hell’d I ever do…to either of you?” Griffin managed.
“Griffin,” Kris started. “In case you haven’t already guessed, this is—”
“Woden. I remember now.” Griffin swallowed and shot the man an uncertain look. “You’re Jackson’s father.”
Woden didn’t reply, but Griffin cried out from a sharp piercing in his brain. He nearly buckled from the pain.
“Relax, Griffin. The mind probe will go much easier.” Kris spoke softly with his mind.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one on the receiving end of this mind rape by some lunatic!”
Griffin screamed. Woden beamed, clearly taking great pleasure in causing pain.
“He’s not reading your mind, Griffin. Woden is…reviewing your memories.”
Griffin wanted to reply with something witty and off the cuff but wailed as another stab of pain shot through him. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He imagined himself relaxing, from his head down to his toes, and soon found that the less he struggled, the less agony he felt. Memories flittered across his mind, starting with the most recent and playing like a movie, only in reverse.
As he stood there, awash with emotion, Griffin had no choice but to relive the last few hours of his life, starting with the dark moment in the cell when Kris grabbed him, reversing to when Kris and Bucket were thrown into the cell. Then came Michael. And just before that, the mysterious man who had tried to choke him.
“Black Pete was here,” Woden whispered, then moved on.
Who the fuck is Black Pete? Griffin wondered but didn’t have time to reflect. His memories moved f
aster now. The ride to the police station, the fight in the parking lot at the strip club, the moment of darkness in his apartment, where he’d almost taken his own life. Here, too, Woden lingered. The man had to be a sadist. Why else would he stop to scrutinize how dark things unfolded?
“Black Pete’s been stalking Griffin.”
Aware Woden and Kris exchanged glances, Griffin swallowed as the reverse time-lapse of his life continued.
His job at the Precocious Puss. The lonely hours when he wasn’t at work. Lamenting. Missing his mom. Missing Jackson but not knowing if his presence would be as welcome as it had once been. His interview at the Precocious Puss, where he’d learned to swallow his pride. Then the drive up to North Carolina from Florida after wondering what he should do now that his mother was gone. He couldn’t have remained in Fort Lauderdale. Without his mother there, he no longer had a home. Grief welled in Griffin’s heart, and guilt possessed his soul as the night his mother died drew near.
“No! Not that,” Griffin begged, somehow building a mental block against Woden. And then it was over. Woden withdrew from Griffin’s mind. Tears clouded Griffin’s vision and streamed down his face. He felt vulnerable and exposed as he cast his gaze to Woden, to Kris, then back to Woden.
“This one is strong. I daresay even stronger than you, Kris.” Woden directed his comment at Kris, but his eyes remained locked on Griffin. Defiantly, Griffin stared back.
An abrupt bang came from within the station, startling them. Woden placed a hand on one of the handles, and the door froze solid.
“That should delay them a moment further. But we must leave this horrible place at once. I can’t abide North Carolina.”
The three hurried down the steps.
“So what was your plan, Kris? Were you going back to the North Pole?”
“Yes. I need someone to look after Bucket. He’s not well.”
“So I gathered. Melchior contacted me to see if I might be able to assist. What’s wrong with him?” But as they climbed into the sleigh—Griffin in the back with Bucket, Kris in the driver’s seat with Woden beside him—Woden saw for himself.
“Nothing you have at the North Pole can help your Elf. I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do for him except—”
A bang from inside the police station, this time louder.
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it. As long as there’s a chance…”
Bang.
“Even if it means seeing the one person neither of us ever wants to see again?” Woden mused.
Kris seemed to think a moment before the realization dawned on his face.
Bang!
“Surely you don’t mean—”
Bang!
The police station doors cracked open. Cops spilled out, along with two very familiar faces. Griffin took a deep breath and almost forgot to exhale.
“Ummm, guys?” Griffin eyed Kris and Woden, but they ignored him.
“I’ll help you get there, but you must help me find my son.”
“I hate to hurry this along, but…can we hurry this along? Please?” Griffin’s anxiety mounted as the cops raced down the steps followed by Thomas and Piedmont, their faces ugly with fury.
Kris and Woden shook hands, then sat.
“Oh, but…I’ve never been to—” Kris picked up the reins.
“I’ll fly.” Woden took the reins from Kris just as the police reached the bottom of the steps and hit the walkway.
“It doesn’t matter who flies, just, please…let’s get the fuck outta here. Now!”
“This is positively thrilling. Just like the old days.”
Woden practically shook with excitement. With a flick of the wrist, Woden snapped the reins. The reindeer pulled and the sleigh moved. Around them snow swirled once more, making their progress easier. Behind them, the mob gave chase. They were so close Griffin could see them sweat. Piedmont reached out, extending an arm as if throwing something. A murky green beam of light shot from his hand.
“Duck!” Griffin cried. The beam shot past them. It struck a tree and burst into flames.
“Strike back!” Woden shouted, glancing over his shoulder. Griffin could see the old man’s ancient eyes sparkle with a burning vibrancy.
Griffin glanced about, half expecting to find a weapon suddenly appear before him. When none did, he spun around in his seat just as another beam sailed past. This time, it nicked his earlobe.
“Son of a bitch!” Griffin cupped a hand around his ear and thrust out his other arm. He willed his energy upon the crowd, but especially at Piedmont, and was pleasantly surprised when everyone suddenly fell as though bowled over by an invisible wave.
“Holy shit! Did you guys see that?” Griffin held up his hands, as if seeing them for the first time, and laughed.
The sleigh picked up speed. Getting up, the crowd fell behind. Within seconds the deer jumped into the air. The sleigh hitched along, and Griffin went from experiencing the elation of finding out he had a new power to feeling nauseated. The bile rose in his throat. He tried to fight it, then made the mistake of looking over the side of the sleigh. As the ground fell rapidly away, Griffin dry heaved.
Faster and faster, higher and higher. The sleigh, so sturdy-looking on the ground, was buffeted by the wind like nothing more than a leaf.
“You might want to hang on.” Kris glanced over his shoulder and made himself heard above the roar of wind. “And grab hold of Bucket! If he should fall…”
Woden began to mutter something unintelligible. His eyes took on a veiled look, and his voice grew louder as he repeated himself in a foreign tongue. Griffin couldn’t tell if he was casting a spell or calling out names.
And still Woden continued.
Griffin’s skin suddenly prickled. He dared to peek over the side of the sleigh once more. Beneath them but rising higher to meet them, something stirred. No. Not something. Some…things. They flew through the snow and the mist, barking, shrieking, and crying out maniacally, as if released from the depths of hell itself. Up they rose from the ground to join and surround the sleigh. They seemed to help propel the vehicle onward with a frenzied lust that thrilled even Griffin, despite his fear, despite looking into their eyes and seeing what he could only call monsters, demons, goblins, and hounds, along with the spectral visages of long-dead humans and animals. They pulled behind them a massive rush of billowing clouds as, one by one, they made their presence known.
Woden burst out with peals of laughter, in obvious glee as he acknowledged each entity, who in turn lifted and buoyed the sleigh ever higher.
But it was the last to appear who both thrilled and excited, yet frightened Griffin.
A voluptuous woman with wild flaming red hair that curled and unfurled in the wind. Her skin was the color of freshly milked cream, and she seemed nonplussed about her nudity. Her breasts were large and full, the areola dark and large. Her nipples were swollen, as though she’d been nursing, and even Griffin found himself wishing he could suckle from her teat like a child.
She rose above all the others. Then, clearly feeling Griffin’s gaze on her, she looked into his soul, searching with knowing eyes that glittered emerald green.
“Oh my God…Goddess. Mother,” Griffin muttered.
The woman regarded him with the ghost of a curious smile before moving to the front of the sleigh. She jerked her head at a gawking Kris, indicating for him to move to the back. When he’d moved, the woman sat calmly beside Woden as if she’d been there all her life. She clearly belonged there. Neither bothered to block their thoughts from the others.
“As ravishing as ever, I see.” Woden took a moment to admire her in all her glorious, curvy nakedness. “Thank you for answering my call, Gaea.”
Man and woman, hunter and huntress, gazed into each other’s eyes before locking lips. They kissed long and hard, and when they broke off a moment later, blood smeared Gaea’s plump lips. Clearly aroused, Woden practically glowed with a burning, youthful appearance. This was a man ready for mayhem. A man ready
for war. A man ready for a hunt. He raised an arm, fist in the air, and bellowed in a voice so loud Griffin wasn’t sure he’d actually heard him as much as felt his words within the very cells that made up his body.
“Let the Wild Hunt begin!”
Golden-white sparks began to fly. They arced around the sleigh, wrapping in on themselves like atoms flying along their own orbit.
And as they disappeared from the North Carolina night sky, they jettisoned into a void that made Griffin lean over the side of the sleigh and vomit.
Chapter Thirteen
The roughly hewn rock castle rose from coarse, sandy grit. A product of its environment, it looked like it might have been heaved from below the surface by tremendous seismic pressure or perhaps chiseled from the crag of mountain it stood upon at the edge of a steep cliff. No one knew who built it. At least, no one Krampus had ever known. He’d never met anyone from the Ninth Realm, and the only thing anyone ever said about the place was that whoever went there or got lost there never returned.
Cold and unforgiving, the castle was an unwelcoming place. It possessed all the rustic nature of a poor man’s hut but none of its warmth. Still, it offered protection from the elements during the only two seasons: a scorching dry Sirocco heat with little rainfall and sandstorms in summer and perpetual polar nights with chronic precipitation and sub-zero temperatures in winter.
The castle rose three stories above ground and went six stories below. It overlooked a vast sea of sand, pebble, and rock formations. It had been witness to thousands, if not millions of haboobs, frightening sandstorms that roamed the plains like wild, angry beasts, blocking out the sky. The haboobs rumbled across the plains, only to add to the thick blanket of sand and dust already there while eroding the wasting castle, granules at a time.