Page 43 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“I do not have a home as such.”
“Where were you? Before?”
“In the spaces between.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only answer I have.” His footsteps moved closer. “Where winter is cold and judgment is needed, I exist. Where it is not, I do not. This is the nature of what I am.”
I turned to look at him.
“So you just… exist in winter? What happens the rest of the year?”
“I sleep. Wait. Prepare for the next season.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re stuck here with me, and I’m trying to figure out if that’s weird for you.”
“Everything about this situation is ‘weird’ for me.”
Fair point.
The lights flickered.
I glanced up at the ceiling fixture, watching it strobe once, twice, then settle back to steady brightness. “That’s not good.”
“Your electrical infrastructure is failing?”
“The storm’s probably taking down power lines.” I moved away from the window, checking my phone. No service. The blizzard was already disrupting the cell towers. “I should check the backup supplies.”
I kept emergency provisions in the stockroom. Candles, matches, flashlights, batteries—basic disaster prep that my grandmother had insisted on maintaining.Always be ready, Gran used to say.Weather can turn in minutes.I was halfway to the stockroom when the lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t come back on.
Darkness swallowed the shop in an instant, complete and absolute. The kind of dark that only happened when every light source in a building died at once.
“Shit.”
“Stay still.” Bastian’s voice came from my left, calm and unbothered. “Let your eyes adjust.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“I can.”
Of course he could. Because ancient winter beings probably had perfect night vision along with all their other inconvenient advantages. I heard him move, felt the displacement of air as he passed close by. Then a soft glow filled the space—not bright, but enough to see by. He’d conjured a small flame in his palm. Cold fire, blue-white and dancing, casting strange shadows across his features.
“Show-off,” I muttered, but relief flooded through me.
“Merely practical.”
I grabbed the emergency box from the stockroom, hauling it back to the main shop. There were two dozen pillar candles, two flashlights, and a battery-powered radio that was probably older than me inside.
“This is sufficient?” he asked.
“It’ll have to be.” I wrapped my cardigan tighter around myself, already feeling the temperature drop. “The heating’s electric, so we’ve got no warmth either. I have a generator, but I didn’t have the money to buy fuel for it.”
“How long will the power remain out?”
“No idea. Could be hours. Could be days if the lines are really damaged.” I checked my phone again. Still no service. “I can’t even call to find out.”
The shop was already getting cold. Not freezing—yet—but the kind of creeping chill that promised worse to come. I could see my breath starting to mist in the candlelight.
