Page 78 of Never Kiss a Krampus
Itook a hesitant step towards him. “Bastian?”
He turned, and the exhaustion on his face was so profound it made my heart ache. The red glow was completely gone from his eyes, leaving them a dull, tired amber.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice soft.
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, then he reached out, his touch gentle as he took my hand.
“It’s too late,” he whispered, and the raw, unadulterated fear in his voice was more terrifying than any display of power. “The binding is dissolving.”
He looked up at me, and in the depths of his tired eyes, I saw it. A flicker. Not of red, but of transparency. Like he was a window, and for a split second, I could see the Christmas lights through him.
“What does that mean? Bastian, you’re starting to fade!”
“I know.” His form wavered again, becoming insubstantial for a terrifying second before solidifying. The strain of it was etched onto every line of his face. “The price must be paid.”
“No.” The word was a desperate denial. “There is always another way. A loophole. Something.” My mind raced frantically, sifting through every fairytale, every piece of folklore I’d ever half-remembered. The binding had been activated by a book. A ritual. An accident. There had to be a way to reverse it.
But I couldn’t think of one. Not while I was watching the male I loved was literally dissolving in front of me.
“Think, Noelle,” he said, his voice strained, as if he were trying to coach me through my own panic. “What did you seek when you performed the ritual?”
“I wanted to save the shop,” I said immediately. “I wanted a miracle.”
“A miracle,” he repeated, a wry, pained smile touching his lips. “And what is a Krampus, if not a miracle of a different sort? A darkness to appreciate the light.” His gaze softened, becoming unbearably tender. “You got what you asked for. You have brought more joy to this town in the last few days than it has seen in years. You saved your shop, Noelle. Not with money, but with hope.”
“But I’m losing you!”
“Perhaps,” he said, and his form flickered again, like a faulty projection. This time it lasted longer. I could see the sparkle of the tinsel on the tree right through his broad chest. “Or perhaps not.” His eyes lit with a sudden, desperate glimmer of an idea. “The blood. The binding used it as a conduit. A bridge between your world and… whatever lies beyond for me.”
“What about it?”
“A bridge can be crossed in two directions.” He reached out, not to touch me, but hovering his own hand over mine. “I poured my power into this world. To punish Grinchly. To heal you. But a bond of this nature is… reciprocal. It demands balance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I poured myself out,” he explained, his words coming faster now, fueled by a desperate urgency. “I need to… draw something in. To restore my essence. But I cannot take from you. You are my anchor. To drain you would be to destroy us both.”
“Then what do we draw from?” I asked, my mind struggling to keep up. “The air? The… the magic of the shop?”
He shook his head in a slow, deliberate motion. “It has to be something of equal measure. Something given freely. A transference of power from a willing source.” His gaze swept the shop, a wild, searching look. “Joy. Hope. All the things you have been gathering.”
The memory of the few candles on the town tree, the small crowd gathering, the defiant flicker of light against the dark, clicked into place.
“The community,” I whispered. “The Good Deeds Extravaganza.”
“Exactly,” he said, the word a ragged breath. “It is not just a gimmick to save your shop. It is the fuel.” He looked from my face to my still-glowing palm. “The ritual was accidental, a clumsy, desperate plea. But the anchor point,” he touched the air just above my palm, “is a perfect circle of salt and blood. It needs a… closing ritual. A formal transference.”
“A counter-spell,” I said, my mind finally catching up.
“A counter-offering,” he corrected. “An exchange. I gave my power. Now you must offer the power you have collected.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn’t just a business plan anymore. It was a life-or-death ritual. “What do I have to do?”
“You need to gather it,” he said, his form wavering more violently now. “The joy. The hope. Every smile, every laugh, every shared kindness. You need to bring it here. To the circle.”
“And then?”
“And then,” he said, a sad, exhausted smile touching his lips, “you have to let me go.”
