Sequel to Nicolas
Jamie has been with Nicolas for a year now, an enchanting year of new experiences and personal growth. Though living with a legend isn’t always easy. Nicolas spends his days helping the needy of the world, and with the Christmas season winding to an end, he’s been busier than ever, and gone from home more often than Jamie would like.
Luckily, Twelfth Night is Nicolas’s last trip of the season, then they can have more time together. Jamie wants to make Nicolas’s return a special occasion, a date night to show his lover how much he appreciates and admires, as well as loves, him.
But Nicolas is magic and wonder, and often draws the attention and jealousy of other beings like himself. Frau Perchta is one, the Krampus’s counterpart, the Winter Goddess, who rewards the good, but doles out lethal punishment to those who keep a messy home. Unfortunately, she has set her sights on Jamie. Will Jamie’s home live up to her expectations, or will she be inclined to punish him, thus punishing Nicolas as well?
Dread stole Jamie’s breath. “Frau Perchta.”
As if conjured, laughter drifted down the staircase, and the beautiful woman appeared, leaning over the banister. Her face was shadowed but Jamie could swear her expression was cold and cruel. “There you are, my naughty children,” she said, her once melodious tones now scratchy, discordant. She took a step down, and terror shot through Jamie, freezing him in place, though instinct shouted at him to run. Giana whimpered and William drew a harsh breath. Jamie wanted to look at them but his body refused to obey.
Behrta, as she called herself, took another step down, and Jamie’s mind reeled with fear and confusion. What was happening? Was she ... changing? The beautiful woman seemed to grow old before his eyes, her tall body shrinking, hunching in on itself. The white dress grew tattered; dark rags on a crone’s body. But the cruel smile remained, widening as she neared the bottom steps to rows of sharp white teeth in a too big mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” William said, sounding choked, his fear palpable, as was Giana’s. The crone reached the bottom of the staircase and turned toward them. Jamie’s stomach rolled. The woman dragged one of her feet, a strange clumping sound as she moved. As she drew closer, Jamie could see it was the webbed foot, grown large and awkward, more like that of a swan than human.
Jamie covered his mouth on a silent scream and stumbled back into the tree, sending the remaining ornaments crashing to the hearth. Oh, God, the Winter Goddess! Frau Perchta. How -- Of course. Nico himself was a legend: the embodiment of the Christmas spirit. It made sense he’d draw other mystical beings to himself. But Nico wasn’t here. It was up to Jamie to protect his friends, caught up in whatever nightmare had taken possession of them at the moment.
He moved between his friends and the old crone and raised his hands, chest level, palms out. “Stop. This is my home and you don’t belong here. Go back to where you came from.”
The hag paused and focused her dark, wild eyes on him, snatching Jamie’s breath. A coldness crept over him as she continued to stare, not speaking, pinning him in place. “You do not order me,” she said after a long, terrible moment, and swept toward them with surreal speed. Before Jamie could react, she passed him, stopped before William, and reached a clawed hand to cup his face.
“Don’t --”
The woman’s hiss silenced Jamie.
“You’re a pretty one,” she crooned, a taloned thumb scraping down William’s cheek, a fine line of blood following the stroke. A choking sob escaped William, as if he couldn’t draw enough breath to scream.
Jamie took a step toward them with effort. “Leave him alone!”
The old woman cackled with glee, held Jamie’s gaze, and shoved the razor-sharp thumbnail into William’s throat.
“No!” Jamie grabbed her arm. Instantly a coldness, which burned like fire, bit into his hand before plunging into his veins. Agony raced up his arm toward his heart. He tried to pull away but she laughed at him, the harsh sound clanging in his head growing louder. Too loud, the pain piercing his eyes.
But then Giana grabbed his wrist with both her hands and yanked him free. He glanced at her -- her face was chalk white with fear -- but then they both watched in horror, frozen in place, as the old crone tugged her thumb out of William’s neck and pushed her tongue, impossibly thick and black, against the wound to lap at the blood. Giana made an anguished sound, dreadful to hear, but shaking Jamie from his momentary paralysis.
“We have to get out of here,” he said urgently. Giana turned on him, her gaze stricken. But then the hag laughed low in her throat, a terrible sound, and Giana gave a sharp nod. They fled, Jamie leading her into the kitchen. He darted a glance at her over his shoulder; she was silently sobbing as they ran, her face wet with tears. Jamie’s heart ached for her, wanting to go back himself, but he couldn’t risk her as well.
“Come on.” He led her past the island in the kitchen and out the French doors on the lefthand side, which opened onto a stone patio and the beach beyond. Giana started for the sand but Jamie took her hand. “No, no. There’s nowhere to hide out there. This way.” He drew her to the right, along the patio to the corner of the house. Bougainvillea climbed the stonework on this west facing wall, a dark, towering hedge of thorny vines.
“Hide yourself in here. I’ll draw her away.”
