I rushed through the doorway and once again smacked right into Santos, although this time, it was his back.
So naturally, I used the close contact as an excuse to touch his ass. Yep, just as firm as it looked.
Weird that he didn’t make a crude comment suggesting we have sex.
I leaned to the side and glanced around his arm. Ah. He probably hadn’t even noticed that I’d touched him.
He was too busy gawking at the utter chaos laid out before us on the arena’s main floor.
Krampus had, in fact, managed to corral the entire population of elves from the North Pole into this building. There were no Christmas carols being sung, though. No one was whistling or bouncing around cheerfully, telling jokes. There was no raucous laughter. No hugging or pats on the back.
No joy.
In fact, it was the complete opposite. Lots of crying and shouting. Angry voices. Scowls, frowns, high tempers.
What was the absence of joy?
Misery.
“They can’t survive like this,” Santos said, his voice pitched so low I could scarcely hear the words over all the ruckus.
He was right. Elves thrived on happiness, and they withered and died without it. Even I, possibly the grumpiest elf ever—outside of Krampus, who was only part-elf—knew that. It was probably why, even as I dreaded doing it, I came up with excuses to make a trip up here to the North Pole at least every decade or so. Santos may make me batty, but joy permeated every single aspect of his home. Hell, one brief visit to his reindeer barn and I was good to go for a couple years.
“How is he doing this?” I asked. “He can’t possibly possess enough magic.”
“Maybe not,” came a voice from my left. “But this does.”
I whipped my head around. Krampus stood in the next aisle over, about four rows below us, Santos’s amulet dangling from his hand.
“Give me that,” Santos demanded, starting toward him. I grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him from possibly walking into a trap. Or getting blasted by his own magic. I imagine that would hurt like hell.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Krampus asked, waving to the unhappy elves on the arena floor.
“No,” Santos said shortly. I’d never seen him so on edge. “You’re killing them.”
Krampus lifted one shoulder and let it drop again, and I released Santos’s shirt so I could go after the mofo myself.
“Destiny, stop,” Santos called out, leaping over plastic chairs as I scrambled down the row toward Krampus.
The bastard stood where he was, watching us with a sardonic smile until I was almost within grabbing distance, and then he squeezed the amulet in his hand and disappeared.
“Son of a—”
“Over there,” Santos said, pointing across the arena. All the way on the other side. He grabbed my hand. “Ready? We’ll magic to him.”
“Santos, you’re burning far too much—”
Too late. I felt his magic manifest, and I quickly summoned my own so that I could go with him of my own volition and not because I was connected to him through our clasped hands. If he didn’t check himself, he wasn’t going to have any magic left for Christmas, even if we did get that amulet back.
We disappeared and reappeared so close to Krampus that when my stomach flip-flopped and I bent to clutch at it, I gasped, pretty much right into his face.
He fanned his hand back and forth and wrinkled his nose. “Your breath smells like death.”
I’d stuffed the toothbrush and toothpaste Santos had conjured for me into the pocket of my cape, but I hadn’t yet had a chance to use it. “Sorry. Nausea.” I pressed my fingers to my lips and willed my stomach to settle.
“Ah,” Krampus said, nodding knowingly as he secured Santos’s amulet around his neck. “Morning sickness?”
“What? No!” I yelled. Let him smell my breath.
Krampus furrowed his brow and glanced at something behind me, Santos, I presumed, and then he said, “Oh. I see,” while nodding again.
“No, I don’t think you do,” I said.
“Actually, I suspect I see more than you do.”
“What the hell are you talking—?”
The air shifted in that way that indicated a great deal of magic was being used. I glanced around, and suddenly a tall, elegant woman appeared in the middle of the chaos down on the main floor. She wore a fitted, red pantsuit with white fur around the neck, the cuffs, and the hemline, and her lavender hair was perfectly coifed with not a strand out of place.
“Oh my Christmas,” she exclaimed, looking around at all the unhappy elves. “What in the name of Santa Claus is going on here? Where is my son?”
“Up here, Mrs. Santiago,” I called out, waving. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
“Destiny, as lovely as it is to see you, when are you finally going to start calling me Yessica?”
“Maybe in another two hundred years?” I suggested.
She shook her head but was distracted when a broken bit of a toy train bounced off her shin. “Krampus, is this your doing?” she demanded while bending to rub her leg.
Krampus gave her a sheepish look.
“This is not at all what was supposed to happen. Can you never follow directions? Oh, for Donner’s sake.” Abruptly, Mrs. Santiago straightened and then disappeared and reappeared next to Santos. She pressed her hand to her stomach and swallowed thickly.
“Yeah, I get motion sickness too,” I said sympathetically.
She threw back her shoulders and patted her perfect hair. “Unfortunately, it only gets worse after you’ve birthed a child.”
Hmm. That knowledge was enough to consider never having kids. Which wasn’t a problem, currently, since I had no prospects for a mate on the horizon.
“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Santiago said, hugging her son. “Is everything all set then? Well, except for the elves. What is going on?”
“Nothing is set,” Santos said. “Krampus is sucking all the joy out of the air, using my amulet. And I really wish you would stop trying to interfere in my life. I can handle this.”
“It’s three days before Christmas, sweetheart. Forgive me for having doubts.”
Santos pursed his lips.
I twisted my head back and forth between them. “What the hell am I missing?”
“Don’t look at me,” Krampus said. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”
“No, you aren’t,” Mrs. Santiago said, fisting her hands on her hips and giving him as stern a look as a former Mrs. Santa Claus could manage. “I do not recall instructing you to suck all the joy out of the world.”
Krampus did that one shoulder lift again. “It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I couldn’t resist.”
“Wait.” I lifted my hand in a stop motion. “You released him from his exile? On purpose?”
“Well, he really wanted to see his parents for Christmas,” Mrs. Santiago said.
“His parents are in Austria. What’s he doing here?”
Mrs. Santiago glanced down at the elves. “Nothing good, clearly.”
“Okay, I’ve had enough,” Santos suddenly blurted. “I can’t stand to watch my elves suffer anymore, and the lack of Christmas music is seriously driving me nuts.”
He reached forward, wrapped his hand around the amulet, and tugged until the leather strap snapped.
Krampus rubbed the back of his neck. “Ow.”
In the blink of an eye, Santos disappeared and reappeared again down on the main floor. He lifted his arms, the tiny, sleigh-shaped amulet resting on his open palm, and closed his eyes. The amulet began to glow, the brightness spreading down his arm, throughout his body, until he looked like a smokin’ hot elfin lightbulb.
Magic began to shoot in arcs from the amulet, landing on elf after elf after elf, until the interior of the building was as bright as that sunshine we left down in the Keys. Multicolored lights appeared and chased along the wall around the arena and the doors leading out to the concourse, twinkling brightly. A twenty-foot tall, fully decorated tree suddenly popped into existence. The opening chords of “Jingle Bells” drifted through the air as the elves slowly shook off the blues and became their cheery, happy selves again.
The glow around Santos began to fade, growing dimmer and dimmer until it was nothing more than a tiny spark on his upraised hand, and then it blinked out.
He swayed, like he was dizzy.
“What’s going on?” I asked, staring at him. “Is he okay?”
He collapsed to the ground.