Snowbound: Book 2 of the Bloodline of Yule Trilogy

Chapter 1: Aidan

            

December 25

Thirty-six minutes after midnight

On the roof of the Jones house...

"Charity!"

I scream myself hoarse. The only loving home I've ever known has been destroyed. One of my friends is dead. And now I'm being kidnapped by my father to return "home" — the Klaas fortress in the Arctic, where Father will no doubt make me suffer for running away.

To save my sanity, I'm going to write this mental letter to you, Charity, as if you were still with me. As if you weren't lying on the floor of the living room dying yourself from my Father's attack.

My father, Krampus.

He's forced me into an ancient, magical bag that originally belonged to the Norse goddess, Frygg, wife of Odin. The bag binds my powers in its dark interior. I haven't been in this bag since I was a baby, when he kidnapped my mother and I twelve months after he'd impregnated her early one Christmas morning.

My father now jostles the bag violently as he climbs up to the roof of the house where the sleigh awaits. I hear the wind climbers bleating with fear when they see him as they wait with the sleigh. The rest is eerie silence. Sirens wail in the distance. Help is already on the way. It's too late for poor Leo. I pray it's not too late for you...

"You cowardly little bastard," he snaps. The smell of his burning flesh from where you hit him with the mistletoe seeps into the bag. "I would have almost respected you if you had fled and sacrificed your friends for freedom. You would have shown some sense of survival, a true Klaas." He slams the bag into the sleigh. My head rings with agony as it hits the sleigh floor. "Onward, you filthy beasts!" he roars, his lash tearing their hides with a crack. The sleigh rises into the air but the trajectory remains low. "One stop, my pets, and then we go home!"

Why would he want to stop? Who else would he want to kill besides us? Maybe Detective Bristow, the officer who investigated Darren's death? Or your father? But your father is in Washington DC, and the sleigh is not headed in that direction — at least, it doesn't seem like it. If I concentrate, I can pick up fleeting details outside of the bag like the temperature. The air quickly grows colder.

We are headed into snow.

Misery and disgust. My father sings the rest of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," his deep voice booming into the night. He laughs over the line "to save us all from Satan's power," changing it to "Santa's power."

I'm already planning my escape. I vow to you, Charity, that I will not only avenge Leo's death, but I'll return to you as soon as possible.

All isn't lost. At the fortress, there's a very special tome — The Book of Sigils — that I used to break the magic seals that held me captive. I'll find the book again and break free once and for all.

That is, if he hasn't already found the book and burned it...

Icy breezes rush over the sleigh until it lands on another surface. Father climbs out. I no longer hear the clamor of his cloven hooves. Instead, I hear the sound of leather soles treading on a thin layer of snow.

He must have transformed into a human.

I hear automatic sliding glass doors open with a hiss and close again.

Snow falls on the sled, flakes dusting the bag. The scent of pines saturates the air. In the distance, a cheap radio plays Christmas tunes. Any moment now all hell will surely break loose. This isn't the first time he's killed someone on this night. I'll never forget the time he returned licking his fingers, his tongue snaking around his hand to savor every last fleck of blood in his fur. That was the Christmas before he killed my mother.

The glass doors slide open again, and two sets of footsteps emerge from the building beneath, one heavy and one hesitant. In the twinkle of an eye, the two sets of feet land on the roof. Someone's teeth chatter between gasps of terror.

"Stop your sniveling," my father says. "You got your Christmas wish. Now, shut up and sit tight."

The bag opens. A blast of shadows as another body plummets into the blackness with me. It closes before I can see who it is. I can't fathom why he'd bring anyone to the fortress. Perhaps instead he'll dangle them from the sleigh hundreds of miles in the air just to hear their terror. I've never seen him do that, but he's that sadistic.

The other person in the bag — man, woman or child — retreats into the abyss. It's as if we don't share the same space at all, but the scent of their fear is stifling. I want to comfort this person, to protect her. Or him. But I don't dare. The scars on my back tingle. He'll soon tear open my flesh again. I have to be stronger than ever.

Despite their treachery, I mourn the deaths of my siblings in the battle. I don't hold it against them. The poor things did what they were told. They had no choice. They're just collateral damage in this family war.

The sleigh soars upward. An intense, misty chill settles on the bag as we break through the cloud layer. I imagine the cold moon above us as we race northward. Home. You're going home for the holidays. I saw maps on the computer of my home. The vast stretches of snow layering broken ice stirred by the swirling waters. The ice is receding from global warming. Mankind is slowly killing the Klaas. This is extremely dangerous. More dangerous than anyone knows.

We fly into the eternal sunset of Arctic winter and the freezing air pummels us. The cold worms under my skin, which means it must be very cold indeed. I worry for the other person. If they survive this trip, it's just the beginning of a frightening new life.

As we approach the fortress, the sled's trajectory lowers. On the ice, my siblings howl with glee as they scurry about the perimeter. Some of my remaining siblings might even make it back home now that my father has called off the hunt.

I try not to imagine the punishment in store for me. He might kill me. But why wait to do that?

Arctic breezes buffet the sleigh as it slows to a halt on top of the fortress. The chatter of my siblings swells as they gather around the sled. I gag on the stink of their fur and breath.

"Get back!" he shouts. "Paws off the bag or I'll throw you into the fires!"

A frenzy of fear. There aren't any "fires" per se; they're too simple to realize this is an empty threat. They fall back as he hoists the bag from the sleigh and slings it over his shoulder.

He curses as he limps over the ice, cracking the lash at his adoring children to keep them at bay. The familiar stench of seal meat, rotting plankton and creature piss mixed with the smell of my father's smoldering flesh punches through the bag's magic. I take deep breaths, fighting the urge to vomit.

Their voices echo in the majestic caverns. I recognize how sounds ping ice and stone, especially as we enter the throne room. Sound changes there as if we've slipped underwater, everything loud and muddy. My father's hooves crunch into the ice floor, his breathing labored. His warmth seeps through the sealskin into my body.

The Other person hides. Silent.

"Behold, my wayward son!" Father swings the bag from his back and I spill out of the open top onto the ice. The impact is jarring. Every bone feels like it's about to break. My siblings shriek with joy, peals of cruel laughter needling the air. Their goat-like faces reveal vicious teeth, their bodies something between a sloth and a chimpanzee. The males have twisted horns like Father's. My powers flood back, restoring warmth to my body, and I rise cautiously on my knees. Father laughs, pointing at me.

"Who said you could stand?" With lightning reflexes, he snatches the scourge of chains by his throne and lashes my back. The metallic barbs tear my skin afresh, waves of fiery agony searing my back. I collapse, my chin splitting open on the hard surface. I hold my breath against a wave of nausea.

More laughter floods the room, followed quickly by a ripple of astonishment. I lie there, wondering what's captured the attention of my siblings. Father laughs more heartily than ever.

"Behold, my true son," Father shouts. "He who will now serve and protect me, with the love and respect that I deserve."

A rustle as the Other person climbs out of the bag.

Wobbling with pain, I rise to see the figure crouched by the empty sack, surveying his new home.

I recognize him all too well.