Scritch.

Faint but unmistakable.

This time Maurice heard it, too, and frowned as he set aside his phone. “Hunh. That’s weird.”

“It almost sounds as if it came from inside the containment area.” She glanced at the heavily magicked bars over the deep shaft they guarded. An impenetrable prison for a heinous being. Not that Paisleigh had ever met or seen the prisoner. He’d been long locked away by the time she took her turn on guard rotation. Less guard and more a token presence to provide a warning system in the off chance the security holding one of the world’s most dangerous entities had a flaw.

“Maybe it’s a rat?” A less-than-certain suggestion from Maurice, who ignored the fact they’d never seen signs of any. The South Pole wasn’t known for its rodent population.

“Should we check?”

Maurice thumped his feet to the ground. “Check how?”

Rather than reply, Paisleigh stood on the edge of the ice-limned grate, peering down, seeing nothing but darkness. Was their prisoner even still alive? She assumed those in charge knew; after all, they randomly dropped sacks with food inside. But then again, they never descended to check either.

“Not sure what you think you’ll see,” Maurice declared, joining her. “It’s not like the prisoner can climb. The pit walls are smooth ice.”

“What if he’s managed to fashion himself some ice picks?”

“How? Nothing sent down can be used as a toothpick, let alone something durable enough to dig into the hard surface.”

“But what if he did find a way?”

Her insistence caused Maurice to snort. “Let’s say he did manage to make it to the top. The grate’s not going anywhere. It’s locked. The key is being kept safe in the North Pole, not to mention there are layers of magic. See?” He knelt down and brought his hand close enough to cause the protective layer to glow.

Groan.

This time the noise didn’t come from the pit but overhead. They both craned to eye the icy ceiling. The glacier encasing the prison pit went a good hundred feet over them and was three times as wide. Only a single access tunnel allowed entry, and that only after being screened by the second set of guards outside. A set of six mages also rotated, checking on the wards, bringing supplies to the prisoner.

“You can’t tell me that noise was normal,” Paisleigh exclaimed.

“It is odd. Maybe we should check in with Helga and Bjorn.” The guards at the entrance to the tunnel.

Paisleigh almost said, “Don’t leave me,” even as she couldn’t have said why the sudden intense fear.

Maurice read her expression and did his best to reassure. “Don’t look so worried. Most likely it’s just climate change causing some cracking in the ice.”

“What if it destabilizes the prison?” she squeaked.

“It can’t. Not while the magic is intact.” Those who’d created the prison had accounted for all kinds of possibilities, including the glacier fracturing. “He ain’t getting out.”

She sure hoped not, because the whole reason why he had been locked away for all time was because of the danger he posed.

Creak.

They both eyed the ceiling, which remained whole. Still…

“Go. See what’s happening.” Paisleigh waved her hand at Maurice. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Tell you what. I’ll stay here, and you go talk to our pals by the entrance. Reassure yourself.”

“Are you sure?” She nibbled her lower lip.

“Totally sure. Ain’t nothing to be afraid of. You’ll see.”

Maurice would know. He’d been working as a guard here for years compared to her three months. Yet, in all that time, not once had she heard any noises. Never had the hair on her nape lifted and given her a shiver. However, she’d heard the stories shared by the other guards. Rumors of those who’d gone missing. The voices some claimed they heard when no one was around.

She eyed the grate in the floor, hugged herself as a shudder hit her hard, and said, “I’ll be quick.”  She’d head outside, see there was nothing to worry about, and return.

“Bring back some hot cocoa, would you? With marshmallows,” Maurice yelled as she headed into the icy tunnel bored into the glacier.

The chill of their location hit her as she left the warmth of the chamber heated with special stones that somehow didn’t melt the ice. She scurried quickly, the only sound the huff of her breath. The scuff of her boots. The jingle of a bell—

Er, what?

She halted and listened.

Nothing. She glanced back and saw only the smooth, icy walls of the tunnel. Must have imagined it. She walked more slowly and heard it again.

Jingle.

Jangle.

Definitely a bell. Impossible. Bells weren’t allowed in the pit chamber. Or anywhere else in the South Pole for that matter. Something about upsetting the magical shields of the prison.

Hesitating, she glanced back and then forward. Which way should she go?

The waft of cold air hinting of cinnamon from the direction of the pit decided her. Terrified, she ran full out, arms pumping, aiming for the hint of daylight at the end of the corridor.

At first, she thought it was her rapid gait making her unsteady, only to realize the ground underfoot shook. She braced her hand on the wall and felt it vibrating, humming against her palm.

Oh dear.

Not good.

Not good at all.

But even more worrisome was the sudden zigzagging crack that appeared overhead. Paisleigh bolted, struggling to keep her balance as the very floor buckled and heaved as ice groaned and cracked.

Impossible. The magic was supposed to prevent this from happening.

The rumbling intensified, and she lost her balance, hitting the floor on her knees. But that wasn’t the worse of it. The sound of the ringing bell deepened.

JINGLE.

JANGLE.

“HO.

“HO.

“HO.”

As an impossible voice resonated, the tunnel came down on top of Paisleigh.

She regained consciousness when the rescue crew dug her out of the icy rubble. Disoriented, she nonetheless gasped as she saw what remained of the glacier.

Nothing but ice chunks scattered all over.

But most terrifying of all was the realization of what had happened.

“The Earth mother help us all.”

Santa had escaped.

Chapter One

Anchorage, Alaska. Passing the time reading a dropped flyer.

Drink Up, Grinches! Half-price lap dances for every pitcher you buy.…

An expensive pitcher of lager, Leif would wager, tossing the flyer as he waited in a dirty alley outside a strip club. The neon lights at the front didn’t penetrate the shadows as he waited for his target to emerge. He’d already peeked inside to confirm the tip and vetoed acting in public. The dim lighting and drunken patrons added too many unpredictable elements.

The alley provided the perfect spot to watch. Those leaving the club via the front had to cross the mouth of it to grab a taxi, as there was no stopping in front. If his target chose the more discreet exit into the alley itself, then even better.

As the witching hour neared, the club emptied, disgorging staggering drunks loudly speaking and gesturing to their companions. Silent patrons emerged, shoulders hunched as if not wanting to be noticed. It wasn’t just men. A third of the audience now comprised women. Then there were the employees, waitresses and dancers alike, bodies and spirits tired after hours of smiling and being “on” for their audience. They moved quickly passed, covered neck to toe against the cold, hands in pockets. He’d wager more than a few clutched keys or sharp objects for the over-eager patron who needed a reminder the fantasy inside the bar didn’t extend outside.

The people leaving slowed to a trickle, and still Leif hadn’t seen his target. Had he been given the slip?

A high-pitched giggle, adorably sweet, raised the hair on his neck and indicated the end of his wait.

A long bare leg, finished in a stiletto heel, appeared first, the thighs barely covered by the sequined mini skirt, the fishnet stockings no protection against the cold. A short faux-fur jacket was the only semblance of warmth on the young woman passing by the alley. On her shoulder, an eight-inch cookie with a round head, two arms, two legs, iced with a bowtie and bright red buttons that matched its mouth.

A gingerbread man who’d come to life and, if left unchecked, a nuisance to society, pulling pranks, peeping, corrupting other food. It was Leif’s job to apprehend him.

The stripper stopped at the mouth of the alley. But on the orders of her passenger.

Round black spots for eyes focused on Leif suddenly, spotting him amidst the shadows. The mouth twisted, and the brows shot down in an angry slant. “If it isn’t one the North Pole’s annoying soldiers.”

Leif stepped into the middle of the alley, hands by his sides. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Ralph.” The target’s real name. Ralph The Five Thousandth, to be exact. Those that came before having had unfortunate accidents. Living cookies had a short shelf life, and the gingers tended to be especially spicey about it.

“Why do you have to be such a narc, Leif? What’s the harm in me having a little fun?” The gingerbread man eyed the stripper holding him and cooed, “Tell him, honey, you want to lick my icing.”

“Depends, are the ingredients vegan?” queried the woman.

“Vegan!” huffed Ralph. “What is wrong with people these days? Trying to ruin a recipe that’s lasted millennia.” The cookie leapt from her shoulder, springing to the ground, and landing in a flourish with arms out swept.

“I don’t put animals in my mouth.” The woman strutted off, and Ralph managed a rude gesture that took both his arms before turning his attention to Leif. “Thanks a lot for ruining my night.”

“Not my fault you’re made with butter and eggs.” Leif pulled out some ribbon. “Shall we get this over with?”

“What if I don’t want to go back to Santa’s Village? All everyone does is work, work, work.”

Ironic coming from Ralph since he’d only ever played pranks. “You know the rules. Living cookies aren’t allowed outside of the village.” Because the non-magically inclined tended to get weird about their food talking back to them.

“So unfair.” Ralph moped.

“You do realize they didn’t send me after you until we got reports of you causing trouble.”

“People these days can’t take a joke.”

“You hid inside a coffee shop and screamed, ‘You’re murdering my cousin,’ every time someone ate a donut.”

“I stand with my cake brothers.”

“You can stand with them back at the village. Let’s go.”

A single brow arched, and the mouth rounded in mirth as Ralph giggled. “Only if you catch me.” The cookie took off running.

Despite having expected this, Leif sighed. Why did the gingers always force them to chase? Probably because some of them actually did manage to escape. But Ralph had forgotten something. Leif wasn’t just any soldier. Half elf from his father’s side, half reindeer shifter from his mother. And not your run-of-the-mill forest buck. As a descendent of Santa’s original sled team, Leif could fly.

He launched himself into the air and ran, his legs moving as if he were on the ground, only he moved above it, able to see Ralph and the many turns he took. Eventually, the cookie ran out of sugar and slowed.

Now was Leif’s chance. He landed with a soft thud in front of Ralph, who backpedaled too slowly.

Leif grabbed hold of the squirmy cookie that yelled, “Let me go. I’m not going back.”

“You need to stand and answer for your crimes.” Ralph didn’t just have a thing for strippers and making non-cryptids uncomfortable. In the short time since he came alive, he’d also smuggled drugs into the North Pole. The kind that had good people wandering into the ice fields outside their town shields, where they sometimes got eaten by a hungry polar or fell into a crevasse too deep to survive.

“Come on, Leif. You know what they’ll do to me if you take me back,” Ralph whined. “I’m too young to be eaten.”

“We both know you’re long past your best before-date.”

“That’s just a general guideline. Look at me.” Ralph extended his arms. “I’ve been keeping up the icing.” Indeed, the piping appeared rather fresh, but Leif couldn’t ignore the chunks that had crumbled away. The patchwork of dough that didn’t quite match. The hint of moldy fuzz along its jaw.

“It’s time, Ralph. Let—” Before he could finish that thought, his phone went off. The strident jingle indicated an emergency at home. Startling seeing as how it had never gone off before.

During Leif’s moment of shock, his grip loosened, and Ralph slipped away, running while cackling, “You can’t catch me. I’m—”

The rat pounced on the cookie and ripped off its head. While the rodent tore into the remains, Leif checked his phone, blinked, and then whistled in disbelief at the message sent by his dad.

He escaped.

There could only be one he. And this was bad. It should have also been impossible.

Leif’s magic shifted him, clothes to fur, human face and pointed ears to a reindeer with an impressive rack. While he could fly in his two-legged shape, if he wanted to move fast, he needed four.

With a galloping stride, he flung himself into the air, where it took only a moment to gather enough wind energy to give himself a burst of speed that had him back to the North Pole within a few hours. He landed on the runway just outside the perimeter of the village. Santa’s Village, to be exact. His home.

As Leif cantered to a stop, he changed back to his other form, that of a male, late thirties, with dark hair long enough to cover his pointed ears for when he went out amongst the humans. Unlike others of his ilk, he didn’t appreciate strangers thinking they could touch them, always asking, “Are they real?”

The eastern gate was open this time of day, guarded by elves armed with spears and, as an added precaution, a warlock as well. Old Merlo, his beard touching the ground, his pointed hat covered in stars, gave a nod as Leif passed. They didn’t have many elven defensive and combat magic users. Most of their talents usually resided on the creative side of things.

Leif’s long stride took him to the bright red structure that, despite no longer being used as a stable, retained its original name of Jingle Bell Barn. When the sleigh teams were phased out, it turned into a command facility for the operation of the squads that protected Santa’s Village, because as the world grew so did the danger to everyone working and living in this hidden place.

Inside the barn, the stalls had been turned into offices where elves observed flickering screens: videos, social media threads, texts. They monitored as much as they could to ensure the village remained secure. Too many naughty people in the past had made attempts to invade and even take over for them to be complacent. The greedy kept coming after the incredible Plum Pudding Toy Factory that could build any toy in existence and even create some. Then there was the more recent addition of the Eggnog Electronics Facility to accommodate those asking for smartphones, video games systems, and more.

The evil someone could do if they managed to gain control of either… It couldn’t be allowed, and it was up to Leif—a member of the Yule Squad—along with Mistletoe Crew and Poinsettia Posse, to ensure that never happened.

He waved to those who chirped hellos at him and made for the office of the Musher, the person who oversaw the squads. Also known as Lars Blitzen, his dad.

“What in the candy corn happened?” Leif exclaimed as he walked right on in.

Sitting at his desk, almost buried by its size, his father rubbed a hand over his weary face. “Leif, thank the Christmas Spirit you’re here. We have an emergency on our hands.”

“So he truly did escape?” Leif queried.

Dad nodded.

“I thought there was no way that could happen.”

The statement led to his father rolling his shoulders. “By all accounts, it shouldn’t have been possible. Even now we’re struggling to understand. One moment, everything was fine, and then, with barely a hint of warning, the whole place came down.”

“How did he escape? That pit was over a mile deep. The walls sheer ice.”

“We don’t think he climbed, as we didn’t find any signs of it. It would appear he flew out.”

“Without magic?” His understanding was Krampus had his powers taken away to ensure he could never escape his prison.

“We think he had help,” his father admitted.

It took Leif a moment to recover from the shocking admission. “Who would do that?” Surely, no one in Santa’s Village. The elves, reindeer, and others all knew from a young age the story of how Krampus, an evil spirit, infected Santa Claus and almost destroyed Christmas.

“I’m less worried about who and more concerned about where he has gone. We have to find him before he can do any harm.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Just look for reports of a large-sized monster with big freaking horns.” Leif had seen the images of the monster Santa became.

Dad’s lips turned down. “If he’s got help, then it might not be so simple.”

That arched Leif’s brow. “What kind of idiot would join forces with Krampus?”

“Keep in mind, the newer generation didn’t live through that time and has no idea of the horror we went through. They still believe in who he used to be, and rumor has it they want him set him free.”

“Are they dumb?” Everyone knew Krampus was bad. A killer. The worst thing ever. “Haven’t they studied our history? Has no one explained that Krampus isn’t the original San—”

His father practically dove over the desk to slap his hand over Leif’s mouth. “Shh. Don’t say his name.”

He pulled his father’s hands from his lips and said deliberately, “Santa Claus.”

“Leif!”

“You’re being ridiculous. How does saying his name draw his attention?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Well, we don’t have a choice since Krampus or Santa Claus or whatever you want to call him is on the loose. I say, if he hears and wants to come at me, let him. It would make the task of capturing him easier. You hear that, Santa? Come and get me!” he yelled to the ceiling of the room.

“Feel better?” his father asked dryly.

“Yes, because you’re being crazy. He’s not listening. It’s only the song that claims he can hear us all the time. You yourself told me that’s not true.”

“That aspect of the legend wasn’t true of him before. I’m not sure about the thing he’s become.”

“Let’s assume for a moment he didn’t suddenly acquire extra powers. That would mean he can’t hear us unless he’s in the room or using a spell. More importantly, he has no idea about naughty or good either.”

“And? I don’t see why that’s important.”

“Because, if Krampus keeps to his usual style and goes after the naughty, then he is going to need The List.” The List being the Holy Grail for Christmas. Updated daily all year round and heavily guarded, only accessible to a few people.

“Already thought of that. Candy Cane Central went on high alert the moment we got word of his escape. As an added precaution, Mistletoe Crew is guarding Allie Snowball.” The current curator of the naughty-and-nice book.

“Now, don’t freak out, because I have to ask. I don’t suppose there a chance he’s returned to his jolly self?” Leif had never met the original Santa Claus, only heard the stories passed down by his dad, who’d served under the big man before his demise.

No one quite knew what happened. How had Santa left himself open enough to be infected? Some believed the weakening of his powers began with the baby boomers. The explosion of families. So many gifts, the North Pole couldn’t keep up. It led to the creation of their first factory, as the elves pivoted to keep up with demand for the good children who’d earned a present.

Along with the increased good came the bad. Record numbers of naughty kids entered The List. Some theorized it broke Santa’s spirit and led to him turning into the monster that became known as Krampus. Not that anyone knew at first that Santa was infected.

Previously, when Krampus infected someone, he had only his host’s abilities to draw upon. Humans gave him flesh and a limit to his strength. But when Krampus slipped inside Santa—who chose to sacrifice himself rather than see someone else become host and start the cycle again—he found power. It was said the monster learned how to mimic the big man. His laugh. His smile. He even fooled Mrs. Claus for a while.

It took years, and the death of many, before the elves finally pieced it together, that the person killing the bad children on their list was the jolly man himself. The elves and all those who worked in the village banded together to end Krampus’s reign of terror.

Since they feared killing Santa’s body would unleash Krampus to find another body, they instead chose to strip the magic from Santa and put him in a prison he couldn’t escape. Forever locked away that no more children would die.

Bereft at the loss of her husband, Mrs. Claus left not long after, never to be seen again.

And the elves…

Went on without Santa.

The sled and reindeer were retired in favor of a drone system in conjunction with a portal that allowed them to literally deposit presents under the tree. No need to fly around the world at ludicrous speed. No more risking life or limb. Some people forgot to confine their pets for the night, and more than a few elves returned with bite marks and haunted expressions. The stories they told about some cats had even the adult elves hugging each other.

Life went on without Santa and, until now, had run rather smoothly.

“I’m afraid Krampus is still as dangerous as before,” his father said, replying to his last query. “Possibly even worse given the decades he spent alone.”

“If you have The List covered, then what do you want me to do?” Because his father would never waste Leif’s talents on mundane guard duty, not when he was one of the few who could move among humans without undue notice. A taller than normal elf at almost five foot ten, Leif towered over most, even his father, a pure-blood elf who was an almost unheard of four foot eleven. Leif’s height mostly came from his mother’s side. His reindeer uncles, Sven and Mikhail, were both almost six feet.

His father appeared grim as he announced, “You need to find Krampus before he ruins Christmas.”