Page 134 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“Oh shit.”
I’m not sure who said it first, me or Spectre or Caine.
Either way, it was an appropriate response.
I flung my feet out of bed and tore the zipper of my duffel bag open, yanking out the demon-leather corset and pants I’d worn to Hael.
“Get the kids.” I hadn’t even finished my sentence, but the boys were already moving. In less than a minute, they’d snatched the children from the bedroom that adjoined ours through the Jack and Jill bathroom, and I was dressed. I slipped my magic pistols into their holsters, strapped on my enchanted knife, and grabbed my broom.
With my red witch hat—the one with the holiday-themed charms on it—atop my head, I took off down the stairs after the boys with Connard on my heels. Raeanne was already awake, her blond hair braided, a plaid robe over her shoulders.
Luckily, the majority of Pack Citrine Sunrise was here, too, sprawled like puppies across the sofas, the guest beds, the rugs. They were awake and staring at the crumbling bits tumbling down the living room fireplace. There was one in nearly every room in this house.
The krampus were particularly susceptible to heat, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t have their tricks.
“We need a pair of people at each fireplace to keep them hot. Add logs, use lighter fluid, it doesn’t matter. Just keep them burning.” I looked Raeanne straight in the face and I knew without a doubt that if they had to, the members of Pack Citrine Sunrise would shift to their wolf forms. “If the flames go out, run. Don’t wait around to see what might happen.”
“Trouble’s found you again, has it?” Raeanne asked, but then she just sighed and turned to look at the rest of her pack. As the alpha female, she was the only one who could give orders. “You heard Graceley.” She nodded with her head and several pack members stood up. “Two to a fireplace. Hurry up.”
We put the kids in the center of the room, surrounded by Caine’s family, and the boys took a quick minute to yank on their shoes and shirts, to grab their weapons.
I reached out to Bastet.
We’re in trouble here.
How so? she responded, her tone mild, but concerned.
Krampus.
It was the last message I was able to send her before the windows in the cabin blew out, sending glass shards everywhere. The wind howled in, bringing snow and ice, and the large person-sized fireplace in the living room went out.
I imagined it wasn’t the only one.
The power flickered, plunging us into cold, wintery shadows.
For a few seconds there, everything was quiet.
And then I heard it, the howl of a war horn coming from the direction of the backyard.
Raeanne cursed—well, I think she said something like fudge sticks but close enough—and then I heard another horrible sound, the jingling bells woven into a krampus’ hair, the ones spelled to induce fear and anxiety. As soon as that sound began to echo throughout the house, I smelled blood.
Wolf blood.
It was coming from upstairs.
Not to worry though: a few seconds later, hooves appeared in the living room fireplace, too, and we got our very own glimpse of a category eight demon. The krampus dropped its horned head down and grinned, its teeth visible even in the swirling darkness.
“Vrag!” someone shouted—the werewolf word for a witch-eater—and then the entirety of Pack Citrine Sunrise was shifting.
Of course, while the werewolves had once helped the witches push the krampus to the point of extinction, these demons weren’t here for wolves. They didn’t give a flying fuck about wolves. And if they wanted witches to eat, there was certainly easier prey out there.
They were here for me.
“Grab the kids,” I hissed, snatching up Fey and tucking her under an arm while she screamed. I ignored her, counting on Spectre and Caine to grab the others. We backed away, toward the center of the room as a fight broke out between the wolves and the krampus.
Numbers would determine the direction of this fight but, as there were only forty or so members of Pack Citrine Sunrise, I was worried. With my daughter still tucked under my arm and flailing, I moved over to the one of the shattered windows—still warded, the glass was just broken—and peered out into the winter storm.
What I saw terrified me to my very core.
One wolf could handle one krampus—maybe. Two or three wolves and the chances were good. But five krampus to one werewolf?
“We need to run.” Caine said it first, locking eyes with me in the dark.
He was right. Not only were we virtually guaranteed to lose this battle, but if we left now, we might be able to draw at least some of the witch-eaters away to give the Citrine Sunrise wolves a fighting chance.
“But where?” Spectre asked, breathing hard, Zavier clinging to his neck, his face buried against the hollow of his father’s throat.
