Yes Ironspell There is a Santa Claus Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

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  YES, IRONSPELL,

  THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS

  Book Ten of the Ironspell Chronicles

  MH BONHAM

  Llaughing Llama Media, LLC

  © 2020 by M. H. Bonham.

  Published by Llaughing Llama Media, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  Cover by M.H. Bonham.

  Printed in the United States of America

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  The Ironspell Chronicles Series

  (Asterisk Denotes Full-Length Novels)

  That Dragon was in No Way my Fault (Book One)

  A Date with a Werewolf (Book Two)

  Alchemist Rules (Book Three)*

  Elfshot (Book Four)*

  The Trouble with Bats (Book Five)

  Wolfsbane (Book Six)*

  Oathbreaker (Book Seven)*

  Winter of Our Discontent (Book Eight)

  Hellfire (Book Nine)*

  Yes, Ironspell, There is a Santa Claus (Book Ten)

  Frost and Fire (Book Eleven )*—Available 2021

  Chapter One

  Everyone thinks of Santa Claus as a kindly old man who brings presents to kids on Christmas, but I know better. He hired a PR firm a long time ago to whitewash his reputation, so the most people had to fear from him was a lump of coal. But I’ve met Claus, and he’s positively terrifying. And I’m beginning to suspect my mom told me he didn’t exist just to keep me safe.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

  My name is Bob “Ironspell” Ironspell-Cabas, and I’m sure you’ve probably heard about me in the news. No? Well, I’m a police officer with the DWTF—that’s the Denver Wizard Task Force—and yeah, I know the acronym sucks. The Denver Wizard Task Force is Denver, Colorado’s supernatural division that deals with magical creatures and magic when they break the law. Oh, and I’m a wizard—or so everyone considers me nowadays—and I’m immortal, thanks to a Fire Giant in Muspelheim. Long story, that.

  On December 15th, I sat with my sixth official partner whom I hadn’t managed to get blown up, eaten, or flamed in the almost eight months since I got promoted to DWTF, and we were having a drink to celebrate in the werewolf bar, Trader Vic’s. We both figured it was some sort of record for me, but honestly, I seriously doubted anything could harm my partner, Vetr, much. See, he’s a Jotun of the Frost Giant variety. Complete with blue skin, white hair, and taller than anyone I know when he’s in his actual form. Thankfully Jotun are shapeshifters, which means he can appear as a Human, and even reduce his size to something far less scary. He’s also my senior in the department.

  Right now, Vetr was about six-foot-five, but kept his “normal” Frost Giant appearance. That meant pale blue skin and runes tattooed along the left side of his face. Of course, he made himself taller than me, because size does matter. I’m no runt at six-foot-flat, but I suspect he’s overcompensating.

  At Vetr’s feet lay his wolf friend, Ulf, whose name wasn’t really Ulf, but Sköll. Sköll, as in the freaking wolf who is destined to swallow the sun during Ragnarok. Only there would be no Ragnarok, thanks to yours truly, but that is another story for another time. Sköll prefers the name Ulf, which Vetr had given him.

  December in Colorado is a mixed bag. It can be sunny and warm one day, and a raging snowstorm the next. Today, snow was falling thick and fast, promising to snarl up traffic and make the roadways into one lovely sheet of ice. Not that we had to worry about getting home. We were both magic users, and both of us could cast reliable portal spells without using casting circles or any of that nonsense. Vetr, because he was Jotun, and me, because of my Dark Elven and Light Elven heritage. Despite all that, I am Human, more or less.

  We had shut off our radios now that we were off duty because no one really wanted a drunk Jotun or inebriated wizard to help out in traffic accidents. Vetr was nursing a mead that Alaric, the Alpha wolf and owner of the establishment, got from Scotland. I had tried it, but decided on a local craft brew. We were discussing the latest addition to the mantle above a crackling fire—the Gnome in the Home. These things came into vogue when the Gnomes in an attempt to outdo the Elf on a Shelf, leased real, live miniature Gnomes as Santa’s spies to determine who was naughty and who was nice. Only, most people found it creepy to have a real, live spy in their living rooms who could travel at a whim throughout their house and into the bedrooms. So the Gnomes in the Home soon found themselves out of work. From what I hear, they’re working gigs on Fiverr.

  Apparently the werewolves found a Gnome in the Home skulking about looking for work. So, they tied him up, gagged him, and bound him to the top of the mantle’s miniature Christmas tree for extra cheer. Vetr and I were arguing over whether to take the little guy down and free him before Yule, when the door flew open and a gust of wind and snowflakes swirled into the bar. A tall, old man looking like a Gandalf cosplayer strode in. Except he had only one eye. The other eye was just a dark socket, and wasn’t intimidating in the slightest. No, not at all. His gray robes flowed around him in the wind, and he wore a blue, pointed wizard’s hat with a broad brim. Two ravens perched on his shoulders, and two wolves walked beside him in heel position like a brace of trained hounds.

  “Don’t look now, but it’s the old one-eyed bastard,” I grumbled in my best sotto voce. Vetr looked up from his mead, deep in his cups, and grunted. Ulf let loose a growl I could feel along the floorboards. The other patrons, mostly of the werewolf variety, stopped what they were doing and stared hard at the old man; their golden eyes gazed on the intruder like a pack sizing up a bear. All deadly predators; all cautious around the other’s turf.

  The intruder’s eyes met mine, and right then, I knew I was in trouble for something or someone, though what I’d done, I hadn’t a clue. The old man cleared his throat. “I demand Guest Right.”

  Tom Ulfhednar, the manager of Trader Vic’s, strode forward. At seven-feet tall with brass eyes, a blond and gray crew cut, and muscles that put Vetr to shame, most patrons shrank from him when he caught their gaze. Not the old man. Instead, the one-eyed bastard met his stare with his gray eye and that black pit of an eye socket. “What do you want, Ancient One?” Ulfhednar growled. “If you’re here to cause trouble, then we will not extend Guest Right.”

  “I come in peace,” he spoke. I snorted in response, and the old man looked at me. “I just want to talk to a patron of yours.”

  Tom looked at me and back at him. “You may talk, Ancient One, but if you sling magic or use any weapons, or if your creatures do anything to harm our guests or property, Guest Right is rescinded.”

  “As I would expect.” The old man stared at me again.

  I took a pull of my beer. I started thinking mead might be a good idea now. Or everclear, at this rate. The old man nodded to Tom and sure enough, made his way towards my table. Vetr looked up, his eyes smoldering, and Ulf’s growl turned into a snarl. “Easy, Ulf.” Vetr laid a hand on the massive wolf’s head. “We’re not here to fight.”
br />   I took another swig of my beer, emptying it. Sure enough, the old man pulled up a chair and sat down across from us, his wolves growling at Ulf. “Easy, Geri, Freki, we aren’t here to start a fight.” He pointed to the floor beside his chair and I swear, the two wolves laid down better than I’ve seen trained dogs do in an obedience ring. The two ravens cawed and glared at me with their red eyes as though they might want to make a meal out of me. The old man looked up at Tom. “A mead, please.”

  “Make that two,” I replied.

  “Three,” Vetr growled. “I’ll need something to keep me from throttling the Aesir.”

  One of the ravens cawed and turned its baleful gaze on my partner. The Ancient One raised an eyebrow. “I am not here to fight with you, Jotun.”

  “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at the old man. “And what are you here for?”

  “To seek your help.”

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t help myself, really. The old man and I had a prickly relationship, at best. “You mean the All-Father can’t deal with something and needs a couple of cops to go arrest someone?”

  The Ancient One looked miffed as Vetr and I laughed. The ravens ruffled their feathers and were probably thinking about plucking our eyes out. “I am not going by my usual name. You may call me Jölnir, if you must.”

  “Jölnir?” Vetr sneered. “Why don’t you just call yourself Saint Nicolas, Kris Kringle, or Santa Claus? That would be more fitting.”

  I facepalmed. “Jölnir? Seriously? Next you’ll be ticketed for double parking eight tiny reindeer and going down people’s chimneys to deliver toys to kids.”

  “Hey! Don’t forget Rudolph! I like Rudolph!” Vetr took another swig of mead.

  Jölnir glowered at us and slammed his fist on the table with a loud crack. The ravens squawked and spread their wings ominously. “Fuck you. I came here because we have a problem.”

  “What problem could that possibly be?” I took the mead cup from the server as she walked by.

  “Children are disappearing throughout Denver.”

  Chapter Two

  “What?” I set my mead cup down and stared at the old man. “What do you mean, children are disappearing throughout Denver?”

  “I think that’s perfectly clear.” Jölnir took a draught of his mead and nodded. “Not bad. I should give my regards to Alaric.”

  Vetr scratched his head. “Did I miss something? We’re cops. We’d know if there was a rash of missing kids.”

  I took a gulp of the mead. The sweet honey wine stung the back of my throat as the cinnamon, cloves, and ginger burned their way through my nasal passages. “Vetr’s right. We’d know if there were any new abductions.”

  At that moment, both Vetr’s and my smartphones lit up with Amber alerts. My partner and I looked at each other, and then back at Jölnir. Vetr’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just orchestrate this?”

  “Of course not, you idiot Jotun! I wouldn’t be here seeking your help, if I did.” He leapt to his feet and leaned over the table. The ravens flapped and squawked before settling back down on his shoulders. His wolves growled, eliciting a snarl from Ulf. Jölnir’s eye was full of menace. Not that he was terrifying, or anything. Not in the least.

  I took a deep breath and clutched my mead cup tighter to conceal my shaking hand. Immortal or not, the asshole could make my life miserable, if he wanted to. His dungeons are especially nasty. Or so I’ve heard. Cough. “Okay, so how did you know about this?” I picked up my cellphone and scrolled through the texts. One after another child disappeared; some right in front of their parents.

  “It’s my duty to know.” Jölnir’s voice was still a growl. “I didn’t sacrifice my eye for the knowledge of the winning lottery ticket, you know.”

  I smiled weakly. “You happen to know those numbers? I’m thinking about retiring someplace where you won’t visit.”

  “I can go nearly anywhere,” Jölnir remarked. “I have treaties with all the pantheons.”

  “So, you knew someone was going to kidnap these children. Do you know whom?” I scratched my head. I hoped Geri and Freki didn’t have fleas, because the last time a wolf with fleas came in here, there was a run on flea and tick medicine.

  “Krampus.” Jölnir nodded. “And he’s taken them in one of the places I can’t go.”

  “Hey, I thought you said you could go anywhere.” Vetr gave Jölnir the stink-eye, which looked kind of glassy, because he still was drunk.

  “Nearly anywhere,” I remarked before the one-eyed bastard replied. “So, the Krampus took them to someplace where there isn’t a treaty. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” Jölnir took another gulp of the mead. “And I have no access.”

  “But we do?” Vetr glanced at me, his face clearly skeptical.

  “He has them in a pocket universe that can only be entered through Helheim.”

  “Like I know how to get to Helheim?” I stared at Jölnir. “Going to the land of the dead isn’t my idea of a Christmas holiday.”

  “I thought you’d be more sympathetic since these are Human children. I can see I was wrong.” He finished his mead and stood up. Vetr grasped Jölnir’s wrist as he set down the cup. The Ancient One glared at the Jotun’s fingers. “You should remove that hand, before I remove it permanently.”

  Vetr grinned, showing his very sharp, predator’s teeth. “Good luck with that. You better be able to back that up.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to look for those kids. I just don’t know how to get to Helheim, besides the usual methods.” I wedged myself between the Jotun and Aesir—no mean feat when Vetr had Jölnir’s wrist in his grip. I wished I could’ve put up a shield; this could get messy.

  Jölnir looked up and studied my face with his one eye. He relaxed and sat back down; Vetr released his wrist. Jölnir rubbed his arm. “Your friend has a powerful grip, even for a Jotun.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad he’s on my side. So, how are we going to find the Krampus with the kids? I don’t fancy going to Helheim. I’ve already been to the Christian Hell.”

  “Loki’s daughter should be able to tell you to where the Krampus is.” Jölnir nodded. “And since you two don’t have anything else to do other than get drunk before Yule, you might as well bring the kids all back, while you’re at it.”

  “Tricky,” Vetr said. “We have no way to Helheim except through you. And I’m not going to spend Yule—and the rest of my life—trying to figure out how to return to this Universe.”

  Jölnir sighed—something we were both getting used to when we pointed out issues with other people’s plans. “I swear on my powers if you, Ironspell and Vetr, find all the children and get them away from Krampus somehow, I’ll return you safe and sound to Midgard…”

  “Earth. Denver, Colorado. Trader Vic’s.” I backed up and crossed my arms.

  “What he said.” Vetr took another pull from his mead.

  Jölnir rolled his eyes. “…Earth. Denver, Colorado. Trader Vic’s, okay?”

  “You swear on your powers you’d do this?” I squinted at him.

  “I think I just said that.” The Ancient One was looking annoyed. Not hard for him to do.

  “Okay…” I glanced at Vetr, who shrugged. “Can we like call you three times and you’ll show up if we’re in trouble?”

  Jölnir looked pissed. “Don’t push it, Ironspell.

  “Okay, okay. How do we get there?”

  “I can port you to Helheim now…”

  “We want a ride.” Vetr shook his head.

  Jölnir and I stared at him. “A ride?”

  “Yeah, a ride. Especially if we have to escape fast with the kiddos. I dunno about you, but an angry Krampuses…Krampuses…Krampusi?... are no fun to deal with.”

  I rolled my eyes now. “Krampus would be plural of Krampum…”

  “Shit! There’s more than one?”

  I raised an eyebrow. Vetr was so over his eight if he was cussing and using crappy English. “I doubt there’s more than o
ne Krampus. It’s just a name.”

  “Whew, I thought we were totally buggered.” He drained the last of his mead and looked around for a server. “Beertender! More mead!”

  Tom Ulfhednar looked up from the counter. Without taking his eyes off of us, he poured two cups of coffee and strode over. The strong aroma told me it was their house brew, Hair of the Dog. No, it did nothing for hangovers, but it did help sober you up a bit. I accepted the coffee. “Thanks, Tom. We’ll need you to keep it coming.”

  “Will do.” He smiled, showing a small amount of fang.

  Vetr eyed the mug suspiciously. “This isn’t mead.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s coffee-flavored mead.” I grabbed some sugar packets, ripped them open, and dumped them in Vetr’s cup.

  “Seriously?” Jölnir asked.

  “It’ll be sweet—how would he know?” I shrugged.

  “Coffee-flavored mead…” Vetr picked up the mug and tasted it. “Not bad…not bad at all.” He guzzled the Hair of the Dog down; Tom arrived with a full pot and poured more into the Jotun’s cup.

  “We’ll need more sugar.” I inhaled my coffee and poured more for myself.

  Jölnir watched us with a quizzical look but didn’t comment. As Vetr drank more of the precious elixir of life, I continued to dump sugar in his mug, scattering the empty packets on the table.

  “Do you think it’s wise having a wired Jotun on a sugar high?” Tom remarked as he brought us more sugar.

  “It’s okay. The sugar and caffeine sobers him enough to be on his toes. I’ve never seen him get the coffee jitters.” I ripped open five more packets and dumped it into Vetr’s mug and emptied the pot into Vetr’s mug. I handed the pot back to Tom. “Keep it coming.”

  Tom left, and Jölnir watched Vetr stare into the steaming mug, his hands cradling it like a newborn gargoyle. I grinned as I noticed the mug had a werewolf Santa Claus on it. “Now, as we were saying, we need a way to get into Helheim to find Krampus.”

  “A ride.” Vetr insisted, staring at his precious mug. He took a gulp.