Free Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) by Sonia Halbach

heart rate swelled.
    “We need to leave,” Maggie said as a rush of anxiety pulsed through her. “Preferably without another Garrison seeing us.” She searched around the banquet hall before pointing to the doorway on the mezzanine. “McNutt has already been up that way. He probably won’t come looking there again. And we’re clearly underground. So the higher up we go, the more likely we will find a way out of here.”
    Henry didn’t argue and followed Maggie up the stairs. When reaching the mezzanine, they saw an additional flight of steps within the doorway. Rough voices and an accordion playing a light-hearted jig could be heard coming from whatever lay at the top.
    “I guess we’ve found the rest of the Garrisons,” observed Henry just as shouting filled the air. A cadence of drunken laughter followed shortly after.
    “It must be the Krog,” Maggie said.
    She started up the steps, but Henry grabbed her arm.
    “What are you doing?” he hissed.
    “I want to see.”
    “Maggie, I’d be willing to bet they’re not too friendly.” Henry rubbed his jaw sorely.
    “At least let me hear what they’re saying. McNutt probably told them about us.”
    “That’s exactly what I’m concerned about.”
    But Maggie was already halfway up the stairs before Henry could stop her again.
    Upon reaching the top, Maggie stooped low on the steps and gazed out into what looked to be a tavern, complete with a stool-lined bar, shelves overflowing with bottles, and a table surrounded by card-playing men. Like the previous Garrisons, everyone at the bar and around the table was dressed in identical black coats and brass belts―even the half-conscious accordion player, slouched on a pile of cushions in the corner with a hat pulled down over his eyes. He sloppily performed a slow melody.
    “Did you see how upset McNutt looked?” one man said with a stiffened jaw. He laid a card on the table and then bit down on the pipe wedged between his teeth.
    “Mick’s face was as red as his hair,” another player commented.
    The men laughed harshly.
    “Like he saw a ghost. Blabbering about people from the outside.”
    “Probably just a couple Foundlings having a good joke on him. Rightly so.”
    “Always working,” the man with a pipe scoffed. “Never even comes up for a drink. Quite unheard of for an Irishman.”
    The man behind the bar filled a short glass with dark liquor and shot it back into his mouth. “We don’t want a stupid mick up here. What do you say?” he slurred. “Should we teach McNutt a lesson? Give him the ol’ one, two, three.” He pulled out a revolver and jovially spun its cylinder.
    “I would worry about yourself, Comstock.”
    The room turned to stare at a man with a finely trimmed black beard who was leaning against the end of the bar, an empty tumbler loosely gripped in his hand.
    “What did I do, Castriot?” asked the man behind the bar who had a short, stodgy build and thick moustache. He haughtily stuck the revolver back in his belt.
    “All of you are just sitting around like it’s a normal night,” Castriot snarled. “No one taking extra shifts to watch the Foundlings.”
    “Why do we need to watch them? Most are working the Sleigh Pit,” Comstock said, blithely. “Relax, Castriot.”
    Seconds later, a tumbler whizzed overhead and shattered against a nearby wall. Maggie and Henry covered their heads to protect themselves against the raining pieces of glass.
    “I should just send the lot of you back to the outside. The country can never have too many mindless men.” Castriot then stormed out through a door behind the bar, leaving a silent room behind him.
    “Why did you have to get him upset, Comstock?” the pipe-smoking man asked through his taut lips.
    “Oh, Curzon, it’s Christmas Eve,” Comstock defended. “Castriot is always stressed this time of year. There’s nothing anyone can say that won’t get him upset. He’s always worried about ol’ Nicky coming