Crap. Crap crap crap crap.

That was the singular, dominating thought that occupied my mind as Wolfram and I pursued Toot's glowing form towards where we thought that the next kidnapping was going to occur: a small family of minor talents living in a district of old, red-brick houses. It was snowing, and for once I was glad of it. The constant snowfall would keep any tails we may have picked up away from us.

Speaking of which, Toot's contacts had turned out to be a clan of bridge-trolls, Wyldfae, incidentally. They hadn't been too eager to offer him up any information, but we'd managed to convince them otherwise. So we'd left the Canals of the city and were now racing against time to beat a god-level being at doing its job.

I mean, wow. It's not like every day you get the opportunity to challenge Santa Claus – Sinter Klass, as he was known over here – at his own game. For some reason, children were disappearing, and he was the sole being that I knew of that had the power to completely bypass a threshold like that.

And he did it by going through the chimney.

I spoke in bursts, trying to pace myself as we ran. "Wolfram," I rasped, my throat raw from the bitter winter air, "What do you know that may help us?" I couldn't waste any breath on snark, not this time.

"Not much," he answered. He was obviously in better shape to running in this climate than I was. Duly noted. "Other than that Amsterdam is seen as his second seat of power, or the Saint Nicholas', anyway. Take that in mind. He'll be more formidable here than, say, back in Berlin, where I am more comfortable. Or you would be in your… town of origin."

"Chicago."

"Right. But that is all that I can recall off of the top of my head. Surely, the family is asleep and unsuspecting. We will not have time to ask them for permission – we will have to enter through force."

I winced, both against the cold and that notion. "Won't that seriously depower us, though?"

"Yes. But I still have hope that we can negotiate, maybe, and get to the bottom of this without undue conflict."

"Negotiating with a possibly-rogue King of Winter. Nice."

"He is a King of Winter? How do you know this?"

I eyed Toot's floating form, still leading the way not far ahead of us. "A little Faerie told me."

Wolfram sniffed, but didn't say anything other than, "Das ist interessant." Great.

He pointed a hand up ahead. "There's the house. Quickly now, we may not be late. Call back the Faerie – and then remove the door. I doubt that they have any substantial wards around, certainly nothing that can threaten us."

"Toot," I shouted, against the wind, "get back here!" He'd blipped back to hover at my eye level, off to the side, as soon as I'd said his name, but I'd finished the statement anyway to save face if nothing else. Not that Wolfram was paying any attention, what with his hackles raised 'n all.

"But just in case," he continued, "assault it with me. Two is better than one, ja?

"Apologize later. Palic!" His force spell was harsh, both against the mental senses and my ears. I added a quick, "Forzare!", and together we drove through their little ward and blew the door in.

I felt bad, really. But I hadn't gotten to lay down the law (or muscle) on anything in a long time, so it was kind of nice, in a twisted way that reminded you that you were going to have to fix it later. But one problem at a time.

We leaped through the door, Wolfram with his freaking broadsword in hand and Toot brandishing his letter opener. I had my hand on my revolver, but kept it in my pocket – just in case any innocents were around.

I felt the home's threshold slap against my wizard's senses; it was something that I'd never gotten used to, which was a good sign I guess. That meant that I wasn't used to breaking and entering. Often, anyway. Now where's my karma? Or at least some brownie points?

There was a lanky, dark shape crouched in front of the fire-place, beside the small Christmas tree with a few gaudily-wrapped presents underneath it. I couldn't get a good look at it, but knew something was up when it slapped Wolfram across his sternum, flipping him over my head with a surprised curse.

Toot traced a line across the thing's forearm, which ended in claws, to which it screamed rather disproportionally to the wound it had received. Ah. So it was a Fae, then, but to which Court? Maybe we'd luck out and it wouldn't be related to old Saint Nick himself after all.

Then it launched itself at me, and I realized that it looked like a very pretty, very strangely-dressed black man. His face had a sort of youthful, timeless quality I've found in all Sidhe, complete with the cat-slit eyes. Creepy, right?

I threw myself to the ground, underneath the flying figure in Renaissance garb, and grabbed for a fireplace poker. I didn't know how bulletproof it was, and without my magic I didn't want to take any chances. It was an unusual poker, too; apparently designed for two hands, it was about five feet long and was very ornate, ending in two broad tips that made a right angle. Handy.

I was advancing on the Fae, poker held in my freezing hands like a spear, when it waved its hands at me and spat, "Nee! Nee!"

Dumbstruck, stabbed forward on impulse. Stars and stones. Just twenty-seven million years of instinct that really amounted to, "Hulk Smash!" Nothing major, of course.

The Fae screamed, louder than last time, and I absurdly feared that it would wake the neighbors. Thoroughly distracted, I was bowled over by it, and fell on my ass as it made a beeline for the chimney and went out of sight.

I sat up after a minute or two, clutching my poker like a security blanket. Wolfram made his second entrance not too soon after, his sword back in its sheath and his face ashen and pale.

"Do you know who that was, Harry?"

I winced a little, and replied, "Not Jazz. You got thrown out of the house, not him." The German didn't get it. Gah. Humor is wasted on the young, I guess – parents (and two-century old Wardens) just don't understand.

He sighed, and said, "That was Black Peter. Sinter Klass' assistant. By attacking him with iron, Warden Dresden, you've now made war on him."

Hell's Bells. I'd declared war on Santa Claus.

"As if that's not bad enough," he intoned, "what do you know of the Wild Hunt? If I recall correctly, you encountered de Erklonig some time ago, yes?"

I nodded the affirmative, still a little shocked that a childhood icon was now out for my blood.

"Yes. Well. He summoned the Wild Hunt then, but I am sure that you know that he is not the only one that can call forth the Hunt when needed. There are others… and you have just disturbed another of them. He will come for you, Warden Dresden. And he will end you and many others if you do not act, maybe."

I just can't get a break, huh?