Moonset

Bailey twisted in her seat, her eyes meeting mine for the first time tonight. She looked afraid.

But more than that, she looked aware. Like she knew something the rest of us didn’t. “Oh no,” I muttered, getting to my feet. Not now.

Ash looked up at me. “Justin?”

One by one, like items being checked off a list, each one of the light bulbs exploded with a paff. Darkness was gradual, but by the time the last one popped, the only light was from the projector. People screamed, and there was movement all around me.

“Justin,” Bailey called warningly.

I spun around, looking for the source. If this was a Maleficia attack, there would be a feeling.

A sense in the air where nothing was visible, but something was definitely there. “Please be wrong, please be wrong,” I whispered.

“What the hell?”

The shout came from the floor, and I whipped around immediately. Someone had come into the theater while I was distracted. The emergency lights flicked on, spotlights that did little more than create an ominous amber glow.

“We … we … we … we … ” The movie began to skip, cutting the same moment of an earnest blonde dropping a cell phone onto a table. Over and over again, that same two second clip. I took my eyes from the floor, from the new arrival, and that was long enough for chaos to break out.

Another shout, pained this time, as a body went flying through the air. From beside me, Ash’s shock was palpable. “Santa?”

She was right. It was Santa. More specifically, one of the zombie Santa mannequins that had been set up all over the megaplex. And he was heading directly for my sister.

I leapt over the chairs in front of me in an instant, already shouting for her. Bailey took one look at her friends, and then a longer look at the Maleficia-possessed spirit of Christmas, and started backing away down her aisle.

“Only … only … only … only … ” The movie jerked again, cutting to a totally different scene.

The man’s voice was hoarse and full of rage.

More Santas surged into the theater, their movements jerky and awkward. As people tried to run, the Santas grabbed them in mitted hands. Most they pushed aside, but a few they threw.

Quickly, the crowd of theatergoers realized that running for the door was not an option. The crowd, however, was evenly divided on an alternative route. Half ran down the stairs on the far side, heading for the emergency exit that led outside. The other half ran for the top of the theater … and no route of escape.

“What’s going on?” Bailey grabbed my arm, squeezing for dear life. “What’s happening?”

“It’s going to be okay,” I lied. The first row of seats had a pipe railing over it and open space for wheelchairs. Since the stairs were occupied, I pushed Bailey under the railing and climbed up after her.

One of the Santas lunged for us, but tripped over his own feet and clattered to the ground.

“Eed … eed … eed … eed … ”

“We have to get everyone out of here,” I said, trying to think. With a row and a railing between the advancing army of Santas, they couldn’t come directly at us. At Bailey. They were going after her first. It was just a theory, but I wasn’t about to test it out.

We ran to the end of the row. Most of the kids who were making for the theater’s exit had already passed us, but they were cut off from the exit by one of the Santas. I looked towards the place we’d entered from, and Santas were guarding it, too. They’re cutting off escape routes. But how was that possible? Maleficia was supposed to destroy things. Break them down. Not play puppetmaster.

“They’re not hurting anyone,” Bailey said at my side. “Just the ones who get in their way.”

And then a moment later, “They’re after us, aren’t they?”

“One … one … one … one … ”

“Yes,” I said, keeping my voice short. “Stay away from them,” I shouted to the one or two kids who still thought going up against the Santas was a smart move. The majority of the red-

suit pack kept heading towards us.

The Santas by the emergency exit couldn’t be toppled by any of the kids rushing for the door.

Time and again, they shoved back anyone who attempted to run away. Eventually the crowd panicked and ran for the stairs, though the rest of the people were still hiding on the top row.

A shift seemed to come over the monsters then. It was like Bailey’s first question had reminded the Santas that they were supposed to be the demon-filled patriarchs of a bloody

Christmas, because where they’d been content to push people out of there way a moment ago, now the violence was escalating. Their movements stopped being as jerky, and they kept their balance better. Mouths that had been painted closed now opened, revealing bloody teeth.

It’s like they’re becoming more alive. But I didn’t know what that meant. Or how it could help me.

One of them shoved a boy to the ground below us, crawled on top of him, and started punching. Bailey gasped. “Jesse!” She dropped her hand and bolted down the step towards the

Santa.

“Bay!” I yelled profanities, jumping under the railing and trying to cut her off. The Santa raised its fist like it was going to punch her, and I threw myself between them. “Bailey, run!” There’s the curse to think about. Come on, hit me. When the curse had activated before, it had been like being covered in something heavy, right before it had cut through the wraith that had attacked me. Hopefully, history would repeat itself. I turned my neck, giving the creature a perfect target to hit.

The Santa raised its fist … and then it hesitated.

“Hit me! C’mon, hit me!” I shoved it, but the Santa wouldn’t complete the act. It took the shove, then turned its head to look down at Bailey.

“Hit me!” I shoved it again, and this time it toppled backwards. Jesse, the hair-swooping boy that had been sitting next to Bailey, struggled to his feet, Bailey at his side.

They know what happens when we’re threatened. Everything Quinn told me was wrong.

Maleficia wasn’t stupid at all. It was smart. Really smart. I raised my voice into a yell. “You want us to go with you?”

“Justin, no!” Bailey looked up from the boy, shaking.

“You only need one?” I continued, raising my hand to point at them. “Take me. But you leave my sister alone.” I looked around the theater, pretending it was so I could look at each of the

Santas, one by one, as if I really were speaking to them and not whatever was pulling their strings. But the truth was I had to figure out a way to keep thirty people safe from creatures that were about to be really, really, pissed off.

I’d seen enough creepy things in my life. The wraith, the Harbinger, the Moonset symbol. But all of those were trumped by a legion of devil Santas all cocking their heads to the side, as if they were contemplating something.

I dropped my voice, and spoke out of the corner of my mouth, moving my lips as little as possible. “Bailey, remember that thing I made you promise to never, ever do again?”

She looked startled. “What?” Then recognition hit her, and her face knotted up. “You said never. Not even if it was an emergency.”

I looked at the army of zombie Santas. “We’re a step past emergency.”

I backed up and took a step down the aisle, moving toward the screen and never once turning my back on the Santas. I kept my hand raised, finger pointed. They seemed to follow it with their eyes. I grabbed Bailey by the shoulder, and once she was behind me started to back up again, only this time I was heading for the emergency exit.

The few who were still there by the door backed away from us—a few of them Bailey’s friends from the group, I noticed.

The guards couldn’t be moved. They were like statues. But I was willing to bet that those rules didn’t apply