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Jack Frost finished draining the magic from an elf, feeling the sweet, good magic flood his veins and strengthen his warlock nature. The male had begged Jack not to take his magic, but Jack had heard the same pleas from elves and other magical people and nothing had ever kept him from taking what he needed to keep going.

There was too much at stake.

When the male’s magic was gone and he was essentially human, Jack dropped him to the floor and called for his second in command, Thale.

“Yeah, boss?” the turned elf asked as he hustled into Jack’s office.

“Dump him outside Northernmost.”

“Why not just kill him?” Thale asked, black eyes curious, brow arched.

Jack spun and sat behind his massive desk, opening a drawer and fishing out a cigarette and his favorite lighter. “Because I’m watching how they react.”

He’d done various things to those he stole magic from over the years: killed them outright, drained them entirely and left them human, or turned them into one of his evil followers. But while he needed an army to enact his best plan yet to take over the Well of Magic and kill his brother, every follower he added to his ranks needed magic to survive, and only Jack could provide magic to those who were evil. They were all shut out of Northernmost, the protected area surrounding the Well of Magic, where good magic users replenished themselves every year, so Jack had to provide replenishment to his followers at a personal loss of his own magic.

It was a terrible catch-22. He needed followers to fight Santa and his Guardians, but the more followers he had, the more magic he had to siphon. Lately it felt like all he did was siphon magic from good users and give it to his evil followers.

With a deep sigh, Jack inhaled on the cigarette and blew out a straight stream of smoke toward the carved rock ceiling of his office.

“I just don’t get it.”

He glanced at Thale. Why the hell was he still here?

“If you don’t see the benefit of watching what the Guardians do when we dump people they are supposed to protect out into the cold, then maybe you shouldn’t be my number two.”

It was Jack’s turn to arch a brow, and arch it high he did.

Thale’s gray skin paled. “No! No, I get it. I’ll dump this one and watch.”

“Good. You can go now.”

He flicked ash from his cigarette into his new favorite ashtray – the skull of a warlock who’d tried to escape after Jack had imprisoned him in the cells below – and watched as Thale hauled the elf over his shoulder and rushed from the office.

A portal opened and Jack settled back in his chair. “You could portal outside of my office and knock, you know.”

Nightmare, the most powerful evil dream walker in the world, strode through the portal, dark eyes flashing purple, and magic swirling around him like a rotten, dark mist.

“What, are you banging someone in here? I thought you were celibate.”

Jack scowled. “I’m in mourning.”

His beautiful wife had been taken by his brother years ago. Jack hadn’t even been tempted by anyone since he’d lost her. He’d simply replaced that part of his life with rage.

Nightmare smirked. “I’ve got what you asked for.”

Balancing the cigarette on the edge of the hollowed-out skull, he extended his hand and accepted the glass vial Nightmare removed from his jacket pocket. Inside the vial was a swirling violet and gray mist.

“Is this really what dread magic looks like?” Jack asked.

“Mixed up with the terror of a hundred witches.”

“A hundred?” Jack couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Nightmare shrugged. “Give or take.”

“Perfect.” Jack rolled the vial between his fingers, watching the mist coil and twist inside the glass like it was made of snakes. It was exactly what he needed to bring Northernmost to its knees.

“What now?” Nightmare asked.