A detective, a corpse, and a goth girl walk into Christmas.
St. Nicholas is dead. Murdered. And Christmas is about to get very weird.
Winter, his daughter, isn’t exactly jingling all the way. She’s armed with a battle-axe, two sausage dogs who think they’re wolves, and a seasonal rage that could melt the North Pole. Her backup? Chris, an undertaker who got dragged into this mess while trying to enjoy a quiet life of embalming and existential dread. And then there’s the detective, gruff, joy-resistant, and quietly obsessed with solving the year-old case of the missing children. The rest of the Met think he’s a failure. He’s starting to agree.
Together, this mismatched crew must navigate a London where skeletons are marching, the whale at the Natural History Museum is suspiciously alive, and something antlered is rising from the deep with a centuries-old vendetta and questionable taste in holiday décor.
The clues are buried in grief, myth, and a frankly alarming amount of glitter. And Krampus? He’s coming, with bells on.
If they can’t solve the murder, find the missing, and stop an apocalypse wrapped in tinsel, Christmas won’t just be ruined.
It’ll be replaced by something antlered, carnivorous, and deeply invested in festive rebranding.
