Page 1 of Blood and Bells

Chapter One

The first thing I notice when I step into the town square is the absence of the tree.

Not just any tree—the tree. The one that’s taller than every building in Willow Creek, so brightly lit that the town had to file for separate permits from NASA. It’s the crown jewel of our Winter Wonderland Gala, the literal centerpiece of the town’s festivities and the sap-filled, beating heart of our community.

And it’s gone.

In its place is an empty patch of churned-up snow surrounded by a few crushed ornaments, and what looks suspiciously like elf-sized footprints leading away from the crime scene.

Elf footprints are on-brand for the Christmas vibe that Willow Creek has going on, but these are completely wrong. They’re sharp little dents that clash with the sugar-cookie rooftops and underscore the absence of lights and other decorations that adorned the square only a few hours ago.

The town is supposed to be a winter wonderland, a place where Hallmark movies are made. Usually, the square is a picture-perfect postcard with fresh snow, twinkling lights, and enough hot cocoa flooding the air to warrant an FBI investigation. Now it looks like Christmas sneezed glitter and then went for a lie-down.

I clutch my clipboard to my chest like it’s a certified flotation device, breathing in the square’s usual cinnamon-cocoa aura and getting…nothing. Just cold.

This can’t be happening.

Not now.

Not one week before the gala.

The logical part of my brain tries to reassure me. Maybe the tree was moved for maintenance? A quick redecoration? Maybe someone has sent it for a quick spruce up. I wish that unintentional pun brought me joy, but I’m almost positive it’s a pine tree. Deep down, I know the truth. Someone, or something, has stolen it.

I’ve barely slept all week. The Gala was my chance to prove to myself and everyone else that I’m capable of putting on a Christmas that would dazzle. A Christmas that means something. That matters. Not just another small-town festival. Willow Creek’s Winter Wonderland was my one shot.

My mom built her reputation on events people talk about for years.

This was supposed to be the start of my career.

And now, it could be over before it even started.

I crouch to pick up a shattered ornament—a tiny red bauble split right down the middle. The sight of it is oddly personal, like Christmas itself has taken a direct hit.

I scan the area, hoping to see something positive, but the whole place is in disarray. Strings of lights droop pathetically from the lampposts, and half the candy cane decorations have toppled over. The giant inflatable snowman, our second-most beloved decoration, lies half-deflated and face-down in the snow like he’s missed his cue and is taking it very personally. With one resounding wheeze, it seems to resign itself to its fate, collapsing even further and declaring it’s had enough of this world. I’ll be tempted to join him if this farce continues.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, shaking my head.

My fingers turn ice cold, despite my gloves. There’s no time to panic. I just need to find a solution. A replacement tree. Extra decorations. Maybe a miracle or two. Move Christmas? Is that an option? Maybe I could hammer together a bunch of coat stands and paint them green, and⁠—

“It’s gone, isn’t it?”

The voice that interrupts my backup planning is smooth, deep, and laced with just the right amount of smugness to set my teeth on edge. I don’t need to look to know who it is, but I do anyway. Sure enough, there’s Niklaus Draven, leaning casually against a lamppost like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Nick, as I begrudgingly call him, is one of the town’s resident vampires. And not just any vampire—the annoyingly perfect kind. He’s tall, dark, and infuriatingly handsome, and he knows it. He’s dressed in a black coat so tailored it could probably double as body armor, and his jet-black hair is slicked back, except for one rebellious strand that curls over his forehead, giving him the air of a rom-com villain who moonlights as a cover model.

Those freakishly silver eyes that dazzle like moonlight gleam in the streetlamps, giving him that unholy vampire glow that somehow manages to be both creepy and frustratingly handsome. They’re like polished mirrors, equal parts unnerving and unfairly attractive.

“Not now, Nick,” I snap, turning away and brushing snow off my coat. “I have enough problems without adding a sarcastic vampire to the list of things I have to worry about.”

“Oh, come on, Holly,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “I was passing through and noticed something seemed...off. Missing, perhaps?”

“Spotted the absence of the giant, seventy-foot spruce tree, did you? Incredible sleuthing. You must be a whiz at finding Waldo.”

“I think it’s a pine?”

I count backwards from ten, giving up at eight.

He steps closer, scattering snow as he moves. “Touchy, aren’t we? I assume the missing tree isn’t intentional?”