Page 16 of Blood and Bells

The urge to strangle him rises, and it’s briefly satisfying to consider—until I remember it wouldn’t end him or put me out of my misery.

“You don’t know where it is, do you?”

“Not exactly,” he says simply. “But we’ll find it.”

I give him a long look. “And you’re sure about that?”

“Of course,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s Christmas. Everything’s a little more magical this time of year, right? We just have to follow the signs.”

“Right,” I mutter under my breath, reassured about nothing. “I suppose we’ll be following a star and hoping it leads us to a baby and a manger next.”

It’s hard to tell whether my frustration comes from his carefree attitude or the unsettling feeling gnawing at me as the wind picks up, howling through the trees like some kind of warning. The snow is falling heavier now, and the path ahead looks just as creepy as when we started, the forest pressing around us like it’s trying to keep us here. I glance toward the distant lights of Willow Creek, a small beacon of normalcy, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

“We’re not getting anywhere like this,” I say, my voice tense. “We’ve got to head back into town. If we’re going to get that tree and stop whatever this is, we need a plan. And we’re not going to find it out here, in the middle of nowhere.”

Nick falters slightly, his gaze flicking toward the darkened woods behind us. He nods, as if weighing the idea. For a moment, one glorious moment, he looks like he’s actually thinking about things properly, like he’s finally taking something seriously.

“You’re right. We’ll regroup. Over eggnog. Perhaps a mince pie might help?”

Maybe not.

“An eggnog?” I repeat, incredulous. “After what we just heard, your solution is a Christmas treat?”

Nick shrugs. “What’s the point of fighting the supernatural if you can’t enjoy the finer things in life? Eggnog is holiday spirit in a cup. It’s a survival tool at this time of year.” He stops and gives me a look I can’t quite figure out. “Just because serious things are happening doesn’t mean we have to be serious about them. Life is supposed to be fun.”

“Oh? That’s your ancient wisdom, Saint Nick of the Undying? Life is supposed to be fun, is that all?”

He stops so fast I slam into his back. He turns, suddenly serious.

“The best purpose I’ve found in life is to savor it. Like warm cocoa with the people you love. If you find better, send me a postcard.”

With that, he spins and starts walking back, hands tucked in his pockets, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all. Watching him for a second, confusion and frustration tangle together—a vampire telling me to lighten up feels like a failure so astounding that it doesn’t have a name yet.

But part of me knows he might not be wrong. Maybe all of this would be easier to deal with if I just went with it.

With a sigh, I follow him.

“If we’re getting eggnog, mine’s getting an extra shot,” I say. “And I call dibs on the biggest mince pie.”

Chapter Six

We make our way back to town, not quite arm in arm, but closer than before. Holly’s been quiet, but at least she hasn’t complained about the cold or the fact that all we got from Mímir was a cryptic riddle. Given her usual fire, her silence seems like progress.

She’s discouraged. It shows in the way her shoulders hunch and the drag of her steps. We made real progress today, but she doesn’t see it. Now doesn’t seem like the time to say I told you so.

Eggnog will help.

Telling her about the Hollow of Mischief can wait.

With luck, things will feel more settled by then. There’s something about Holly Frost that gets under my skin in a way that unsettles me deeply. Not bad, exactly. Not as such. Just confusing. Strangely warm. The heaviness in her steps and the way she grumbles about the cold are increasingly difficult to ignore.

More concerning is the fact that I bent the truth about the Hollow of Mischief. Its nature is perfectly clear. I know exactly how to get there, but the walk back didn’t seem like the right time to gloat. Not when her nose was all crinkled up like discarded wrapping paper. Describing it as anything other than a pocket dimension surrounded by evil, buried beneath a mountain of misery wouldn’t have been comforting, and anything more accurate requires an advanced degree in Eldritch Geography with a minor in Quantum Physics.

The truth is, it’s difficult to navigate and harder to survive.

Not somewhere rogue elves end up by accident or for amusement.

It means that the pesky two-foot-high menaces are working for someone. It means that Holly has gotten herself into more than she realizes. And it means that someone is targeting Willow Creek—and that this is a bigger problem than I thought it was.