Page 17 of Blood and Bells

The coven’s only just started to settle here. Things are working. My brethren have found their footing and Willow Creek has found a way to live with us. It’s a fragile arrangement, whether anyone admits it or not.

And I’ve seen how quickly that sort of balance can unravel. One wrong incident, one convenient scapegoat, and suddenly everything we’ve built becomes the problem.

I have no intention of letting that happen here.

Which means I need to find out exactly who is behind this—and stop them before anyone leaps to the conclusion it was a vampire.

It looks like Ronan will get his battle after all.

I surreptitiously glance at Holly as the town’s warm glow welcomes us back. Windows fog softly. Garlands bead the lampposts. Someone in a doorway is shaking powdered sugar over a tray of rugelach. She doesn’t seem comforted by any of it. Her nose is red from the cold, and her brows are furrowed as she wrestles with the problem at hand.

Now also doesn’t feel like the time to tell her things just got worse.

Her lips press into a thin line as we push open the diner door. A bell tings. The smell of pancakes rolls over us. A pie case glows like stained glass, all apple and pecan and mince. Warmth and chatter spill out as a ripple smooths itself against one of the coffee pots. People turn to look. I’m used to it. Holly isn’t. She stiffens at the attention, holding herself tight, like she’s bracing for impact.

I guide her to a quiet booth at the back, only to find it already occupied.

By Frank.

The town mayor. And, more importantly, a Cupid.

They’re not twelve-inch cherubs. Hollywood directors and Renaissance artists did their best with the legends, but most Cupids resemble ordinary humans. This one favors the shape of a solid middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and a perpetual cigar stub. He’s currently finishing off what looks like several plates of French fries and when he sees Holly approach, his face breaks into a delighted smile.

“My favorite event planner!” His voice is warm, gruff, and booming as he heaves himself from the booth and wraps her in a crushing embrace.

Holly pats his back, a futile attempt at returning the hug before he releases her and turns to me with a grunt. “Draven.”

“Cupe.”

His mustache twitches. “It’s Frank, round these parts. You know that.”

I let it go, sensing Holly’s disapproval. “Apologies, Frank. Mind if we sit?”

“Sit, sit.” He shoves some plates aside, and Holly and I slide in across from him. Our thighs press together. I pretend not to notice. It’s really very distracting.

Frank eyes us with amusement, and it makes me wonder what he’s up to. Cupids are powerful, and Frank is stronger than most. They are also, by nature, meddlesome in the benevolent way that moves seating charts and lives.

“Didn’t expect this when your mom recommended you to me. Certainly not you and the town’s most eligible vampire.”

“We’re not together,” Holly says. “He’s…helping me. With the tree problem.”

“Nasty business.” Frank leans back, stretching his arms over the seatback. “Rogue elves, I hear?”

Holly hesitates, looking at the floor.

I don’t like her nervousness, and a strange ripple of protectiveness surges through me. It appears I’ve returned from our trip to Mímir with more than a riddle to solve, if the sudden urge to throw my coat over Holly and growl at anyone who looks at her sideways is any indication of what I’ve brought back.

“Yes, Frank. Draven chased them off.”

“Easy work?” Frank winks at me.

“Nothing to it.”

The leather of the seats creaks as Holly shuffles uncomfortably. I don’t like it. It’s a small thing, but it irritates me. Like an itch under my skin. Frank shouldn’t be making her feel worse.

Before I can say anything noble and reckless, we’re interrupted by a young man. He’s barely twenty, and he shuffles up to the booth, hands deep in his pockets as he hunches all the way over. He looks like he has a bad case of acne and love sickness, and neither bodes well.

“Mayor Frank?” He glances around nervously.