Page 85 of Blood and Bells

I turn, catching sight of Nick and the vampires already deep in the fray, cutting through rogue elves with a blend of strategy and sheer, chaotic force. Ronan’s axe flashes as it sends a cluster of elves scattering like festive bowling pins. Crinkshaw moves through the chaos with quiet inevitability, flicking candy canes with unnerving precision. Mr. Patel salts a clear path across the square. Mrs. Lee stations her cocoa urn on the church steps like a field command post.

The choir shifts into “Joy to the World,” and the notes ring like little hammers.

And then there’s Nick, right in the center of it all, his shirt slightly askew, his movements fluid and deliberate and full of controlled violence. He cuts through the chaos like he belongs there—but it’s the moment his eyes find mine that knocks the breath out of me.

For a moment, the madness fades.

He holds my gaze, and there’s something in it—warm, unmistakably proud—that lands harder than it should, like he can see exactly what I’m trying to hold together here and trusts me to do it.

“Enough!”

Santa’s voice cracks across the square before I can move, magic flaring in a surge of cold red light that rolls outward and sends people staggering.

But Willow Creek doesn’t fold.

“Snowball fight!” someone yells, and it’s like a switch flips.

The square erupts.

Snowballs fly in every direction. Rogue elves scatter, shrieking as they’re pelted from all sides. The brass band lurches into “Good King Wenceslas” like it’s a war march. Teenagers run supply lines from the gazebo. Someone’s dad is attempting a fairy-light lasso with alarming confidence. The reindeer sweep the flank, bells jangling like cavalry.

Mrs. Christie plants herself beside me, still tapping her rolling pin against her palm like a threat with excellent follow-through, and fixes me with a look that brooks absolutely no nonsense.

“Holly, this is your moment,” she says, her voice firm. “We’re behind you. Every single one of us. Just say the word.”

The words hit hard—harder than they should—and for a second, everything tightens in my chest.

Not fear.

Something bigger.

It’s not just her. It’s all of them. The town, the vampires, the chaos and the carols and the absolute madness of it all—and somehow, impossibly, they’re looking at me.

Waiting.

I draw in a breath and stare at the snowball melting in my palm—and decide that I am absolutely not letting a wind sprite masquerading as a very unjolly fat man take my Christmas from me.

“LET’S SHOW SANTA WHAT WE’RE MADE OF! CHARGE!!!!!”

Mrs. Christie doesn’t wait for a second invitation. She barrels forward, rolling pin raised, letting out a scream that is both impressive and deeply concerning from someone her age. Eighty-something or not, she moves like a woman with purpose and excellent upper-body strength.

Behind her, the square detonates into holiday chaos. Snowballs, candy canes, and the occasional pie fly through the air with surprising accuracy. A rogue elf lunges at me, shrieking something unhelpful, but I duck, snatch up a fallen snow shovel from the ground, and swing.

It connects.

The elf bursts into a spray of tinsel, its shriek dissolving into a warped fragment of “Jingle Bells” that echoes across the square.

More elves go down in glittering explosions, confetti spiraling through the air in festive shapes that would be charming under literally any other circumstances. Carols clash with questionable Christmas hits, and the whole thing teeters on the edge of beautiful and completely unhinged.

I’m trying not to think about the clean-up.

“Keep going!” I shout, dodging another rogue elf that leaps from behind a collapsed popcorn garland. “We’ve got this!”

Nick is deep in the fray, moving with sharp, ruthless precision. The candy cane staff in his hands looks less decorative and more like it was forged for exactly this purpose, and he wields it accordingly, sending elves bursting into festive debris without breaking stride.

I scoop up another snowball as I move, hurling it straight into an oncoming elf. It hits square in the chest and detonates into streamers, the creature releasing a cheerful line of “Ding Dong! Merrily on High” as it vanishes.

I still cannot get over how weird that is.