Page 93 of Blood and Bells

“For the love of tinsel,” Frank murmurs. “No, Casey. Not every candy cane is a lifelong commitment.”

He exhales, then fixes him with a look.

“We need the sort of love that survives washing up and weather. Something quieter. Less…sugar-fueled. More enduring.”

I take a shaky breath, and the uncertainty in my chest eases. I glance back at Nick. The skepticism is gone, replaced by something solid that’s been built, piece by piece, whether either of us meant it to or not.

“We can do this together,” Nick says, his voice low and sure. “Let’s fix that tree. Let’s remind Santa what real Christmas magic looks like.”

“Together,” I say, meeting his gaze.

Nick nods, his cocky smile fading into something more sincere. “Always together, Frost.”

My heart promptly forgets how to heart, which is going to become a problem if it has an arrhythmia every time Nick looks at me.

We set the globe back on the plinth and rest our palms on the glass. Around us, the town draws in—vampires on one side, neighbors on the other—closing the circle with cold hands, wool gloves, and the occasional sniff. Meribel lifts her arms and the choir hums the first safe notes everyone knows.

Inside the globe, the light brightens—then falters, as if it’s waiting.

I glance at Nick. He’s still looking at me like that.

It’s nicer than nice.

Like a chair that never wobbles.

We step forward, the snow globe sitting menacingly on the raised platform, its crooked star glinting with unsettling brilliance. The glow inside flickers, throwing warped reflections across our faces. My unreliable heart kicks up again, and this time it’s not fear doing it.

Around us, Willow Creek closes ranks like a quilt being pulled up to the chin—people and vampires shoulder to shoulder, mittens brushing leather gloves, a handbell chiming the town into a shared purpose. There’s no speech, no fuss. Just everyone doing their bit and holding their place.

I reach out, and with a nod from Nick, we lift the globe together. It’s heavier than it looks, dense with too much magic. Cold bleeds through my gloves, sharp enough to bite, but I don’t let go.

The square settles into a hush. Bruised, exhausted, still here.

Nick glances at me, his expression steady.

“This is the part where we don’t mess it up,” he says quietly.

I huff a breath that might be a laugh. “Define ‘mess it up.’”

“Best case? Nothing happens and we stand here holding a cursed ornament while everyone politely pretends this was a good idea.”

“Mm.”

“Worst case?” He tilts his head toward the globe. “It explodes, the tree stays corrupted, and Santa comes back brandishing a naughty list with two names on it.”

“Festive.”

“Extremely.”

I shift my grip, feeling all of it—the everything—pressing in. The town. The night. The ridiculous, stubborn fact that everyone’s still here.

“And just to check,” I say, tightening my grip, “are we working with a method here, or are we leaning heavily on vibes?”

“Strong, decisive vibes,” Nick says.

“Excellent. Love that for us.”

Nick glances at me, then out at the square.