Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Emery
Apparently, a Hallmark movie and a haunted house got together and gave birth to a creepy little Christmas miracle in the town square of Crowsbridge Hollow.
Garlands loop between lampposts, twined with twinkle lights and fake cobwebs.
Skeleton reindeer “pull” a sleigh decorated with red ribbons and black velvet bows that’s parked in front of town hall.
Wreaths with tiny skull ornaments hang from black streetlights.
Christmas carols drift from some hidden speaker, remixed with sleigh bells and low, spooky chimes.
“Wow,” I breathe. “This is…a lot. How’d I miss all this?”
Next to me, Declan shrugs. “Decorating committee probably didn’t get as far down as the Applewood Inn, yet.” He glances down and grins. “Welcome to Season’s Creepings.” His amused tone barely conceals his contempt for the touristy display.
“I kind of love it,” I admit. “Christmas isn’t…my favorite. But I’ve always loved Halloween, so blending them together seems pretty brilliant.”
He glances at the display again, a more thoughtful expression sliding over his face. “I used to be the opposite. Dreaded Halloween and loved Christmas. This seemed like the worst idea ever, but it’s grown on me recently.”
Recently? Because of me?
Settle down, Emery. He’s a fling. Stop expecting more.
A cold ribbon of air slides under my coat, slithering against the skin of my arm where the mark rests. It tingles, then settles, like it doesn’t want me to forget its existence.
Nope. Not thinking about that tonight.
The glow from all the lights pushes back the fog creeping along the streets, creating the perfect mood. I dig my camera out of my bag, brush my thumb over the familiar buttons, and hit record.
“Crowsbridge Hollow town square,” I murmur for my future editing self.
“Locals appear to be fully committed to the concept of spooky Christmas. We’ve got haunted reindeer, cursed garlands, and—oh, look, a snowman with actual fangs.
Isn’t this amazing?” The note of awe in my voice isn’t quite on brand, but I can’t find my usual snark tonight.
Declan snorts. “You mocking us locals, Emery?”
“Mocking? No.” Heat flares over my cheeks. “Admiring, yes.”
I pan the camera over the crowd. Kids in puffy coats dart between vendor booths. Adults stand in clusters, laughing, faces flushed from the cold and whatever’s in their paper cups. A couple of vendors are dressed in Victorian caroler outfits. One guy is straight-up Krampus. Horns and everything.
“I love it,” I admit under my breath.
“Good.” Declan’s fingers brush mine, like he’s not sure if he wants to hold my hand out here in front of people. I hook my pinky around his and give a little tug.
Tension seems to flow out of his body.
“Come on,” he says. “You need real food before all that Applewood sugar puts you into a coma.”
“I resent the implication that baked goods aren’t real food.” Still, my stomach grumbles on cue. Traitor.
We weave through the crowd, passing a few familiar faces. I nod to the librarian and Mrs. Applewood as Declan steers us toward a row of food stalls. The smell hits first—cinnamon, butter, sugar, roasted nuts, grilled something. My mouth waters.
An older woman wearing a purple knitted hat and black-and-purple hooded sweatshirt with bird skeletons all over it, lights up when her gaze lands on Declan. “Mr. Sterling! Think you’ll help me haul the extra bags again this year?”
“I already told you, if you stopped making a hundred pounds of the stuff—”
“Hush.” She flicks a napkin at him, then turns her attention to me. “Hello...” She lifts an eyebrow and swings her gaze toward Declan as if waiting for an introduction.
“Carol, this is Emery. It’s her first visit to Crowsbridge Hollow—”
“Emery!” Carol snaps her fingers. “You’re the YouTuber who likes to poke holes in urban legends and stuff, right?”
My throat goes dry. Another local who recognizes me. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
She slides her gaze Declan’s way. “Interesting company.”
He slips his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. A zip of heat swirls around my marked arm. From the contact? Or my reaction to his protective display?
“She’s getting to know the town,” Declan says, almost in warning.
Carol nods, then gives me a sly smile. I can’t figure this lady out. “That’s good. Enjoy the energy of the festival-prep before things get too chaotic.”
I glance around at the different vendors helping each other set up displays and admiring items. “It seems more cozy than chaotic.”
“That’ll change,” Carol scoffs.
She scoops an obscene amount of kettle corn into a red paper bag dotted with black skulls and holly leaves, then hands it to me. “This is on the house. Hopefully, when you make our spooky little town famous, you’ll mention the best kettle corn on the East Coast.”
“Wow. Thank you.” The bag warms my hands. I pop a few pieces in my mouth, savoring the crisp salty sweetness. “You’re right,” I mumble around the mouthful. “So good.”
“You’re sticking around to watch Declan give the first Slayride tour of the festival Friday night, right?” Carol asks.
I cast a sly glance at Declan. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” Carol nods. “Have fun checking out the rest of the vendors. It’ll be your best chance to see everything before we’re packed for the weekend.”
“Thanks.” I hold up the bag of corn. “And thank you for this.”
She winks and turns to help a customer.
We move onto the sidewalk. Declan reaches into my bag, stealing a handful of popcorn. I squeal with fake outrage and playfully smack his arm.
“How dare you,” I tease, grabbing the bag and dramatically shielding it against my chest.
Declan’s mouth curves into that slow, sinful half smile that turns my knees to jelly. “But that’s a sharing size.”
“What all thieves say.”
My arm tingles again. I shift the bag of popcorn into my other hand and rub the spot though my sleeve, trying to alleviate the strange sensation without calling attention to it.
“Hey.” Declan’s gaze drops to my arm, then back to my face. “You cold?”
“Not exactly.”
He studies me for a few beats, then steers me toward a stall with a garish black, green, and red sign: Krampus Koffee & Cursed Cocoa.
A barista wearing black lipstick and a sweatshirt with ghosts in Santa hats carrying stacks of books leans over the counter and flashes a warm smile. “What deviance can I talk you sinners into tonight?” she asks with a velvety voice and dramatic flourish of one hand.
Declan glances at me and lifts an eyebrow.
“Uh, I have to go with the cursed cocoa,” I say.
“Excellent choice.” She nods to Declan. “How about you, Deck?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Coming right up.” She grins and prepares our drinks.
“It doesn’t have peppermint in it, does it?” I whisper to Declan. I should’ve asked before ordering.
“Nope. Just lots of chocolate and ghost-shaped marshmallows.”
“Perfect.” I turn and stare at the townspeople and decorations. “For a town that pretends the curse doesn’t exist, you sure draw a lot of attention to the sinister side of things.”
“Sinister side.” His lips twitch. “That sounds like a good name for another YouTube channel.”
“I don’t have time to run another one,” I laugh. “It’s all yours.”
“Tourists like a theme.” Declan shrugs. “Town leans into it. That’s all.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You don’t like the festival?”
He hesitates. “It’s fine.”
“What a non-answer.” I narrow my eyes. “You don’t enjoy watching a man dressed as Krampus trying to untangle Christmas lights from fake headstones?”
He follows my line of sight. “That’s the mayor. And yes, I enjoy that part a little. He’s very serious the rest of the year.”
The barista returns with two steaming cups topped with whipped cream and, as Declan promised, ghost marshmallows. “How cute! Thank you.”
She slides them across the counter. “Careful, they’re hot. And cursed, of course.”
“Of course.” I nod at her and she winks.
Declan hands her a bill and doesn’t wait for change.
We wander to the edge of the square, where it’s quieter and less crowded. I balance my cocoa in one hand and the kettle corn in the other, upset I don’t have my camera out to capture all the festivities.
“You all right?” Declan asks, taking a sip of his cocoa.
“Yeah, I was just thinking, I should be filming this.”
His gaze flicks to my cup. “Let me hold that. And give me your bag.”
He leads me closer to the town courthouse where he sets our cups on a low stone wall and takes the bag of corn from my hands.
“Thank you.” I eye the corn. “Don’t eat all that on me.”
He chuckles and pops a handful in his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I take my camera out and turn toward the square again, watching a group of teens testing fake fog machines. One shrieks when it blasts her in the face, and I laugh.
Declan settles beside me, our shoulders almost touching. Fog drifts along the ground where the lights don’t quite reach, soft tendrils curling around people’s boots. Between the cocoa heat and his nearness, my skin feels too warm and too aware.
I aim the camera toward the center of the square and grab some footage. When I think I have enough for Wren to use as background, I shut the camera off and tuck it away in my bag.
His voice drops. “You’re quiet.”
“Just taking it in.” A lie, or half of one. I’m taking him in, too—how closely he studies all of the vendors and people around us. Like this place keeps him on high alert no matter the situation.
A cold pulse flares under my sleeve. The mark prickles, an ice-cold needle sliding across my skin.
Declan notices the way my breath snags. “There it is again.”
“I’m fine.” The words come too fast.
His frown says he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. “People will linger for a while. Lot of energy around the festival.”
“I bet.” The longer we’re here, the louder and brighter things seem to be, even as the fog thickens.