Blood and Christmas Bells

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The first thing I notice when I step into the town square is the absence of the tree.

Not just any tree—the tree. The one that’s taller than every building in Willow Creek, so brightly lit that the town had to file for separate permits from NASA.

It’s the crown jewel of our Winter Wonderland Gala, the literal centerpiece of the town’s festivities and the sap-filled, beating heart of our community.

And it’s gone.

In its place is an empty patch of churned-up snow surrounded by a few crushed ornaments, and what looks suspiciously like elf-sized footprints leading away from the crime scene.

Elf footprints are on-brand for the Christmas vibe that Willow Creek has going on, but these are completely wrong. They’re sharp little dents that clash with the sugar-cookie rooftops and underscore the absence of lights and other decorations that adorned the square only a few hours ago.

The town is supposed to be a winter wonderland, a place where Hallmark movies are made.

Usually, the square is a picture-perfect postcard with fresh snow, twinkling lights, and enough hot cocoa flooding the air to warrant an FBI investigation.

Now it looks like Christmas sneezed glitter and then went for a lie-down.

I clutch my clipboard to my chest like it’s a certified flotation device, breathing in the square’s usual cinnamon-cocoa aura and getting…nothing. Just cold.

This can’t be happening.

Not now.

Not one week before the gala.

The logical part of my brain tries to reassure me.

Maybe the tree was moved for maintenance?

A quick redecoration? Maybe someone has sent it for a quick spruce up.

I wish that unintentional pun brought me joy, but I’m almost positive it’s a pine tree.

Deep down, I know the truth. Someone, or something, has stolen it.

I’ve barely slept all week. The Gala was my chance to prove to myself and everyone else that I’m capable of putting on a Christmas that would dazzle. A Christmas that means something. That matters. Not just another small-town festival. Willow Creek’s Winter Wonderland was my one shot.

My mom built her reputation on events people talk about for years.

This was supposed to be the start of my career.

And now, it could be over before it even started.

I crouch to pick up a shattered ornament—a tiny red bauble split right down the middle. The sight of it is oddly personal, like Christmas itself has taken a direct hit.

I scan the area, hoping to see something positive, but the whole place is in disarray.

Strings of lights droop pathetically from the lampposts, and half the candy cane decorations have toppled over.

The giant inflatable snowman, our second-most beloved decoration, lies half-deflated and face-down in the snow like he’s missed his cue and is taking it very personally.

With one resounding wheeze, it seems to resign itself to its fate, collapsing even further and declaring it’s had enough of this world.

I’ll be tempted to join him if this farce continues.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, shaking my head.

My fingers turn ice cold, despite my gloves. There’s no time to panic. I just need to find a solution. A replacement tree. Extra decorations. Maybe a miracle or two. Move Christmas? Is that an option? Maybe I could hammer together a bunch of coat stands and paint them green, and—

“It’s gone, isn’t it?”

The voice that interrupts my backup planning is smooth, deep, and laced with just the right amount of smugness to set my teeth on edge.

I don’t need to look to know who it is, but I do anyway.

Sure enough, there’s Niklaus Draven, leaning casually against a lamppost like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Nick, as I begrudgingly call him, is one of the town’s resident vampires.

And not just any vampire—the annoyingly perfect kind.

He’s tall, dark, and infuriatingly handsome, and he knows it.

He’s dressed in a black coat so tailored it could probably double as body armor, and his jet-black hair is slicked back, except for one rebellious strand that curls over his forehead, giving him the air of a rom-com villain who moonlights as a cover model.

Those freakishly silver eyes that dazzle like moonlight gleam in the streetlamps, giving him that unholy vampire glow that somehow manages to be both creepy and frustratingly handsome. They’re like polished mirrors, equal parts unnerving and unfairly attractive.

“Not now, Nick,” I snap, turning away and brushing snow off my coat. “I have enough problems without adding a sarcastic vampire to the list of things I have to worry about.”

“Oh, come on, Holly,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “I was passing through and noticed something seemed...off. Missing, perhaps?”

“Spotted the absence of the giant, seventy-foot spruce tree, did you? Incredible sleuthing. You must be a whiz at finding Waldo.”

“I think it’s a pine?”

I count backwards from ten, giving up at eight.

He steps closer, scattering snow as he moves. “Touchy, aren’t we? I assume the missing tree isn’t intentional?”

I whirl on him, brandishing my clipboard like it doubles as a stake. “Why would I intentionally remove my own centerpiece?”

“I don’t know. I’m not an event planner. Does it add a touch of drama?”

“Do you have any idea how much work goes into this gala? The tree is the centerpiece, Nick. The centerpiece! Without it, the whole event is ruined.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my meltdown. “I had no idea Christmas trees were this vital to your well-being. Do you want to hear my theory about how it came to disappear?”

“Is it anything like your theory on how vampires and garlic came to be associated due to an over-seasoned spaghetti aglio e olio? Pass. I don’t need conjecture,” I say, resisting another jab with my clipboard.

“I need solutions. Unless you know where I can find a replacement tree the size of a small skyscraper on thirty seconds’ notice, go bother someone else. ”

Nick doesn’t budge. If anything, his smirk widens, revealing the slightest hint of fangs. “Oh, but I do know something you don’t.”

I fold my arms, glaring up at him. “If it’s anything except the tree’s exact location, I don’t care.” I use my very best hardened stare to convey my irritation to him.

He leans closer, and I catch a faint whiff of something dark and spicy, like cinnamon mixed with danger. “Your little tree problem isn’t an accident.”

“I didn’t think the tree magically uprooted itself and went for a stroll down Main Street.”

“Let’s just say there are some less-than-festive forces at work in Willow Creek this year.”

Before I can tell him exactly where he can shove his cryptic nonsense, a loud crash echoes through the square.

As I whip around, a string of Christmas lights skids across the snow, and a group of small, pointy-eared figures darts after them. They’re giggling like maniacs, their tiny boots kicking up snow as they dart between the lampposts in a blur of red and green.

“Are those…” I crane my neck. “Elves?”

“Yes. Rogue elves,” Nick says, stepping up beside me. “Nasty little creatures. They’re like feral cats with opposable thumbs and better teamwork. They smell worse though.”

“Why? Why are there elves?”

“Well, when an elf—”

“Stop.”

The tallest elf, standing at an astronomical two feet tall, stops long enough to kick over a candy cane decoration, cackling like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

His companions cheer him on before scampering off into the shadows, their mischievous faces and pointy ears blending into the darkness.

I press my hands to my temples, willing myself to stay calm. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Looks like someone’s been naughty this year,” Nick quips, far too cheerful for my liking.

“Don’t make this worse.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m simply observing.” His silver eyes practically twinkle. “Fact is, you’ve got a supernatural problem, Frost. Lucky for you, I’m an expert in dealing with these kinds of things.”

A small, disbelieving noise escapes me. “You’re an expert at being a pain in my planning spreadsheets.”

Another crash sounds, this one louder than the last. The elves have tipped over one of the nearby market stalls, sending a cascade of gingerbread cookies into the snow.

My heart sinks further as the cookies are crushed into the snow, and I scream at this fresh disaster.

The elves giggle again, the sound high-pitched and eerie.

Like tiny little gremlins, they scurry off, delighted with the shiny lights they’ve stolen.

Nick tilts his head, watching me with what might almost pass for sympathy. Almost. “Holly, be honest. Do you really think you can handle this on your own?”

“I’ve handled parties going wrong before.”

“This is a bit more specialized than what you’re used to dealing with,” he says, gesturing to the chaos. “Rogue elves are tricky. You’ll need someone who knows how to handle them.”

“And you think that someone is you?”

He grins, his fangs catching the light. “I’m a vampire, Holly. Chaos is my specialty.”

I blink at him, then laugh. It’s not a happy, amused sound. It’s the kind of laugh you let out when someone tells you something so ridiculous your brain briefly short-circuits.

“Nick, the last time you got involved in town business, the entire Harvest Festival had to be moved because you turned the corn maze into a bat habitat.”

“I added ambiance,” he says smoothly. “I can’t help it if mortals lack an appreciation for theatrics.”

“Theatrics? You had cotton candy bats dive-bombing children.”

“They were harmless. Besides, the children seemed to enjoy the thrill. Bam. Bat in the mouth. They loved it. Their parents simply overreacted.”