Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Nick leads me out of the diner, and everyone’s watching. It makes me feel awkward, conscious that every slight mistake will be noticed. He gives the waitress a wink as he opens the door, and the wink lands. I wish he’d stop doing that. Or at least save it for people who are not working.
The pressure is staggering. We should be brainstorming ways to find the Hollow of Mischief. I should be out looking for that stupid tree. But right now, it feels like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, and I’m too tired to keep fighting.
Outside, the wreaths along Main Street tilt toward the fairy lights.
Snow lifts in little swirls. The evening air is cold and kind.
Shop windows glow. Somewhere, a brass trio attempts Good King Wenceslas with enthusiasm if not precision.
Hank and Marvin, the Folder twins, are practicing knot-tying with red licorice ropes, and then eating the evidence.
The world outside seems stuck in some kind of limbo, just like me.
My thoughts drift as we walk toward Hemoglow with the snow falling gently around us, their dazzling display helping to clear the noise in my head.
The town lights twinkle against the backdrop of the dark sky, and the cozy cheer settles in enough that I can breathe again.
Nick slows at each icy patch, and I’m quite grateful his arm is there to steady me.
“You good?” he asks, leaning forward with a genuine, unguarded look.
I try to muster up some enthusiasm, but it’s hard when everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster.
We’re one carol away from a catastrophe, and it’s going to take more than a Christmas miracle to fix this one.
I would kill for a manageable amount of catastrophe, like the town sliding into a yawning chasm of infinite despair or finding out the nativity scene is carnivorous.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
Nick doesn’t say anything for a moment, probably sensing something is off through whatever sixth sense vampires possess. “Willing to let me in on what you’re thinking about?”
A sharp retort rises in my mouth, but it gets swallowed back before it can leap out. I’m on edge, and even though Draven irritates me, none of this is his fault. Not specifically.
“I’m fine,” I lie, and by the look on his face, he clearly knows I’m fibbing. “I’m mostly fine. Closer, anyway.”
“Settle down, Indigo Girls,” he teases. “Halfway?”
“Making progress towards it. This is a lot to take in. Elves. Weird, talking heads. Commerce was my favorite class in school, and none of these topics were really covered in any detail.”
“It’s a lot,” he says. “More than I expected.”
“Why are you really helping, Draven? I doubt it is a sudden love of carols. What do you get out of this?”
He doesn’t flinch at my tone. Instead, he gives me a small, sheepish shrug. It’s almost adorable. Almost boyish. And I decide I do not like the way it makes me want to like him.
“The pleasure of your company?”
A small scoff escapes my lips. “Sure. I believe you.”
He rubs the back of his neck, self-consciously.
“I know this might look a bit opportunistic. But it’s not about taking advantage of your situation or making the vampires into something we’re not.
” He glances toward the square, his eyes glinting with something darker than humor.
“My coven likes it here. Willow Creek works. And when things start to go wrong, people tend to look for someone to blame, and I’d rather we weren’t the obvious suspect when they do. ”
I shake my head. “I don’t need you turning this into…whatever this is for you.”
The square should be brimming with holiday cheer, but it’s as deflated as the snowman that one of the town’s residents is trying to patch up with black electrical tape.
Faint traces of garland still hang from the lamp posts, but they’re half-fallen, as though the town’s Christmas spirit has been abandoned with the missing tree.
The space feels hollow, the empty patch of snow where it should stand only highlighting the chaos that’s been left behind.
Nick watches my clenched jaw for a moment, then speaks in a lower voice. “Holly—”
I cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever sympathetic words he’s about to offer. “Don’t. I know Frank’s trying to help, but my mom’s said the same thing before. It’s not like I can fix it all at once.”
Nick rolls his shoulders, visibly uncomfortable for the first time ever. “Look, I don’t know your family dynamics, but I know you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself. That’s why you’re acting like this. And it’s not good for you.”
I’m about to argue, but the words die on my lips. For the first time, I actually think about what he’s saying. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this has been too much, too fast—because, for all my bravado, the gala matters. The town matters. And doing this alone isn’t working.
The silence stretches, and his gaze softens as he watches me, his face still relaxed but there’s a hint of concern creeping through.
It’s strange, this shift. Nick’s usually so wrapped up in himself and the other vampires that it’s easy to forget he’s capable of caring about something more than his blood bar and the chaos he brings.
I let out a long, steadying breath, rubbing at my temple. “I don’t know where to start. Everything feels like it’s slipping out of my hands, and I can’t catch up.”
Nick locks his eyes with mine, and for once, there’s nothing hidden there. Their silver isn’t clouding anything, and he isn’t trying to charm me. He’s just being Nick, and he’s just standing here. Listening. Trying to help.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I get that you’re trying to hold it all together, but you’ve got people who want to help. Me included.”
“So, what now?”
“We figure it out,” he says. “Do you know where the real power in being a vampire comes from?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Anne Rice? Or, do you have, like, a vampire God or something? I don’t know.”
“It’s the coven. The group of individuals we travel with, the ones who support us through our endless passage through time. The fact that we’re never alone.” He slides his sleeve so it brushes mine, then stills. “Let us be your coven, Holly. We can help.”
The sincerity of the offer catches me by surprise, and I’m flustered. I can deal with sarcastic vampires and arrogant vampires, but genuine vampires are a bit much.
“Is there a membership fee? Or do you have to eat me?”
He doesn’t say anything; he only stares at me. As the seconds pass, I realize the exact words that just left my mouth, and my face heats with embarrassment. Draven leaves me to flounder in my moment for a few more uncomfortable seconds before jumping in.
With a theatrical cough, he says, “Let’s leave that part out for now.”
Nick stays silent as we walk to the blood bar, occasionally offering me his elbow to lean on as I skirt around the half-frozen puddles.
Reflexively, I type out a message to Mr. Patel, who likes to know when patches appear.
We carry on past the shopfronts with their Christmas displays, each cheerfully trying to outdo the next.
Mrs. Christie, proprietor of Sugar Me Timbers, is out front locking up.
She’s a delightful grandmother who wields her authority with the rolling pin that rarely leaves her side, and as we go by, she gives me a sly grin and lifts it in salute.
Ahead, the neon sign of Nick’s blood bar shines like an oasis in the dark.
Hemoglow looks like a tavern that grew up into a speakeasy and then made friends with a holiday market.
The sign is a soft red script with a single teardrop for the O, casting a soft blush over the pavement.
Frosted windows wear etched snowflakes and veined leaves, velvet curtains parted just enough to show the candlelight beyond.
Beneath a low timber lintel, a wreath of black-green holly hangs on the door, its glass berries a deep garnet, and a chalkboard advertises a Warm Winter Flight with clove mulled O, spiced AB with orange peel, and a cranberry tonic chaser.
The brass handle gleams, polished by a thousand late-night arrivals.
We reach the door, and Nick holds it open for me, his usual swagger firmly back in place.
The warmth hits me immediately, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses wrapping around us as we step inside.
The place smells of dark wood, cloves, and a hint of something mineral that reads more library than laboratory.
It’s a scent I’ve started associating with Nick more than I care to admit, and worse, I’ve started to like it.
The bar is nothing like I expected.
Warm light glows from beeswax sconces and old glass pendants, casting honey across polished wood and deep red velvet.
Behind the bar, bottles gleam like liquid jewels.
A fireplace crackles in the corner, lending a cozy note that feels almost out of place against the elegance.
Paper snowflakes drift overhead, and a chalkboard near the door reads House Rules: be kind.
Consent is required. Hydrate between drinks. Free rides home after ten.
The crowd isn’t what I imagined, either.
I expected broody vampires nursing crimson cocktails or maybe a few terrified humans hoping to be glamoured into oblivion.
Instead, it’s oddly normal. A mix of humans and vampires chatting, laughing, and even clinking glasses over what looks suspiciously like mulled wine.
A small spruce twinkles in the corner, all mismatched ornaments and a paper star that lists the staff cookie swap schedule.
Nick watches me take it all in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not bad, huh?”
“It’s nicer than I thought it would be.”
He places a hand over his heart, feigning a wound. “Your faith in me is overwhelming, Frost.”