Chapter 13
Before I could formulate a response that wasn’t just a jumble of panicked thoughts, the bells above the door chimed, bright and jarring in the quiet intimacy of the shop.
I jumped away from him so fast I almost stumbled.
Bastian retreated to the other side of the counter, a storm of unreadable emotion clouding his amber eyes, as I quickly smoothed down my skirt.
It was Mr. Peterson from the hardware store. He stood just inside the door, peering over his spectacles, a toolbox in one hand and a concerned expression on his face.
“Noelle? I saw your light was still on. Everything okay in here?”
“Mr. Peterson! Hi!” My voice was an octave too high. “Yes, everything’s fine. Just, uh, finishing up some paperwork.”
His gaze slid from my flushed face to Bastian, who had adopted a menacing posture that was probably supposed to look intimidating but mostly looked like he was brooding. Hard to tell with him.
“Your consultant helping you close up?” Mr. Peterson asked, though his tone was suspicious.
“He is,” I said, glad I’d already established that particular lie. “He’s very helpful.”
Bastian didn’t say anything, just gave a curt nod that could be interpreted as either agreement or a threat to eviscerate someone. Mr. Peterson seemed to lean towards the latter.
“Well, alrighty then.” He adjusted his glasses. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Seemed like a busy day. For all of us.”
“The busiest,” I chirped, moving towards him to gently herd him back towards the door. “It was wonderful. Anyway, we should get going. Big day tomorrow.”
“Right. Well. Good night, then.” He gave Bastian one last, wary look.
The bells chimed, and then he and I were alone again, the silence rushing in to fill the space Mr. Peterson had occupied.
“You were going to eviscerate him, weren’t you?” I asked, only half teasing.
“I was considering it.” The rumble in his chest was pure annoyance.
“You can’t eviscerate my customers, Bastian. It’s bad for business.”
“He wasn’t a customer,” he retorted, turning to face me. The fire was back in his eyes, and the air crackled with it. “Where were we?”
The question was a challenge. A dare.
“I believe,” I said, my heart doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs, “we were in the middle of a significant transgression.”
He took a step towards me. The chains around his torso gave off a soft, sinister music that promised things I shouldn’t want. I stood my ground.
“Your proximity is affecting my judgment,” he said, his voice a low growl. “It is an unacceptable variable.”
“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
“You seem… unconcerned by the consequences.”
“I’m not,” I lied. I was very concerned. I was terrified. I was also thrumming with a need so powerful it drowned out everything else. “Maybe I’ve decided I like transgressions.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “A dangerous revelation.”
“Is it?” I took a step of my own, closing the distance between us until I was standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Or is it an honest one?”
“Honesty,” he murmured, lifting a hand to cup my cheek, “is always a transgression in a world built on pleasant lies.” His thumb stroked my jaw, and I leaned into the touch before I could stop myself.
Before he could close the remaining distance, my phone buzzed from the counter. I flinched and fumbled for it, the screen lighting up my face with an unwelcome reminder of reality.
Jenna: Have you run away with your consultant? Why aren’t you at the meeting?
Right. The holiday market. The meeting I was supposed to be at half an hour ago. The meeting where I was supposed to present my ideas for the Good Deeds Extravaganza.
“Crap,” I muttered, shoving the phone back into my pocket. “I completely forgot.”
“Forgot what?” The desire in the air had been replaced by suspicion.
“The Holiday Market Committee meeting.” I ran a hand through my hair, already feeling the panic rising. “It was at 5:30. I was supposed to be there.”
“The committee that organizes the town’s festivities?”
“The very one.” I grabbed my purse and my notebook, my earlier exhaustion replaced by a fresh wave of adrenaline. “They’re going to crucify me.”
“Then we should go.”
I froze. “We? No. You can’t. You’ll… distract people.”
“Your judgment has not been rendered, and we are bound until then. Where you go, I go.”
“This is a small-town committee meeting, not a battlefront.”
He straightened to his full height, the chains shifting with a soft, menacing music. “And yet you speak of being crucified. The battlefield seems an accurate metaphor.”
I couldn’t argue with that. The committee chair, a woman named Brenda who took her role of “Head Elf” with terrifying seriousness, had a tendency to make grown men weep. Missing a meeting, especially when I was supposed to be presenting, was a capital offense.
“Fine, but you need a… disguise.”
“A disguise.”
“Yes. Something modern. Human-ish.”
He raised one eyebrow, a gesture that looked surprisingly expressive on a face covered in fur. “You propose that I, an ancient entity of judgment and punishment, should… what? Put on a polo shirt and pretend to be your uncle from Ohio?”
“No, my European consultant. Please?” I added softly, and he sighed.
The transformation happened between one blink and the next. One moment Bastian stood in the center of my shop—towering, horned, impossible—and the next, a man took his place.
He was still tall, but human-tall. Maybe six-three instead of seven foot.
The horns had vanished, replaced by thick, dark hair that fell across his forehead in waves that looked like they’d been styled by someone who didn’t care about styling.
Sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw shadowed with stubble.
His eyes were still amber, still intense, but without the preternatural glow.
The fur was gone, replaced by golden-tan skin beneath a simple black sweater and dark jeans that fit him like they’d been tailored. The only sign of the chains was a belt composed of neat expensive-looking links.
“You’re staring again.” His voice remained the same—that low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through my bones.
“I…” I couldn’t find the words.
“Is it acceptable? I could alter—”
“No!” The word came out too sharp. I cleared my throat. “I mean, it’s fine. Perfect. Very… human.”
His frown deepened. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed.” Exactly. “Just… adjusting. Does it feel weird?”
“The glamour?”
“Yeah.”
“Like wearing a mask.” He moved closer, and I caught his scent—still frost and smoke, even in this form. “I do not care for it.”
But he’d done it anyway. Because I asked him.
“Thank you.” I turned back to the door to hide my confusion. “Let’s go. Just remember that you’re my silent, vaguely European consultant who hates people. Got it?”
“I have a comprehensive understanding of human dislike. The role will not be a stretch.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The town hall was a small brick building that smelled of old paper and floor wax.
The main meeting room was already buzzing when we arrived, a cacophony of overlapping conversations and the clink of ceramic mugs.
Every head turned when Bastian ducked through the doorway, his presence seeming to suck all the air out of the room.
“Noelle! There you are.” Jenna rushed over, her face frantic. “Are you ready to make the presentation? Brenda’s having kittens.” Then she saw Bastian trailing behind me like the world’s most intimidating shadow and her mouth dropped open. “Is that your consultant?”
“Yes.”
She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions, guiding me up to the front. “Time to get started.”
Brenda, a Santa hat firmly planted on her silver curls, frowned at me, tapping her pen against her clipboard.
“You’re late.”
“I’m so sorry, Brenda. There was an emergency at the shop.” A true statement, though not in the way Brenda would understand.
“We had to move on. We’ve finalized the parade route, and we’re about to discuss the tree lighting ceremony.”
My heart sank. “Please let me present.”
Brenda gave a long-suffering sigh. “I really don’t think you’re going to get many volunteers, especially with all the budget cuts.”
“The issue is not a lack of volunteers,” Bastian said suddenly, coming to my side. “It is a lack of hope.”
Brenda rolled her eyes.
“Look, I don’t know who this guy is,” she said, “but we’re dealing with a budget crisis, not a spiritual one. People are overextended. They’re working extra hours to make ends meet. They won’t have the energy to participate.”
“That is an effect,” Bastian countered, not raising his voice, yet somehow making it carry more authority. “Not the cause.”
“And what, in your expert opinion,” Brenda said, dripping sarcasm, “is the cause?”
“Despair is a contagion,” he said simply, his amber gaze sweeping over the tired faces around the room.
“It has spread through your town like a plague. You see it in the half-lit street decorations, the bare shop windows, the lack of laughter in the streets. You have let the season of light and hope be overshadowed by the shadow of your own struggles.”
It was harsh. Brutal. And everyone in that room knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that he was right.
“This Good Deeds Extravaganza,” he said. “You see it as an event. A task to be checked off a list. But it is not an event. It is a catalyst.”
Brenda sighed, but she was listening now, her clipboard forgotten. “All right. Noelle, you have the floor.”
This was it. My pitch to save the shop, the block, everything.
“Thank you, Brenda. As you all know, several businesses on our block are struggling. Mr. Grinchly has made offers to purchase the properties, and some of us are running out of options.”
Sympathetic nods around the table. Everyone knew the situation. Everyone understood the stakes.
“The Good Deeds Extravaganza on Christmas Eve is my proposal to bring the community together and boost business for all of us. The concept is simple: every participating shop offers one free ‘good deed’ to customers. A free book. A free wreath. A free tool rental. Whatever fits the business.”
“That’s giving away inventory,” Gordon from the garden store pointed out. “How does that help us?”
“Because it brings people in. And people who come for a free item often purchase other things. Plus, it creates goodwill. Shows the community that we’re here for them, not just for profit.”
“Mr. Grinchly won’t like it,” Tammy said, frowning. Her pet store was also being threatened by Grinchly.
“Which is exactly why we should do it. We should show him that we are standing together.” I flipped to my detailed proposal.
“I’ve run the numbers. If we get even a modest turnout, the increased foot traffic should result in higher sales across the board.
And the publicity should help—the local news has already expressed interest in covering it. ”
I continued my presentation, warming to the topic. As I spoke, I could feel his gaze on me, assessing. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d be watching for—my motivations, my sincerity, whether I was truly as altruistic as I claimed.
Let him watch, I thought. This is who I am.