Chapter 4
Grace zipped up her coat higher as the four of them marched through the brittle air of late December.
Caroline was in front, boots clocking the cobblestones.
Anna trailed with her hands deep in her coat pockets, pale eyes darting, always watching.
Olivia walked in measured, gliding steps, as if every sidewalk in Holiday Hollow were a Parisian runway.
Grace felt like the tag-along kid sister, except tonight, she was the one with the visions, the one whose stomach had been in a slow churn since sunrise.
They arrived at the town square nearly an hour before the lighting ceremony.
The tree stood center-stage, a goliath of blue spruce, decked with so many lights the branches drooped under the weight.
The platform at its base was dressed in fresh pine boughs, the steps swept clean of snow, but icy patches sparkled where the shadows hung on.
Rows of folding chairs, still empty, made the square look like a set waiting for its actors.
Caroline surveyed the scene in front of her. “Right. Anna, you’re on the north side. Look for anything weird by the vendor tents. Olivia, you and I will circle the back. Grace—”
Grace was already veering toward the stage, drawn by the memory of her vision: water, current, death. “I’ll check the electrical,” she called, and felt only slightly ridiculous saying it.
Caroline tossed her a thumbs up, already grabbing Olivia by the wrist and muttering in low, conspiratorial tones. Anna gave Grace a lopsided smile as she peeled off, boots crunching a lonely path to the perimeter.
Grace slowed at the edge of the stage. It looked harmless in the late afternoon light, all tinsel and plywood.
The snow here had melted into slush, probably from the cluster of floodlights aimed upward at the tree’s topmost star.
Her shoes left crescents in the packed ice as she circled around, eyes sweeping for hoses, buckets, anything that might leak.
The extension cords looked new, orange and still unscuffed, taped at the joints.
She followed them to the nearest junction box.
It was latched shut, but when she ran her glove along the seam, she felt a pulse behind her ribs, a brief flicker of static.
“Find anything?” a voice said behind her.
She jumped and whirled. Bryant stood with his hands tucked behind his duty belt, radio clipped to his shoulder, gaze even as ever. In uniform, he looked both larger and more tightly wound, as if the badge forced all his uncertainty behind Kevlar and starch.
Grace shook her head. “It looks fine. But it’s too clean, you know? Like someone made it look perfect.”
Bryant squinted at the cord, then at her. “Maintenance did a full check before noon. Nothing out of the ordinary. They even swapped in new power strips.”
She scanned his face for doubt, for the edge of skepticism she’d sometimes caught when she talked about her visions. There was none now. Just a measured worry, maybe more personal than professional.
Bryant’s radio chirped. He squeezed the button. “Paulsen here.” The dispatcher’s voice spilled out, brisk and unremarkable—another round of volunteers arriving, the mayor’s wife asking about parking. Bryant acknowledged each and unclipped the radio, turning it down.
“I get why you’re spooked,” he said, voice lower now. “But I promise, we’re watching every angle. I’ve got officers on every corner.”
She heard the but in his tone before he said it.
“I don’t know,” she said, hands in her own pockets, wishing for a distraction. “I just feel like something’s waiting for us to relax.”
Bryant took a slow breath, and for a second his jaw worked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he turned back to the cord, bent down, and tugged gently at the connection. When nothing sparked, he made a show of sniffing the outlet.
“No ozone,” he said. “I’d rather look paranoid than risk people getting hurt.” His voice had a gravity that made her look up. His eyes, the color of new pine needles in snowmelt, found hers.
Grace let herself believe him for a moment.
He straightened and stepped subtly to her side. Not in front of her, not overtly shielding, but enough that if something happened, she’d be behind his line of defense.
She noticed it immediately. So did Caroline, who had circled back with Olivia and now wore a sly, knowing smile. “You know, Gracie, at this point you should just make him your plus one to everything. He’s practically your personal bodyguard.”
Bryant didn’t flinch. “Comes with the job description,” he said, but his ears flushed a half-shade darker.
Caroline let out a delighted huff and looked at Grace with undisguised mischief. “If anyone tries to kill you, honey, make sure they know there’s a cop on the case.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Grace said, feeling the nerves in her belly unknot a little.
Anna rejoined them, stomping her boots to shake off snow. “Nothing weird on the tents. Unless you count an old guy selling peppermint bark out of a suitcase.” She waggled a slab of candy as evidence.
“Definitely suspicious,” said Olivia, lips quirked.
Bryant’s radio cackled again, and this time the message was for him directly. “All units, be advised, increased foot traffic on main and third. Vendors still setting up. Possible slip hazard on east stairs.”
He pressed his button. “Copy, and add two more officers to the stage perimeter,” he said. “I want eyes on the electrical and backstage at all times. No exceptions.”
There was a pause, then the dispatcher: “Ten-four, Deputy.”
He turned to Grace, voice softer now. “I don’t care if it makes me look jumpy. I just—” He stopped, shook his head. “Better safe than sorry.”
She saw the small things, the way he moved to block the wind for her, the angle of his body always slightly toward hers, as if he were calculating lines of sight and escape.
She thought about her last relationship, how she’d spent years trying to shrink herself for a man’s comfort, and here was someone who wanted her to be exactly where she was.
Even if it meant stationing half the town’s police force around her.
The others had wandered back toward the tree, leaving them briefly alone. Grace watched the little beads of water forming on the stage steps, a quiet reminder of her unease. She wondered if the universe would ever let her enjoy one night without expecting disaster.
Bryant cleared his throat, eyes still on the platform. “If anything feels off, even if it’s nothing, tell me.”
Grace nodded. She didn’t trust her instincts, not really, but she was starting to trust him.
In the distance, the first of the evening’s carolers started a song. Grace listened to the notes, the warmth of voices in the cold, and hoped it would be enough to drown out the doubt.
Bryant walked beside her, silent but steady, until the sun slid behind the ridge and the street lights blinked on, one by one.
Twilight sanded the edges off the square, softening everything into a gentle blue haze.
Vendors raised their pop-up tents along the sidewalk, anchoring the canvas to iron lampposts with practiced hands.
Warm light spilled from beneath their awnings, pooling in the snow like honey on white linen.
The air took on new scents: cinnamon, sweet dough, singed sugar from a man torching crème br?lée in ceramic ramekins for tourists.
A portable heater ran somewhere, belching out whiffs of propane, but no one seemed to care.
The crowds thickened by the minute, local families in puffy jackets, toddlers in knit hats with pom-poms, couples sharing mittens.
A brass band from the high school shuffled onto the stage and began tuning up, their notes scattering through the square like pennies into a fountain.
Grace watched it all from the edge of the tree’s shadow, her body pressed between Anna and Olivia for warmth.
She took a breath and let herself enjoy it: the laughter, the way the string lights over the square flicked on in waves, a low glitter that made the snow seem to pulse.
Vendors shouted over each other, hawking hot chocolate and cider.
Kids zipped through the legs of grown-ups, faces sticky from caramel apples.
Someone had brought a dog in a Santa suit, and it trotted around like it had been elected mayor.
Anna returned from the cider tent with two paper cups, steaming so fiercely Grace could smell the cloves from three feet away.
Anna passed her one, cradling her own between both hands.
“You look like you need this more than I do,” she said, voice pitched low.
Grace wondered if all mermaids sounded like that—liquid and a little sad, like waves smoothing glass over and over.
Grace smiled. The cup warmed her palms through her gloves, and for a second she almost felt normal.
Caroline appeared at her other side, her coat the color of a blizzard and trimmed in something that definitely wasn’t synthetic fur.
She had a plastic cup of mulled wine in one hand and a plate of tiny cookies in the other.
“You two look positively domestic,” she said, then turned to Grace with an arching brow.
“So? Feel any homicidal vibes, or is the town safe for the next five minutes?”
Grace shook her head. “It’s all…nice. For now.”
Caroline elbowed her gently. “See? Nothing to worry about. Except maybe the mayor’s tie, it’s a crime against fashion.” She snorted and sipped her wine.
Anna pointed at the stage. “Bryant’s been circling the perimeter every five minutes. You know he’d throw himself in front of a Christmas tree if it meant keeping you safe.”
Grace’s cheeks heated, and she ducked behind her cup. “He’s just doing his job,” she muttered.
Caroline’s lips pursed in a faux-sincere pout. “Honey, the way he looks at you? He’s practically your personal bodyguard now.”