Chapter 5
Mayor Whitaker, a broad man with a wide smile and a shock of white hair, stood in the center of the stage, both hands resting on the grand podium like he was bracing for a sudden earthquake.
Next to him was Martha Lane, head of the Chamber of Commerce, her cherry red coat pressed within an inch of its seams. Fire Chief Rick Dalton, ruddy-faced and impatient, adjusted his hat repeatedly.
Tom Caldwell, owner of the local flower shop and tonight’s business sponsor, peered at the crowd as if searching for his own family.
The children’s choir assembled behind them, a wall of angelic faces topped with identical Santa hats, shuffling feet and picking at their sashes.
None of them looked like they were about to die. Not the way Grace’s vision had shown her, anyway.
The mayor tapped the microphone. “Welcome, one and all! Tonight, we gather to remind ourselves what makes Holiday Hollow so extraordinary. Community. Resilience. And above all, the wonder of the season.” His words rolled out in perfect campaign cadence.
Grace’s eyes roamed the stage, its battered planks decked in a dusting of snow and swaths of velvet ribbon.
At first she thought the odd reflection she caught beneath the mayor’s shoes was just ice.
But as he gestured, she saw it again, a flat slickness spreading, glossy and alive.
She blinked hard. Water. A slow, deliberate puddle, inching from the left side of the stage, creeping along the wooden seams.
She looked at Bryant. He was surveying the crowd, but his eyes occasionally flicked to the people on the stage.
She considered calling out, but the words caught in her throat.
He’d already checked, had the staff check.
“Everything’s secure,” he’d said. “No reason to worry.” She was probably just seeing things—panic’s mirages.
Still, the glinting surface grew, snaking toward the base of the choir riser.
The mayor continued: “In a year that’s brought its share of hardships, let’s remember that the light we share tonight is a symbol of hope.
Of togetherness.” He grinned, teeth dazzling.
“Now, before we light the tree, I’d like to thank a few of our heroes.
” He nodded to Martha, who took a nervous half-step forward.
Grace watched the water splash as Martha stepped in it, and it was in that moment that she realized the water was actually there. It wasn’t just in her head.
She opened her mouth to scream, but her voice emerged as a whisper. “Bryant.”
He didn’t hear her, not with the crowd howling at some corny joke from the mayor. Grace looked to the ladies, but Anna and Caroline were locked in some dramatic debate over at the cider tent, and Olivia was inspecting the stage with narrowed eyes, but she was too far to intercept.
The mayor was winding up the speech. “We couldn’t do this without you, Holiday Hollow! And now, I’d like to invite our special guests to join me in lighting the tree. Let’s count down together from ten!”
The crowd roared their assent.
Grace saw the water shiver forward, then split into two prongs, each one gliding under the boots of the children’s choir. The girl on the end—pale, brown curls, biting her lip—looked down and frowned, but didn’t move.
“Bryant!” This time Grace shouted. She waved her arms like a lunatic. He spotted her, brow furrowing.
She pointed, frantic, at the stage floor. “Water! It’s spreading—look at it!” The words sounded shrill, even to her own ears.
Bryant gave her a slow, skeptical shake of his head, mouthing, “We checked.”
The crowd started to chant, “Ten! Nine! Eight!” like a mob at the gallows. The mayor beamed, Martha clapped, Tessa edged forward for her camera shot.
The puddle widened, glossy as oil.
Grace lost the last of her hesitation. She shoved past the barricade, pushing through a knot of teenagers and a startled elderly woman. “Bryant! Please—” She was screaming now, and she didn’t care if she looked insane.
He moved at last, crossing the space between them in long, impatient strides. “What is it?” he hissed, his voice pitched for her alone.
Grace grabbed his wrist, nails digging through the fleece of his jacket. “Look at the stage. The water. It’s spreading like magic. There’s something wrong—”
He followed her line of sight. For a split second, the uncertainty vanished from his face, replaced by the icy calm of someone who’d seen war zones. He keyed his radio. “Stage one, come in—evacuate the stage immediately. Repeat, get everyone off the stage.”
On stage, the choir continued to count down, now at, “Five! Four!”
The deputies at the stairs hesitated, caught between the letter of their orders and the reality of a screaming psychic and her increasingly alarmed date. Bryant bounded up the steps, two at a time, cutting through the people on the stage as he shouldered his way to the microphone.
The mayor looked at him, aghast. “What—?”
Bryant ripped the mic from the stand, voice booming: “We need to clear the stage, now. Everyone off. Now.”
Martha Lane gasped. The children froze. Tessa Monroe’s face contorted, then she lunged for her cameraman to keep filming.
The mayor tried to regain composure. “There’s no—”
But Bryant cut him off, grabbing the mayor’s elbow and propelling him toward the wings.
The fire chief, to his credit, needed no further encouragement; he scooped the two nearest choir kids under his arms and sprinted.
The rest of the children scattered, guided by the sharp whistles of uniformed deputies.
Grace watched, heart in her throat, as the stage cleared in a clatter of patent shoes and shrieking officials. The countdown stuttered and then dissolved into confused shouting.
For a breathless moment, nothing happened.
Then, with a shrill pop, the tree’s lighting system switched on.
Electricity hissed, sparks flickering from out of thin air.
A blue-white arc shot across the stage, chasing the path of the water, and a cable snapped free from the lighting rig, whipping the empty podium before landing with a sizzle.
The smell of smoke and melted plastic roiled through the winter air.
The crowd went silent, then erupted in panicked, incredulous noise.
Grace was still, locked in place, eyes wide and limbs trembling.
Bryant, halfway down the steps with the mayor in tow, looked straight at her.
He nodded. Once. Not in apology, but in grim, unspoken understanding.
Grace could still taste adrenaline on her tongue, a coppery aftershock that buzzed in her teeth.
The murmuring crowd had gone from festive to feral, the mood on a razor’s edge between a Christmas miracle and a public breakdown.
All around her, parents corralled children, and older couples gossiped in urgent whispers, most glancing nervously at the now-empty stage and then at the woman who had just gone full banshee in the middle of the tree lighting.
She wobbled on her feet, body light with the aftereffects of her outburst. Grace's hands trembled, the adrenaline refusing to let go.
She could feel the stares, each one burning a hole into her spine, and somewhere behind her, Anna was barreling forward, shoving aside a chorus of elbows to get to her.
“Grace, you scared the crap out of me,” Anna panted. She caught Grace’s arm, trying to steady her. “Are you okay? What the heck happened?”
Caroline was next to arrive, cloak billowing like she was auditioning for the role of Haunted Opera Hostess. “Did it happen exactly the way you envisioned?”
Grace shook her head. “It would’ve been worse if they hadn’t gotten off the stage.” She tried to keep her voice level, but it cracked anyway.
Caroline gave her an uncharacteristically solemn nod. “I believe you.”
Bryant finally broke free of the chaos at the stage stairs and headed straight for Grace, his steps brisk, purposeful, but not angry. Anna, Olivia, and Caroline moved to stand a short distance from Grace, forming a protective barrier around their friend.
He stopped within arm’s reach. He didn’t touch her, but his presence anchored her like a hand on her shoulder. “We have to talk,” he said quietly, not bothering with a preamble.
Grace nodded, and he guided her away from the mob, ducking behind the cider cart. The world muffled; only the music and sporadic shouting carried. He looked at her, the vulnerability in his face so brief she almost missed it.
He scrubbed a hand down his jaw, eyes closing for a second. “You were right. Someone did something to that stage. The water wasn’t from the weather. It was magic, as was the electricity.”
She swallowed hard. “It was almost exactly like I saw it. But not quite. I kept expecting… I don’t know, blood? Or—” She shook her head. “I was so scared I’d gotten it all wrong again.”
“You didn’t.” Bryant’s voice was steel now. “You saved every person on that stage.”
A gust of wind battered the tent flaps, sending a shiver through Grace. “But… now what? What does this mean? Is this connected to the murder on Halloween? Is the same person responsible for that death responsible for trying to kill these people? Or are the two things unrelated?”
“I’ll help you figure it out, but first, I need you to tell me everything you saw. Everything. Even if you think it’s stupid.”
Grace tried to think back, was there anything she’d missed? The exact glint of the water, the way it spread over the stage. “There was something about the girl—she looked down, like she saw the water. I don’t know if it means anything, but…”
Bryant made a mental note. “What else?”
She hesitated, then blurted, “It felt deliberate. Like the water wasn’t just leaking. It was directed. Like it had a purpose.”
“That’s good. That’s useful.” He pulled out a small notepad, scribbling fast. “We’ll follow up with everyone who had access to the stage, and everyone on the stage. That’s a good place to start.”
Grace risked a look at the crowd. Police tape had appeared around the stage, and a cluster of parents tried to keep their kids from approaching the water.
Tessa Monroe already had her cameraman rolling, dramatic as ever, focused on the empty platform.
Even the children’s choir, huddled in a knot with their chaperone, were wide-eyed, whispering.
She turned back to Bryant. “Is the whole town going to know I’m a psychic now?”
His smile softened, just for her. “Maybe, but it won’t really matter though. We’re all pretty… unique here.”
“I guess that’s true.” She attempted a smile.
Caroline reappeared, flanked by Anna and Olivia, who had decided she and Bryant had enough time to speak privately. “Well, well, well,” Caroline purred, linking her arm through Grace’s. “Nothing like nearly electrocuting the mayor to get a little local fame.”
“I guess so,” Grace muttered.
Caroline nudged Bryant. “You taking her home tonight, or should we draw straws?”
Bryant held out a hand for Grace. “She’s with me.”
It was the most possessive thing he’d ever said, and it lit a weird, embarrassing heat in Grace’s chest.
They walked together through the square of people still shopping, no longer focused on the tree lighting. Grace wondered if the town would talk about the disaster or the rescue. Probably both. Probably forever.
At the edge of the lot, Bryant stopped. He faced her, earnest as a schoolboy, but with a shadow in his eyes. “This might not be over. Whoever did this—” He shook his head. “They could try again.”
Grace nodded. As upsetting as that thought was, it made sense.
As they walked toward her car, headed for the Lantern House, Bryant kept pace at her side, his hand brushing hers in the dark, every so often, as if to check that she was still real.
But she was real. And so was the threat of murder still lingering in the air.