Page 18 of Blood and Bells

Frank nods. “Casey. Good to see you, son. What can I do for you?”

Casey runs a hand through his greasy hair. “I was hoping you could…help. With a problem.”

Frank sighs, apparently already knowing where this is going. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’d rather say in private.” Casey looks around and drops his voice. “It’s about Sarah Waterson.”

Frank’s expression softens, but he shakes his head. “I don’t do that sort of thing here. You know that.”

“I know, but I thought⁠—”

“She’s not for you, lad.”

His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be.

I can feel the waves of power emanating from him, and the diner hushes by a degree. Frank has the kind of magic that reroutes crushes, eases old knots, and prevents very bad poems from being written—and Casey doesn’t stand a chance. Not against a display of divine intervention dressed as heartbreak, like the world’s most passive-aggressive Valentine’s Day card.

The diner’s background noise softens. The air seems to steady. Frank’s power ripples through the room, subtle but undeniable. It is not empire-toppling power, at least not tonight. It is the sort that gently turns a heart toward a better path and saves a barista from a sonnet.

Casey flinches but tries again. “I just thought⁠—”

Frank repeats himself, voice like iron wrapped in velvet. “She’s not for you. Listen to me. Move on. Let her move on.”

There’s another faint pulse of energy, barely perceptible. Casey’s shoulder slumps further. He mumbles a thanks and slinks away.

I exhale slowly, grateful for the reminder of who Frank really is. He may play the role of the affable mayor, but it’s a game. Just as I play the humble bar owner. Both are ruses, designed to mask what lies underneath. The power beneath Frank’s aw-shucks exterior is raw and absolute. If it came to a fight, the outcome would not be clear-cut. I’d probably win if Ronan turned up, provided he brought his axe and left Crinkshaw at home.

Thankfully, the moment passes. Frank smiles, the weight of his power gone as if it was never there. Holly studies her menu, oblivious to the cosmic-scale romantic smackdown that was almost unleashed around her.

“Mayor Frank, about the tree?”

“I know you’ll handle this, Holly,” he says, beaming at her. “Your mom swears you’re the best.”

Frank’s voice is warm and buttery, the kind of voice that soothes children to sleep and convinces adults to do the sensible thing. But right now, it’s also a voice that makes Holly sit up straighter, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her from bolting.

There’s something about the way he says it that makes my teeth clench. It’s not quite a suggestion. Not even a command. Worse than that. It’s an expectation. He doesn’t say if she fixes the problem. He says when.

Holly swallows hard. “I’m trying. I really am. I don’t know how to yet. I’m working on it.”

Frank waves a hand. “Oh, I have every faith in you. The whole town does.” He leans back, all casual magnanimity, as if he hasn’t dumped a snowstorm’s worth of pressure on her shoulders. “Celeste doesn’t recommend people lightly.”

Holly nods stiffly. I can practically hear the internal screaming.

“Celeste?” I ask.

“My mom,” Holly shrugs, trying for casual and not quite getting there. “She’s based in Los Angeles. Event planning. Big event.”

“My last event planner moved on after I helped bring Willow Creek together and launched the Winter Wonderland Gala. Celeste called. Put in a very strong word. And when Celeste Frost calls, you pay attention. She said Holly was ready. That she understood how to take something important and make it unforgettable. I knew I had to give her daughter a chance. But without the Winter Wonderland and its Christmas tree, Willow Creek is just another supernatural town with too many gift shops.”

Holly’s expression turns into something between confusion and concern, like she’s trying to do math in her head and all the numbers are made of fairies. I, meanwhile, feel my irritation rise by the second. Why is he talking like the tree is some sacred artifact? Is it? Does it grant immortality? Is it powered by collective goodwill and the town choir’s better harmonies? Why is everyone being so weird about a damn tree? I need to get more information.

“Right.” I sit forward, giving Frank a long look. “And by important, you mean…?”

“Well, Willow Creek has always been a special, magical place.” Frank’s voice turns proud, and I realize I’m in for a story. “It’s a place where goodness can exist, unironically. A place where neighbors still know each other’s names. Where everyone is welcome, whether they’re vampires, or humans, or anything else. The Winter Wonderland is a reminder of that.”

“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” It might be a stab in the dark, but several lifetimes spent in darkness have made my aim unusually good. Unsurprisingly, this hits its mark and Frank slowly nods.

I glance at Holly, and she looks sick.