Page 39 of Blood and Bells

Chapter Thirteen

Nick pushes me back into the diner, closing the door as he steps back outside. My mouth falls open in disbelief at the sheer nerve of the vampire, watching his brooding silhouette disappear into the snowy night. He thinks he’s playing the hero, but I refuse to be a damsel in distress.

I storm back outside. Nick is nowhere to be seen. The rumbling has stopped and the cold nips as snow flurries across Main Street; fairy lights bead the eaves like frost, and the café’s windows glow butter-warm behind me. Somewhere, a cinnamon bun is achieving sainthood. The streets are quiet except for the soft crunch of my boots on the snow and the faint jingling of distant Christmas music drifting from a nearby shop.

That’s when I hear it again.

Another rumble.

It spreads through my chest and crescendos as a wall of gray dust materializes at the far end of Main Street. A rolling wave of debris kicked up by whatever’s inside. I squint, trying to make out the dark shapes inside—antlers, fur, and a blur of chaos barreling toward me at a speed that should not belong to anything associated with Christmas.

Reindeer.

A herd of reindeer.

An exceptionally large herd of reindeer.

Blitzen and bother. Nick was right.

I yelp and dive into a forgiving snowbank. Cold goes down my collar; my dignity goes up in smoke. The reindeer thunder past, hooves striking sparks against the cobblestones, their bells jingling wildly. They’re huge—draft horse huge—and they’re not prancing or dancing. They’re charging.

I drag myself out of yet another snowbank and scramble to my feet, brushing snow off me as I watch reindeer wreak havoc on Main Street. They’ve splintered off into groups, filling the streets like water from a burst dam. One crashes into a lamp post, sending garlands and lights cascading to the ground. Another snags its antlers on a string of Christmas lights, dragging them like some kind of unhinged holiday banner.

“Is this happening?” I ask the night. The night, unhelpfully, jingles.

But I know this is real, because like everything else that’s happened in the past few days, it is ridiculous and completely out of my control. Willow Creek’s Christmas gala has become an unmitigated disaster, and instead of organizing the festival of the decade, I’m presiding over a catastrophe that could ruin this town.

Reindeer scatter, some darting into alleys while others charge into shop windows, leaving cracked glass and startled patrons in their wake. One particularly massive buck stops in the middle of the square, snorting and pawing at the ground like it’s preparing to challenge Santa to a duel. Another smaller buck emerges from a bakery before running away from the larger male, taking its antlers and the stolen holiday cookies with him.

Marcy barrels out of the Knit and Kettle, clutching a paper bag full of holiday beignets, staring at the scene like she’s walked into the wrong Hallmark movie. When she spots me, her face lights up.

“Holly! What on earth is going on?” she yells over the uproar.

“Reindeer,” I say, still trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Stampede. Christmas chaos. You know, normal middle-of-the-week stuff in the run-up to the gala.”

Marcy scampers across the road, dodging a reindeer before she skids to my side, panting. “Are things okay with Nick? Did he summon them? Because this feels like the kind of prank you’d pull if you were someone who wanted to get one over on you.”

“No, Nick didn’t send them. Why would he⁠—?”

I stop myself because, honestly, it does feel like something he might do. But no. Even he isn’t this dramatic. Or ridiculous.

“Are you sure?” she presses. “You two have been spending so much time together lately. I mean, you’re practically inseparable now. Maybe this is his way of keeping you on your toes? Or livening things up?”

“Are you suggesting that the standard repertoire of vampire skills includes hippiatry? What’s next? Softball?” I snort so hard that the snow considers changing direction. “Now isn’t the time for whatever this is.”

She shrugs and gestures toward the mess. “Well, what are we supposed to do about that?”

The reindeer buck lets out a loud bellow—do reindeer even bellow?—and charges toward the gazebo in the center of the square, splintering one of its wooden posts. The roof stays up somehow, an act of structural defiance that no one saw coming.

Marcy and I stare at the gazebo, its garlands now hanging limply as the buck continues its assault, antlers smashing through the decorations with wild abandon. Around us, the reindeer scatter through the square like furry missiles, upending trash cans, and snagging lights.

I’ve frozen. Too shocked to know how to react.

This is insane. Ridiculous.

And it’s ruining my Christmas gala.

“Well, we can’t just let them keep...doing this,” Marcy says, gesturing vaguely to the carnage as another reindeer crashes into a snowman, sending its carrot nose flying.