Page 40 of Blood and Bells

“Oh, really? I thought we’d stand here and wait for them to finish before offering them a rubdown and some oats,” I snap, dodging a rogue reindeer that streaks past, jingling like it’s auditioning for the world’s loudest carol. “Any brilliant ideas, Marcy? Other than knitting them an apology scarf?”

“Have you tried singing Silent Night? Or calling Nick?”

I groan, dodging a rogue wreath that one of the reindeer has managed to fling off its antlers. The thing bounces off a stack of nearby presents, and I hear a soft squeal as it knocks into a stack of mistletoe. A jingle bell somehow detaches mid-flight, twirling through the air like a missile. Flying holiday decorations are the very last thing I need today, and I watch the metal bell arc through the air and roll down the street after it lands with a thump.

“Could you stop talking about Nick and start helping me stop this?”

Marcy shrugs. “I’m just saying, Holly. You two have been awfully cozy lately. He’d probably come running if you called.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because my focus is on the reindeer now trying to eat the town’s nativity display. And where, precisely, is Nick? I duck into the diner for five seconds. Did he use me as a festive diversion?

“Now? Now, Marcy? Is this really the best time to discuss Nick?” I pantomime picking up a phone. “Hey, Marcy, phone call for you. It’s the cast of the musical, Stomp. They’d like their timing back.”

“Let’s see if they need a snack,” she says, rummaging in her shopping bag. “Who doesn’t love a good gingerbread bribe?”

Before I can point out how dangerous gingerbread can be, she tosses a cookie toward one of the smaller reindeer. To my astonishment, it pauses, sniffs the snow-dusted treat, and then snatches it up and starts chewing noisily.

“See? Brilliance!” Marcy declares, tossing another cookie toward another reindeer.

“You got enough to feed the whole herd?”

I grab a handful of gingerbread, flinging pieces toward a cluster of reindeer. A few more stop their rampage, and I start to think we might be onto something.

“Scatter them far apart,” I say. “We’re luring them in. Not baiting a buffet.”

It’s working. I allow myself a single breath of relief before the realization that it’s working too well dawns on me. The massive buck—the one that’s been terrorizing the gazebo—snorts loudly as he clocks the cookie economy and declares inflation. He charges toward us, scattering the smaller reindeer like skittles in a bowling alley.

“Uh, Holly?” Marcy squeaks, backing up as the buck closes in, its antlers glinting menacingly in the faint Christmas lights.

“Run!” I shout, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind me as we sprint toward the nearest side street.

We don’t make it far before a blur of black and red streaks past us, cutting off the buck’s charge with a sharp, almost lazy, movement. The reindeer skids to a halt, its hooves digging into the snow, as Nick steps into view, looking infuriatingly calm despite the chaos surrounding him.

“Always a pleasure, ladies,” he says, flashing his signature smile. “Delighted to see you have everything under control.”

“Don’t just stand there. Do something,” I demand, panting as I glare at him. “This isn’t under control.”

He’s still insufferable. Still annoyingly tall, dark, and handsome. Still looking at me like he wants something, and I still can’t figure out what that is.

Nick shrugs, flexing his fingers against the cold.

“I’ve corralled most of the herd in the children’s playground. A buck that looks suspiciously like Rudolph seems to have taken a liking to the merry-go-round. It’s really quite amusing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and Marcy swoons like a woman who’s read The Vampire Lestat and taken it far too seriously. “I thought I’d check you hadn’t gotten trampled. Looks like I was just in time.”

The buck snorts again, pawing at the ground, and Nick turns to it with an arched brow.

“Easy there, big fella,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “No need to make this personal.”

The reindeer hesitates, its ears flicking back as though considering whether to listen.

“Is there anything he can’t charm?” Marcy whispers, staring at Nick like he’s a reindeer whisperer. “At this point, I’d let him talk me into alphabetizing his wine fridge.”

I can’t help but be grudgingly impressed as Nick steps forward and gently guides the buck away from both us and the wreckage of the gazebo. The darn thing follows his instructions, its large antlers dipping low as if in shame. Nick’s hand rests on its snout, and the reindeer, despite its previous apparent rage, settles under his touch. I watch, feeling a mix of awe and irritation.

“How does he do that?” I mumble under my breath.

Nick shoots me a glance over his shoulder, that same smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Years of practice. And maybe a little charm. I could show you sometime⁠—”

I scoff and plant my hands on my hips. Nick, meanwhile, rounds up a few more stray reindeer and guides them into a neat line, their hooves skidding slightly on the icy ground.