Page 62 of Blood and Bells

“I’m actually correct, then. The agreement was very clear. No feeding on residents of Willow Creek and elves do not live in Willow Creek.”

“Mm.”

“Rogue elves, in particular, live at the North Pole. With Santa. This is not controversial information.”

Wes watches me for a moment. “So your defense is geography.”

“My defense,” I say, “is accuracy.”

“Right,” he says. “And Holly called that what?”

“A technicality,” I say, annoyed. “Which is an entirely unfair characterization. It’s a distinction. A meaningful one.”

“I doubt Holly saw it that way,” Wes says. “Remind me of the last time you managed to win a person over with semantic arguments? Has that ever happened?”

“That’s not fair,” I say finally. It sounded more convincing in my head.

Wes brightens. “I see we’ve reached the sulking stage.”

“I am not sulking.” I straighten and adjust my collar.

“You’re at a bar, drinking enough alcohol to keep a small Christmas market operational, complaining about a woman who’s angry with you. That is the textbook definition of sulking.”

I don’t dignify it with a response.

“There are plenty more Hollys out there, you know,” he adds.

That earns him a look.

“That’s the problem. There aren’t, Wes. It’s been…” I pause, as if I’m counting the years, when in fact there’s no need. “It’s been a long time since I met a Holly. Or anyone who comes close.”

“Even easier, then.”

“How is that easier? She’s impossible. She’s stubborn, obnoxious, aggressively convinced she’s right—and infuriatingly often is.”

“You say that like it’s a complaint.”

I look at him. He doesn’t even flinch.

Apparently, we’ve stopped respecting our elders.

In this coven, rules matter. So do the distinctions that keep them from being unbearable—the kind that mean we have Bloodmas instead of Christmas. Holly may have dismissed them as a technicality, but it was the only thing standing between me and breaking my word…and the only way I had to save her gala from what Santa is doing.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I ask.

“Nope.” He winks at me again and I realize how annoying it is. “The way I see it, this is all pretty simple, and you’re being a bit ridiculous. One might even say juvenile, if one had a poor sense of self-preservation.”

“Oh, do tell. Please unburden your decades of wisdom on me.” I put my head in my hands and flutter my eyelashes at him. “Do enlighten me. I’m sure it will be brief.”

“Do you like her?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple.” Wes flashes me that grin again. I’m downgrading his to seven for its annoyance. “And you still haven’t answered.”

I mumble something into my glass.

“Sorry, that sounded like cowardice.”