Page 86 of Blood and Bells

They seem to be getting the message, keeping their distance for the moment, and I take a second to catch my breath and get my bearings.

Then Santa roars again.

His magic surges again, and the red glow from the corrupted tree flares brighter as a shockwave tears through the square and forces everyone back. The rogue elves regroup instantly, snarling, and the townsfolk falter.

Inside the dome, the glitter whips into a tight, violent cyclone. The crooked star trembles like it’s trying to shake itself free, and the tree strains against the glass, its light flickering in jagged pulses as though it’s feeding on the fear and chaos around us.

Nick glances at me.

Just for a second.

And in that second, there’s nothing but certainty in his eyes—the infuriating belief that we can win this. It steadies me, even as the corrupted tree pulses brighter and the globe itself starts to glow like a warning beacon.

My stomach drops.

Whatever Santa’s doing, it’s working—and we’re running out of time.

I grab another snowball, my fingers numb now, shaking with cold and adrenaline.

“Don’t stop now!” I shout, forcing my voice to carry as people stumble back. “We’ve got him on the ropes. Keep fighting!”

The words feel thinner than I’d like.

Santa throws back his head and laughs, the sound booming across the square. “You think you can stop me with snowballs and tinsel? You can’t steal my holiday. Christmas belongs to me!”

Nick charges.

The candy cane gleams in the crimson light as he closes the distance, and behind us the choir holds the note, the Scouts reload, and Mrs. Christie keeps time with her rolling pin like this is a very aggressive baking schedule.

Willow Creek is awake now.

All of it.

And my heart is in my throat as I watch him go, because whatever happens next is going to come down to this—to him, to me, and to whatever magic we have left to find.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The battle unfolds around me as I carve my way through rogue elves, trying to get closer to Santa. The town square has become a demented holiday diorama—townspeople fighting elves, elves fighting vampires, and, at the center of it all, a deranged wind sprite cackling as he tries to siphon magic from a snow globe.

It is, without question, the fourth strangest Christmas I’ve ever attended.

Wes is holding his own beside the young server from the diner, both of them moving with surprising coordination. Across the square, Marcy and Ronan have somehow formed an alliance and are laying waste to anything pointy-eared and festive.

Notably, no one is teaming up with Crinkshaw.

Holly swings her snow shovel into the side of a rogue elf’s head with admirable commitment. The impact knocks her slightly off balance, but she recovers quickly and, catching me watching, flashes a lopsided thumbs-up.

It’s adorable.

The tide is turning in our favor, but a pulsing barrier of magic still surrounds Santa, keeping everyone just far enough back. We need to break through it—get close enough to stop whatever he’s doing with that cursed globe.

Around us, Willow Creek has escalated this into a full seasonal production. Someone has set up speakers and a DJ table, blasting aggressively remixed Christmas music. Others fall back to the Nanaimo-and-cocoa station my vampires have established, regrouping before diving back in.

Despite the circumstances, people appear to be enjoying themselves.

I spot an opening and make for Holly, dodging a stray elf and a poorly aimed snowball as I go. She sees me coming and grins.

“Holly—” I start.