Bryant stepped to her side, pulling her into a fierce, wordless hug. She buried her face in his coat, letting the warmth of him override the chill that threatened to take root in her bones.
Anna and Olivia stood on either side, arms linked, Caroline in front, eyes fixed on the spot where the raven had vanished.
Grace thought of the necklace, of the voice, of the promise of more to come.
She shivered, but not from the cold.
This was her town, her friends, her story now.
And she was ready to fight.
The four women and Bryant walked back to the square in silence, the snow crunching underfoot, the air clean and hard. The holiday lights still burned, oblivious to the blood and the fear and the little patch of darkness that had settled, once again, in the heart of Holiday Hollow.
Some people deserve to die, the raven had said.
Grace wasn’t sure about that. But she was damn sure that, if she had anything to do with it, nobody else would die on her watch.
Not on Christmas.
Not ever.
16
The hour had dissolved from late into lost. Three a.m., or near enough, but the Lantern House blazed with as much life as if it were six in the evening and someone had just put the lasagna in. The fire worked overtime, popping like it had an audience, and the scents of chocolate and scorched cinnamon clung everywhere, smothering even the ghost of the winter wind rattling at the windows.
Grace sat cross-legged on the braided rug, mug cradled between both hands. She wore Bryant’s borrowed hoodie over her dress, the hem of the old police academy sweatshirt grazing her knees. The effect was more “teen sleepover” than “woman who had just pulled a body from the jaws of a supernatural death,” but that was fine with her. Anything to stave off the shake in her bones that always came when adrenaline ran dry.
Caroline sprawled on the couch, gold lamé pants abandoned for black silk PJs, hair up in a lopsided topknot and face bare of anything but old mascara. Her mug was already half-drained, leaving a tide line of cocoa and something that might have been whiskey. Olivia had claimed the nearest armchair, a vision of rumpled elegance in a white cashmere robe and tartan slippers, her hair still picture-perfect despite the hour. Anna, pink-facedand punchy, perched on the hearth with a throw blanket over her shoulders, eyes glazed and bright.
No one spoke for a long time. The fire popped happily, and there was the occasional clink of mug against teeth. Grace let herself relax for a moment, safe in the knowledge that no one here expected her to carry the conversation.
Anna finally broke. “If I ever try to save a reporter’s life again, someone just chuck me in the lake, okay? I’ll hibernate until this town becomes a little safer.”
Olivia grunted her agreement, but Caroline sat up, lips pursed, and wagged a finger at Anna. “You love the drama. Admit it.”
Anna grinned. “Not this kind of drama. Give me high school bake sale sabotage any day. Next time Tessa wants to play Scooby-Doo, she’s on her own.”
Grace snorted. “She’ll probably want to interview her own attempted murderer before we can even file the report.”
A round of tired laughter, nothing sharp about it. Grace felt the last of the tension melt off her, the warm weight of friends both real and recent working better than any sedative.
It was Olivia who glanced up first, listening. “That’s him,” she said, and the rest of the room quieted in anticipation.
The knock was gentle, almost polite. Grace set her mug down and rose, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands. She unlocked the door, and Bryant stepped in. He looked like hell, and she could have kissed him for it. Stubble on his jaw, shirt wrinkled, eyes red but wide awake. He carried a folder and a reusable coffee cup with a holiday squirrel on it, neither of which seemed to belong in his hands.
“You all still up?” he asked, though he clearly knew the answer.
Olivia got up and made a show of opening her arms. “Bryant, darling, you look like a PSA for what not to do with your life.”
He grinned, barely. “Missed you, too.”
He came to the hearth and let himself sink down beside Anna, who slid over to make room. Caroline motioned to the side table, and he took the hint, grabbing the bottle of something brown and pouring a healthy dose into his coffee.
No one asked what he’d found. They just waited, because everyone in the room had grown up knowing how to wait for bad news.
Bryant looked around, the fire reflecting in his green eyes. “Tessa’s fine,” he said, “if you can call ‘chewing out two paramedics and a doctor’ fine. She’s at the hospital now. Should be released in the morning.”
Anna blew out a breath she’d obviously been holding.
