Page 30 of Silent Nights and Vampire Lights

I almost missed the moment I crossed into Grimm Mawr. There was no thunderous magical barrier, no crushing weight of ancient wards—just a subtle shift in the air, like stepping from one room into another. The "Welcome to Grimm Mawr" sign gleamed under my headlights, its fresh paint a far cry from the weathered marker I remembered. The population number listed below made me blink: 15,000. It had been barely 3,000 when I left.

As I crested the final hill, I had to pull over. The town spread out below me, a constellation of lights that rivaled the stars above. Holiday decorations sparkled everywhere—wrapped around lamp posts, strung between buildings, twinkling in shop windows. And there were people. So many people, strolling along the sidewalks despite the late hour, their laughter carryingon the crisp December air. Humans alongside supernaturals, I realized with a start. Humans walking freely through what had once been strictly supernatural territory.

I forced myself to start driving again, navigating streets that were both familiar and strange. The old bookshop where I'd spent countless hours was now a bustling café, its windows steamy and warm. The town square had been transformed into a holiday market, wooden stalls selling everything from hot chocolate to handmade crafts. A group of teenagers—some warm-blooded, some not—huddled around a fire pit, sharing marshmallows and stories.

I couldn’t help but think how Holly would have been utterly charmed by the sight.

"What happened here?" I murmured to myself, turning onto the long drive that led to my family's estate. The gravel path was now paved, lined with elegant streetlamps that cast a gentle glow through the ancient oaks. And there, at the end, stood my childhood home.

The mansion I remembered had been imposing, deliberately intimidating, with its dark stone and gothic architecture. Now, soft white lights outlined every window, wreaths hung on every door, and warm, yellow light spilled onto the snow from within. It looked… welcoming. Like somewhere Holly would have loved.

The thought of her hit me like a physical blow. I'd been so certain I was protecting her, so convinced that bringing her here would put her in danger. But this place, this transformed version of my hometown, wasn't the fortress of darkness and danger I'd described to Michael.

I'd barely put the car in park when the front door flew open. A figure burst out—my mother, moving faster than I'd seen her move in decades. Before I could even get out of the car, she was there, yanking my door open.

“Nicholas?” Her voice broke on my name. “Oh, my darling boy?—”

I found myself wrapped in an embrace that smelled of jasmine and home, her fingers clutching at my coat like she was afraid I'd disappear. Over her shoulder, I saw my father approaching more slowly, but his face—I'd never seen him look so openly emotional.

“You're home,” he said simply when he reached us. “You're safe.”

“I…” The words stuck in my throat. A century of rehearsed accusations and bitter speeches crumbled in the face of their genuine joy at seeing me. “What happened here? The town, the humans?—”

My mother finally released me, though she kept one hand on my arm as if maintaining contact was essential. “Come inside, darling. You must be exhausted from driving. We have so much to tell you.”

The entrance hall was exactly as I remembered, but warmer somehow. Family photos lined the walls—recent ones, I realized, of my sister and her children, of town events and holiday gatherings. I had missed so much. Lillian as a mother. I couldn’t even fathom that.

“We changed with the times,” my father explained as he led us to the sitting room. “About twenty years ago, we realized we couldn't keep living in isolation. The world was changing too quickly. Your cousin Hugo went into his long sleep thirty years ago, and it was something of a wake-up call. The old ways weren't sustainable.”

“The barriers?” I asked, sinking into my old favorite armchair. It had been reupholstered in a rich burgundy.

“Modified,” my mother said, perching on the sofa beside me. “They still keep out those who mean harm, but they welcome those who would be friends. We have a council now—humansand supernaturals of all species working together. The holiday market was their idea.” She smiled fondly. “The children love it. And you should see Halloween. It’s an entire month now.”

“Children?” I echoed.

“Human and supernatural children growing up together,” my father confirmed. “It's been… enlightening. Challenging sometimes but rewarding. We've learned so much. It was what you often said. We could learn to live together if we only tried. There have been some bumps along the way, but overall, it has been wonderful.”

I closed my eyes, thinking of Holly's face when I'd told her she couldn't come with me, that it wasn't safe. How many times had she told me I was stuck in the past? How many times had she insisted that things could change, that people could change? I had become what I had accused my family of—stuck in the past, mired to the old ways, and hadn’t even give Holly a chance. She had won me over, and I sent her away.

“Nicholas?” My mother's voice was gentle. “Are you alright?”

“I made a terrible mistake,” I whispered. “There's someone I left someone behind because I thought it wasn't safe for her here. I thought you wouldn't welcome her.”

“At one time, we might not have welcomed her. But now… Bring her,” my father said immediately. “Whoever she is, bring her home.”

Home. The word echoed in my chest, filling empty spaces I'd forgotten existed. I looked around at the warm room, at my parents' concerned faces, at the evidence of decades of change and growth I'd missed because I'd been too afraid to look back.

“I need to go,” I said, standing abruptly. “I need to find her.”

My mother smiled knowingly. “We understand. And Nicholas? We've missed you. Every day.”

As I strode out the door to my car, my phone already in hand, I realized that Holly had been right about something elsetoo—sometimes love meant taking chances, even when you were afraid. Especially when you were afraid.

Holly

Michael pulled off at a run-down diner off the highway in Oneota. I was feeling a bit gun shy about stopping anyway, especially a place that had seen better days, or even years in this case. It seemed they were magnets for hitmen these days, but my bladder was screaming at me, and my eyes were gritty from crying, so I could use the ladies’ room and freshen up. I wasn’t hungry, so it surprised me to come out of the bathroom to find Michael seated in a booth, studying the laminated menu.

I slid into the vinyl seat across from him. “I thought you wanted to get to our destination before more snow hit.”

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