The soft tinkle of bells could be heard long before he arrived. But the joyful sound didn’t belong in that alley in New Orleans. It might give hope where none existed in a place where monsters fed.

Her husky female voice chided the unexpected intruder. “You scared off my friends,” before the slender dark figure stepped out of the alley’s black depths. 

The man with the winter-white beard responded in his deep, gentle tone. “You mean victims, don’t you, Charlotte?” 

At the mention of that name, her eyes reddened and flashed like a startled animal’s. But then an aroma of freshly cut evergreen hit her nostrils, dispersing the stench of stale booze, trash, and a few unspeakable things emanating from the narrow passage behind her. A memory was triggered, and she drifted into the past. 

She saw her younger self with honeyed brown hair. Her father hummed a Christmas carol and lifted her so she could place the angel on top of the tree. She was giggling. Her sharp features softened as she watched the scene continue to unfold in her mind. Her momentary peace didn’t last, though. The tender feelings began to burn, scratched at something raw inside. She twisted her lips with a snarl. 

“Charlotte’s dead!”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Charlotte.” 

“And stop those insufferable bells!”

“As you wish,” he said, and with a quick wave of his hand, the ringing ceased. He’d seen what he’d hoped for. A flash of her former self. It was a start anyway. 

“Why are you here?” she hissed. “It’s not like you to want to get those shiny boots dirty. Unless…” She tilted her head. “Maybe you’re more like me than you’d care to admit. After all, we do agree on one thing—the real fun doesn’t begin until midnight.” 

“Except after my fun, everyone wakes up happy, and with you, if they wake up at all, they are, well, let’s just say, not quite the same.”

“Not quite the same?” She cackled. “Is that what you call it?”

The broken lamppost suddenly flickered and buzzed to life, giving her a clearer view of him. She’d expected him to look old, but he didn’t look as worn as one would expect. His wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth, giving him a childlike expression of wonder and joy.

“And you didn’t answer me. Why.Are.You.Here?” 

She knew of his gifts, but didn’t dare hope he had anything she wanted. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he simply stated. “A good night for miracles, don’t you think?” 

“Miracles don’t exist.” 

“Let me show you one,” he countered.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so.” 

“What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Her nostrils flared.“I’m not afraid!” 

In the blink of an eye, she vanished in a cloud of dark mist and reappeared an inch from his rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. Before he could speak, her pasty fingers gripped the collar of his coat, yanking him against her. Her upper lip twitched to show him the points of her fangs. 

“Maybe you should be afraid, coming to see me, dressed head-to-toe in my favorite color.” 

“You don’t have to live like this.” 

“Don’t I?” His calm demeanor enraged her, and her voice rose again. “What do you know of my hunger?!” 

“I know more than you think.” 

“Let me ask you something. What’s your favorite food?” 

“That’s easy. My wife’s chocolate chip pancakes.” 

“You’re salivating just thinking about those pancakes.” She circled him as if he were prey. “Now imagine that’s all you can eat. You live with a constant ache for them. But that hunger doesn’t just ache, it claws at you from the inside out, begging, ripping, until you feed that hunger. Take a bite. Taste it on your tongue. No matter how much you eat, it's never enough.” 

He grew serious. The moment of truth between them. “If you could change, would you?” 

“Of course.” No hesitation at all from her. She finally locked eyes with him, and her previous tone turned more melancholy. “But, there’s one thing even more painful than this incessant hunger.”

“And what’s that?” 

Her weak voice surprised her. “Hope.” 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, Charlotte.” 

He extended his hand toward her as if to pat her in comfort, but she smacked it away. 

“Go! Fuck your pity!” She spat, then her voice trailed off.  “Your light doesn’t belong here.” 

“I can’t leave you like this.” 

“Go!” she screeched, giving him a shove that should have sent him flying through the brick wall, but he stood steadfast. It wasn’t brute strength but a different kind of power that rooted him in place. 

Her throat burned. The pungent smell of blood had become too much to withstand. 

He didn’t seem to recognize the imminent danger; he smiled and spoke with a confidence she couldn’t help but admire. “Merry Christmas, Charlotte.” 

She hesitated, assessing him. His calm, gentle demeanor was maddening, yet made her want to cling to him. “I wish it were…“ 

He remained impossibly calm when she lunged and plunged her fangs into the warm, pulsing vein in his neck. 

What happened next surprised one of them.  

Like the others before him, in that first moment, she thought about him dying. Then, she waited for the familiar rush that tasting blood gave her—the euphoria that made her latch on and drink her fill and cast out regret.

But instead, her knees buckled, and he caught her and held her tightly against him. She convulsed in strangling gasps. Her fists pounded against him, struggling to escape whatever was happening inside her. 

He only held her tighter, absorbing her blows while the darkness seeped out from her pores. Her elongated canines shrank back in line, forming a neat row of pearly white teeth. Crimson eyes faded to a blue the envy of the sky, and her pallid skin warmed to a blush, flooding her veins once again. Hair, black as a raven’s feather, lightened to the honeyed brown of the young woman she had been before that fateful bite. The transformation ended, and she stilled in his arms. 

He lightened his grip, and snowflakes magically appeared in their space, circling them in swirling spirals. One landed on her cheek, but now, it melted, no longer freezing against the chilling flesh of the undead. 

She was alive.

Charlotte blinked hard, slowly understanding what had happened. Her thirst was gone. The blackest blackness she had lived in was gone. The nightmare ended. But the change scared her as much as thrilled her. Sensations she’d long forgotten returned—a heartbeat, for one. 

“Is it truly over?” she asked, trembling from the shock of it all. 

“Yes,” he answered, helping her stand on her own.

He watched her closely, but took a step back, giving her some space. Her hand pressed against her chest, feeling her heartbeat. It pounded, happy to be pumping blood again. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled. Heat pulsed beneath her skin. When she opened her eyes, she released a satisfied sigh and touched the growing warmth in her cheeks. She was relearning her humanity. 

When she finally spoke again, she told him, “I’d forgotten what warmth feels like,” then held her hands in front of her face, admiring the mortal glow. 

Then, her attention turned to him. Her brows knitted as she reached to blot the bloody spots on his neck with her fingers. She lifted them to her nose and sniffed. Nothing. 

“As I said before,” he smiled, “Merry Christmas, Charlotte.”

Tears of joy and appreciation rolled down her cheeks as she hugged herself, unable to get enough of her own warmth. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I think… I'm hungry,” she replied, then rushed to add, “but not like that other hunger. Something warm…and sweet.” Her eyes lit up. “Pancakes.” 

Such a simple thing to rid her of any remaining doubts that the nightmare was over. 

He understood and winked. “I may know a place.”