Page 37 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
He sputters. “Yeah. Sure. I could choose to run off to become a reclusive author in a cabin somewhere, and Dad would be a-okay with that.”
“An author?” I home in on that word. “Is that really what you’d choose to do?”
Kris stiffens, watching me, before he shakes his head and decides against something. “Eat the fucking crackers. I think they have bits of dried apricot in them.”
The appetizers are suddenly sitting like rocks in my stomach. Not because Kris has that option, to leave—but because he might take it. He had that bit about being a reclusive author a little too at the ready. And not only would that mean he’d besomewhere else,but that’d also mean he’d leave me alone, with all of this, the head of an empire that has a death grip on one of the biggest Holidays in the world, with no real ability to do anything other than keep chunking out plastic baubles.
If that’s what he wants to do, though, of course I’d help him make it happen.
But him leaving would break my fucking heart.
So I do what I usually do when my emotions skew too dark: I torment my brother.
“Tell me what you wanna be when you grow up. Kris. Kris.” I poke his cheek. “Kriiiiiis.KristopherKringleeeee.”
Hehateswhen I use his middle name.
So he snaps right back with, “Shut up,Niiiiick,NicholasNoëlllll.”
I laugh. I laugh and eat the stupid crackers and Kris smiles at me.
“You’re not the spare to me,” I tell him. My smile slips. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Coal,” Kris says. “I know that.”
“And when we—we—inherit this grand realm”—I wave my hand around again in mockery, but honestly, itispretty grand—“I still want you to do what you want to do. Even if that isn’t being part of this.”
Kris stares at me for a long moment. His lips quirk slightly. “I’ll stick around if you will.”
The tension in my chest releases. A little.
“Safety in numbers, right?” I pop another cracker and go, “Buddy system,” only, with my full mouth, it comes out “Buddy fyst’m,” and crumbs spray everywhere.
Kris’s stare is deadpan as he flicks a crumb off his sleeve. “Can I choose a different buddy?”
“Nope. You’re stuck with me.”
“Damn.”
“Blame genetics, bitch.”
Dad catches my eye as he makes his way towards us, his brows raised in intent before he even gets to the table.
I paste a pleasant smile on my face when he approaches. “Father.”
“Why aren’t you over there?” Dad nods at where it’s now just Hex and Iris against a seemingly endless parade of Christmas nobles.
“Over—?”
“The Halloween Prince has had ample time alone with her,” Dad hisses, angling close. “You must play into this competition. Go over there. Stake your claim.”
“Stake my claim? What, should I stick a flag in her?”
Kris snorts next to me.
“Nicholas.” Dad’s look goes from a glare to a performative smile as someone passes by our table. They leave, and he bends back in. “Make it look like you are trying to win her. That is, after all, the story we are promoting.Go.”
An argument winds up in me. How I never agreed to any of this—
