Page 64 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
“Coal!”
I tense. Hex shoves back, but my arms stay around him, one of his hands stays knotted up in my sweater.
“Coaaaal,” Iris singsongs, her heels clacking on the library’s polished wood floor. “They want pictures before the night ends. Are you back here… reading? You shouldreadlater.”
She’s walking slowly, talkingloudly.Giving us warning.
Hex climbs to his feet, grabbing onto the window ledge, leaving a handprint in the melting frost I made. My own hands fall limp in my lap, and I hold there for one long, rattling breath before I can stand.
He bats his fingers and the shadow wall falls. No word, nothing at all, and he walks away, angling for another row of shelves.
“Wait—” I shoot after him but he twists a look back that holds me in place.
His cheeks are flushed and his hair is ruffled—I did that,I did that—and he’ssmilingat me, and I want to grin back. The urge rises.
But all I can see are the shackles we have on him. Those words dragging him down,threatandkept in line.
“Good night, Coal,” he says, and he darts off into the shadows as Iris slides to the entrance of this row.
I run my hand across my open mouth, but there is no schooling my expression now, no restraining the way the past few minutes have unmade me.
When I show Iris my face, she goes from coy to shocked in two seconds.
“What happened?” she asks, eyes launching around, but he’s gone, and I’m fuming.
“Tell the reporter to shove his camera up his ass,” I say as I move around her. “I need to talk to my father.”
Chapter Nine
I head back through the library. Kris sees me, bolts up from his chair, but I give one solid shake of my head.
This is between me and Dad.
I rush through the palace to his office, knowing he’ll be there. Hoping he’ll be there. I don’t know how long this anger hurricane will carry me before I hit a wall of exhaustion.
It was bad enough that I didn’t know who Hex was at the bar. That I didn’t recognize him, because why would Prince Coal, irresponsible wild child, need to worry about shit like the monarchs of a Holiday he’d never interact with? I left all that stuff to Dad.
Because the one time I tried to do anything real, I messed up to epic proportions.
But now. Not knowing the real reason Hex is here because I left all this stuff to Dad,again—
When I do get involved, shit blows up. When I don’t get involved, shitblows up.So what the fuck is the solution? I don’t know. I don’t know, but I’m going, and that’s the only choice I can see right now.
My heart is bruised from rocking against my ribs, each breath feeling like knives in my chest. I reach Dad’s office, a few doors down from the Merry Measure, which is locked up tight now behind thick doors and a wall of protective magic. Dad’s office, on the other hand, has the door cracked open, a light on within, and I shove inside without pretense.
It’s a nice office. Homey and cozy, woodsy and warm, hung with holly and ivy and the same façade of Christmas cheer that makes me woozy now. Especially when I see him at his huge mahogany desk, bent over a stack of papers, glasses on the tip of his nose like he’s the embodiment of the visage we’re both supposed to live up to.
“He’s ourprisoner?” My voice cuts through the crackling of the fire in the far wall.
Dad lifts his head, peeking at me over the rim of his glasses. “Nicholas?”
I slam the door behind me and stomp into the middle of the room, pulse flurrying in my wrists, my neck.
I can still taste Hex.
Still feel his spine under my fingers.
“Our Halloween guest,” I say. “You’re not keeping him here on the promise of an alliance with Easter; you’re keeping him here under threat of hurting his Holiday. We—”
