Page 103 of Go Luck Yourself
I toss my coat on a chair in the foyer and head for the office. Is it Loch’s office, or is it Malachy’s? I can’t imagine Malachy does any work here. But if the joy meter is anywhere, it’s gotta be there.
The halls wind around me, silent and chilly, and I shiver, arms pricking with cold.
The office door is shut. I stop in front of it, warring with whetherthere’d be any magical protection. Knowing Malachy’s stinginess, doubtful.
So I grab the knob.
It’s unlocked.
Huh. That’s… lucky.
I look around like a physical manifestation of Loch’s magic is going to pop up and give me a mischievous wink.
Why would Loch’s magic be helpingme? Unless it’d somehow help him.
This is a dumb coincidence. Loch didn’t lock the office because we left this room in a hurry last night, so he probably forgot.
Yeah. That has to be it.
I’ve never been so glad Christmas’s magic is straightforward. A few days in St. Patrick’s Day, and I’m a conspiracy nut.
I slip inside and shut the door behind me. My heart thunders for a solid five seconds as I stand inside, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing does, and I exhale, long and slow.
I have no shame left at this point, so I dive right into snooping. Maybe there’s an agenda on the desk that saysMalachy’s Calendar: 1 o’clock, be an ass; 2 o’clock, steal Christmas’s joy.
But the first thing I see is a notebook with a bunch of stapled business cards next to notes in Loch’s handwriting that say things likefifth generation lace makerandon a music scholarship—watch senior capstone show.
There are several notebooks like it. And schedules for festivals happening across the isle, performers in attendance, who needs assistance, if Loch’s able to help.
I glare down at the books.
Thisis why I’m all jumbled up inside. He had to go and be this honorable, infectious, passionate son of a bitch with soft, full lips and abs that put me on my knees.
“You’re a goddamn dumbass, Claus,” I mutter.
The drawers hold office supplies, files about updates to the castle and money transfers between Malachy and Loch for minor upkeep and school tuition.
Hands in fists, I head to the nearest bookshelf. This is an old-as-shit castle; they’d have hidden passages, right?
A tremor of excitement scuttles up my spine as I search along the bookcases for cranks or anything telling.
Please have a hidden passage.
Please be something cool to help this day not feel like such a disaster.
The books are old and decorative, fancy versions of classics like theOdysseyandFrankenstein.There are framed pictures of Loch, Finn, and Siobhán way younger, smiling with two older people—their mom and dad.
I linger over one picture, a gap-toothed Loch with Siobhán on his shoulders in front of the castle, both dressed like they’d come from an Irish dance, outfits as green as the hills with intricate gold threaded designs. Their mom is next to them, arm around them both, all smiles.
He looks so innocent in that picture. Weightless.
I don’t have a single picture with my parents like that. The best is a family photo right before Mom left. Coal’s making a weird face because Dad yelled at him, and I’m trying not to cry because Ihatedwhen they fought. But Mom looks perfect, she always did, put together and not a hair out of place, even if we were falling apart.
I shake the emotion away and keep searching.
A few feet down, a gust of air catches me off guard.
