Page 113 of Go Luck Yourself
Loch smiles at each of them. Stops on Iris.
He swivels back to Hex and, in an awkward burst, tells him, “You lot owe your Holiday to us.”
There’s another beat of silence.
Hex cocks an eyebrow.
“St. Patrick’s Day started Halloween?” I clarify.
Loch clears his throat again. “Ah, no—Ireland. Originated in the festival of Samhain.”
Hex appraises Loch, letting the moment stretch in silence again. I can’t help thinking Hex is fucking with him on my behalf, and my chest warms that for all the ribbing Hex and I give each other, he’s got my back.
Finally, Hex smiles. “I’m not surprised you know that. We have started to bring the roots back into popularity, but most people still don’t know of Ireland’s influence. There is credit due to Scotland and England too that we—”
Loch frowns. “Pardon?”
Hex’s eyebrows lift atadtoo naively as he says, “Well, Samhain is not solely Irish, is it? It’s Gaelic, and extends into parts of Scotland, England—”
“England?” Loch licks his teeth. “Go way outta that. Halloween came fromIreland,lad. Those other bits are poor imitations.”
In the midst of this, Coal sidles up to me and nudges my arm. One look, and he doesn’t even have to ask it.You all right?
But I don’t want to—can’t—answer here, so I nod at Loch and Hex now debating England’s contributions to Halloween versus Ireland’s. “You’re not going to defend him?”
“Nah. He’s hot when he gets all fired up over his Holiday.” A pause. “Hex, not Loch.” Another pause. “Although—”
“You sure you’re okay to be away for the evening?” I cut him off. “No pressing winter collective business?”
Coal snorts. “Oh, the other Holiday leadersinsistedI leave. They all wanted a break too. Apparently—get this—I’m aworkaholic. Me.Mister Barely Maintaining a C Average. The other leaders demanded a break from the, and I quote,obnoxiously thorough meetings.” He’s grinning. “They’re great people. This collective’s going to be fun.”
My smile is true and glowing. “I’m glad you’ve found your calling, Santa.”
He shudders. “That still sounds wrong.”
Hex is beaming in his innocent yet maniacal way, and Loch laughs, mildly horrified, so this feels like as good a time as any to think about something else.
“Okay.” I clap loudly. Siobhán has finished laying out the paints on a side table and I motion to them. “So—are we doing arts and crafts or what?”
Loch pivots to the paints. “Belfast is basically a precursor for the big Dublin parade in a few days, so you gotta go all out.” He picks up a jar of orange paint and a small foam brush. “Face painting. You can tell how good a time you had by how fucked up the paint is at night’s end.”
Iris bounces. “I’m in!”
She joins Siobhán at the table and picks out colors. Finn trails her like a puppy; I honestly have no idea who Finn evenisnow, her whole demeanor all soft and wilted.
Coal loops his arm around Hex’s waist. “I’ll paint you if you paint me?”
Hex hums uncertainly. “I am not sure I trust you not to paint something obscene on me.”
“I’m happy to do it for you both,” Loch says. “Kris can attest. I know my way around a paintbrush.”
“I haven’t seen you use a brush,” I note. “You know how to use your fingers, though.”
Ihearwhat I say as I say it.
Mixed panic and horror knot in my throat and my gaze collides with Coal’s. His face takes on a look of such bliss, oh the gift in the euphemism buffet he’s been given.
To my eternal surprise, my brother tips his head demurely. “Thanks, Loch. But why don’t you help out Kris?”
