Page 14 of Go Luck Yourself
“Go,” he tells Coal, then positions himself right against my side, his long fingers wrapped around my hand. “Kris,” is all he says, and he takes a deep breath in, slowly lets it out.
The oddity of him being this close has me echoing him unconsciously. In, deep; out, long.
“Fuck,” Coal mutters but he turns to our dad. “Fine. Yeah. Let’s do this.”
Hex keeps taking deep breaths next to me, my body copying him.
Slowly, my fingers stop tingling, sensation inching over my limbs.
I hear Coal’s words again.Let’s do this.
Do this—?
Make him Santa. Give him full control of Christmas, no performative shit at meetings, no pretending to get Dad’s approval for the changes he wants to make.
I straighten, but I don’t try to pull out of Hex’s grip and he doesn’t move away.
Coal approaches Dad and Marta. “What do we need to do?”
Marta is messing with something on the Merry Measure. When she backs away, a flat panel of frosted white glass pops horizontally out of the wall of gauges.
“Both the current leader and the heir place their hands on this screen,” Marta explains, her eyes averted—the tension in the room is sky-high, and I wouldn’t blame her for racing away to less emotional ground. I almost did. “Magic is based in joy, so the transfer must be joyful. As long as the controlling leader is willing and eager, the transfer will be instant.”
Coal walks up to the screen and plants his hand on one side. His eyes snap to Dad, ready to argue, ready for Dad to rescind this whole thing—
Dad is as fast as Coal. He crosses to the screen and places his hand on it.
Nothing outward happens.
But Coal wheezes like he stepped into the freezing tundra without a coat. He yanks his hand back, fingers curling into his palm, eyes flickering over our father. “You actually did it.”
Dad grins. I’ve never seen him like this before,giddy,and it creeps agitation up and down my spine.
He claps once. “On that note, I’m off. You boys enjoy your New Year.”
Like this is totally normal. Like we aren’t—like I’m not—submerged in murky, inescapable anxiety.
He leaves, patting my shoulder as he goes. I flinch, bumping into Hex, who presses back to keep me from teetering too far.
We’re left in the rubble of our shock, Coal flexing his fingers like it might help him wake up from this weird-ass dream.
“Well,” he says, eyes going to me, down to Hex, “I guess I’m Santa now.”
Hex squeezes my hand and releases me to cross to Coal, cupping my brother’s face and pulling him down, forehead to forehead. It’s such an abruptly tender moment that I shift away.
Wren is already working on her tablet again, but frantically now; this transfer of power no doubt shifted alotof shit, and she’s a woman on a mission, clicking and typing and scowling.
Marta is checking the Merry Measure, also scowling, studying a gauge like glaring at it will make it unleash an answer she’s after.
Did that just happen?
Dad ceded our entire Holiday to Coal.
Last Christmas, he claimed he was blackmailing the winter Holidays to make Christmas more securefor us.Maybe… maybe he does care about us, on some level?
Doesn’t explain how he can go see the woman who abandoned his children. I know he kept trying to reach out to Mom after she left, kept inviting her to Christmas functions and leaving that door open. But if he did care about us, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her.
Then why do I keep responding to her messages?
