Page 33 of Go Luck Yourself
“Kris,” she echoes. Then she leans in like she’s got a secret. “They’ll never tell you themselves, but you can call her Finn, and him Loch.”
“Siobhán,” Fionnuala hisses. “Christ, you’re such a wain, don’t be nice to him.”
“Loch, huh?” I turn to him with a grin. “Can I call you that? We are such good friends, after all.”
He’s not looking at me. He’s staring down the middle of the table and licks his bottom lip in a clear, unbridled glower. So, his ability to fake this propriety lasted all of, what, an hour? I’m tired too, but I can do this all day, buddy.
“Of course.” He faces me, says slowly, “Kris.”
I sit up, an irritating itch rolling down my spine. “Loch.”
He white knuckles his whiskey glass.
“So, Kris.” Siobhán shifts in her chair. “The race tomorrow?”
I should pretend I read the schedule and know what she’s talking about, but the whiskey is starting to make my head a little fuzzy. Me and my zero tolerance for anything harder than 8 percent alcohol.
“What race is that?” I ask.
Siobhán leans her elbows on the table. “The 5k charity race? There’s a festival around it too.”
“He’s na running.” Finn cuts a direct look at me, her first since we sat down. “He canna be arsed to raise money for youth services and after-school programs.”
I blink at her. That sounds… not nearly as performative as I’d expected for our first event.
“Of course I’ll run for that.” If it was Coal, hell no, that boy couldn’t run up a staircase; but I can do a 5k no problem thanks to my one moderately healthy coping mechanism: hitting the gym.
Finn seems unconvinced. “Really? I would na think Christmas would give a shite about givingbackto people rather than takingfrompeople.”
“That reputation is exactly the thing my brother and I are trying to undo,” I say civilly.
“Christmas has been terrorizing other Holidays foryears.What exactly do you think you can do to make up for that,Kris?”
I stare at Finn, trying to tell myself not to take it personally—my Holiday was a piece of shit for a long time to a lot of different people.
“We’re trying,” I say again. “It’s no excuse for—”
Finn’s on a war path. “Living up your privileged arse off the magic you stole from other Holidays—”
“Christ, Finn, get off it,” Loch cuts in. “Not everything has to be a bloody fucking crusade.”
Finn snarls at him, but surprisingly relents, sinking into her chair and shooting me one last glare.
After a moment of silence, Siobhán gives a strained laugh. “Finn is our moral compass, as you can see.”
“She’s not wrong,” I admit.
That makes Finn glare at me all over again, expecting a fight, but I grab another cup in front of me.
“It will take a long time to undo what Christmas has done.” I fiddle with the glass. “My brother and I didn’t know how to counter it. Turns out it just took a few moments of reckless bravery to get started. And diplomatic outreach to other Holidays.”
I bat my eyelashes at Loch.
He works his lips, and the whiskey tunnel-visions my focus on that repressed snarl so I take a drink before I think to check which glass I grabbed.
The whiskey. Again.
Loch sights it, hunter to prey.
