Page 44 of Go Luck Yourself
His eyes roll shut at some realization. “Useless magic.”
I perk up. “What?”
But instead of answering, he looks at me again, and it’s… different. That same pull of realization, but with a shadow of dread.
“You heard the music. It brought you here,” he clarifies.
“What does this have to do with useless magic?”
C’mon, tell me you’re stealing from us. Admit it and make this easier for us both.
Loch grabs a spray bottle from a side table and mists an area on his painting, pumping the nozzle more aggressively than needed.
“St. Patrick’s Day’s magic,” he says. “It’s useless.Luck.” He clicks his tongue in distaste. “Which I’ve always thought was a xenophobic attribute for our Holiday’s magic to assimilate,luck of the Irishand all, but Siobhán’s certain it leads us towhere we need to go.As if luck canna bebadtoo.” He waves at me. “As displayed.”
I absorb this, mind switching gears noisily. “So—you—you’re saying your magic made me hear your music so I’d come to you? That’s what you were talking about?”
Loch puts the spray bottle back on the table. “I’m saying my headphones broke this morning, so I had to blast my music like this and now—you’re here.”
I scoff. “There’s no possible chance your headphones broke because electronics do that sometimes and I happened to hear your loud-ass music?”
His aggravation deadens his stare. “Fine. Take the piss.”
“Are you sure your magic isn’t narcissism instead of luck?”
He turns to his canvas with a muttered “Arsehole.”
I smirk at the back of his head.
Then hear Coal telling me that maybe Loch will be more forthcoming if I’m not attacking the shit out of him.
I’m usually way better at prioritizing what Coal needs me to do. Loch’s ability to derail me is getting a little ridiculous.
Holiday magic manifests in increasingly bizarre ways, influenced by the beliefs and traditions people create as they celebrate. So, sure, it’s possible Loch’s magic could manipulate his life in terms of luck.
And if it’sbadluck for Loch that led me here, then it should begoodluck for me, right? Maybe his magic’s pissed at him for stealing Christmas’s.
The Goo Goo Dolls drone on in the proceeding silence.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “An American band? After your display in the library, I thought it’d be all Irish, all the time.”
That’s not much less confrontational than mocking his luck magic.
He glances back at me and his lip understandably curls. “I’m not a monolith, ya wanker.”
Like the Halloween Prince not liking horror. Still need to figure out how to use that to my advantage.
The song ends.
And immediately switches to “With or Without You” by U2.
I can’t help the shitty grin that rolls across my face.
Loch blushes from the edge of his beard to his hairline, his kick of embarrassment reforming his face into the closest to sincere I’ve seen on him yet.
My smile reels back. A fraction less shitty.
“That was… poor timing.” He clears his throat and crosses the room to punch off the sound system.
