Page 76 of Go Luck Yourself
Drops back against the barstool in a limp heap.
“And I have no power to make it what it deserves to be because Malachy’s pouring all our joy into hismotherfuckingdistillery. That’s what he does with it, uses magic to make his businesslucky—Siobhán told ya?”
I nod.
He mimics me. “I’ve tried so hard to harness our magic, at least the luck when I can, but I have so little of it. It does na alwayslistento me, and when it does, it—”
“It breaks your headphones so wandering Christmas princes stumble into your studio?” I offer.
He snorts. “Useful, eh? I do na know what to do with magic scraps. And last year.” He licks his lips, leaves a wet sheen that is a beacon. “Last year, I was right fed up. I have some access to our magic; the transfer to Malachy did na take like it should, so my control of it will na fully separate, despite his best attempts. And last year, I’d had it. I used what I could to try to make our Holiday better. I organized festivals and restarted events that’d fallen by the wayside. It wasn’t a lot, but it wassomething.And Malachy—he became our guardian after our parents died, and they left us some money, but he’s theKingand this is technicallyhiscastle. Our family bank accounts, all of it is his. So he pays for everything, for Siobhán and Finn’s schooling— I got a scholarship—but if he pulled that money? We would na have enough to keep this up. Already Colm’s here on mostly his own dime, gets room and board. Malachy let go all the staff last year after my stunt. Holds it over our heads now because of my stupid attempt at making things better.”
“Does your court know what Malachy’s doing?” I ask. “Do they come to events?”
“Nah.” He drinks more of his beer. “It’s been years since they were involved in the running of anything because Malachy pushed ’em all away. If they do go to events, he knows, and appeases them so it alllooksaboveboard. He puts money into the successful events so he can take credit for doing his damn job, and the Holiday still happens, eh? It carries on. It isn’tgrandthough. It isn’t what it could be, on a global scale—we have a decent time here in Ireland, but around the world? The Irish diaspora suffers the most, and I canna even make sure peoplehereget what they need.”
I sip the vodka, tongue sweet with that artificial whipped vanilla flavor. “You should show them. Your court.”
Loch’s eyes go hesitant. “What?”
“I saw you in the crowd today. Not just with the fight—the artists you talked to before the race. Siobhán told me how you set it all up. How anything good that comes out of this Holiday is because of you.”
He blushes.Blushes.His cheeks go vibrant red, the tip of his nose rosy.
“Siobhán,” he hisses.
I’m stuck on his blush. Utterly captivated by it.
My lips fumble, but I clear my throat. “You should invite your court to the castle. Or to Dublin for the final big parade. Confront them before Malachy gets a chance so you can show them how hard you’re working to cover where he’s lacking.”
Loch gets a bemused look on his face. “You sound like Finn. But what would I show them? That I can help festival organizers coordinate? Malachy’s done a good enough job of making sure the court thinks I am exactly what he says, someone untrustworthy.”
“But you wanted me here to help that,” I counter. “You wanted to show that the tabloid lies were just that,lies.I could’ve apologized and left, but you wanted me to stay for the full Holiday. Why?”
Loch scowls, but he directs it at his beer bottle. “I told ya, you can leave if you hate it here so much.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant what are you hoping to get outof me being here for this week? You want the Holiday press to write good shit about you, right?”
He shrugs, sheepish almost, worrying the inside of his cheek.
Then he drags a hand over his chin and his lip curls, anger, not at me, directed… somewhere out, but also somewhere within. “I do na want Malachy seeing he can use the Holiday press to further take my legs out, yeah? I figured, if I make a splash with addressing this first incident, Malachy’ll be less inclined to pile on. The press getting fixated on me like this was chance, but I do na want it to be intentional in the future.”
My head bobs slowly. “And Malachy let you arrange this? Isn’t he worried, with the press being so involved, that opinion could turn against him?”
Loch grunts at his beer bottle. “He knows he’s got us pinned, my sisters and me. He knows we’d bow to him.”
“But youaretrying to change things with your court. How they see you. You just aren’t going to act on it beyond your reputation?”
Color drains out of Loch’s face and he seems to realize in that moment everything he’s said, like he wasn’t fully in control of himself.
He drops his head into his hands. “Ah, Christ. This has to be some treasonous act, pouring my guts out to you. In my defense, there are few people I can talk to about this shite. My friends at Cambridge obviously do na know about—” He waves a hand, gesturing at what I assume is our whole Holiday hidden world. “They have strong opinions on various types of abstract art, but St. Patrick’s Day? They think I’m loopers talking about it as much as I do. Still though, you do na need this.”
“Yeah, I do. I get it.” Hell, how many times already have I caught myself thinkingI don’t talk about this with anyoneas I’m in the process of talking about whatever it is withhim? What makes it so easy for us to talk to each other? “Besides, I’m a bit of an expert in treasonous acts, actually.”
Loch’s brows concave.
“Coal—my brother—and I sort of overthrew our father last Christmas.” I tip my beer bottle as I talk. “He was stealing joy fromother winter Holidays. We put a stop to it by rallying them to stand against him.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He snorts. “The news made it all seem quite civil. I did na knowyouwere involved.”
