Hex hangs his head. Takes a fortifying breath.
Then he deadpans, “Shit.”
If the shock of hearing him cuss wasn’t enough, a spark of magic sizzles in the air between us, and then afull jack-o’-lanternpops into existence.
He catches it as it falls.
And Ilose it.
“Oh my god.”
I can’t breathe. The laugh gets stuck against my need to stay quiet and I start wheeze-coughing, eyes tearing.“What the—”
“Now HIDE.” Hex shoves me into the bathroom, the tray clattering in my fumbling grip, and I relent, fighting down a laugh so hard I’m practically sobbing.
I bend forward and kiss him again. I’ve completely fallen for this guy. Spontaneous pumpkin creation and all. “That was the single greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He deposits the pumpkin onto a nearby table. “That a member of the Halloween aristocracy can conjure a jack-o’-lantern? You need to get out more.”
“I really—wait!” I rear back. “Can youactuallycurse someone then?”
“Canyoucurse someone? Our magic comes from joy and mine does not allow me to inflict harm on people.”
“That makes sense, I—”
Hex pushes the door closed, at the last second not letting it slam.
I live in this joy for about ten seconds, the time it takes him to cross the room and open the main door, and then I hear Wren. She asks him if everything is all right, again, then explains the schedule for the day—some concert—and asks if he needs anything.
I imagine what it’ll be like at events now. Watching him get paraded around with Iris, with my dad, and not being able to touch him orlookat him because apparently Ilook at him like thatrather strongly.
But if I can get Christmas’s control of other Holidays out from under my father’s thumb. If I can wrest away the coercion and lies and divvy up afairrunning of things, then there will be no need to manipulate anyone. There will be no need for me to marry Iris or solidify any alliances that way.
Wren leaves, the main door shuts, and I wait until Hex opens the bathroom door.
Whatever lightness I’d inspired in him is gone. His strain is back, and I can see him realizing what awaits us too, lies and distance and playing this stupid game.
I put the tray on the floor and take his face in my hands. His eyes slam shut, bracing himself.
“I can fix this,” I say to him, but I’m saying it to myself too.
Hex’s throat bobs against my fingers. “What can I do?”
I press my forehead to his. Breathing him in.
There’s a lot I want to do. Contact the other rulers of the Holidays. Get them to agree to a collective and unite against my dad’s threats. But I also want to know what the people of Christmas think of us—do they know what my father has done? Do they agree with the goals he perpetuates? Dad has worked so hard to paint a certain image of us, but what do peoplethink?
And then there’s the whole matter of understanding the inner workings of Christmas. I should know this stuff. How the Merry Measure works and how the routes are organized and what needs to happen for the Toy Factory to function. So I want to start doingthattoo, but how does that fit in with my other plans?
Will any of these things help? Or is this all another preamble to disaster?
I lean into Hex, letting him keep me steady. “You can—hell, you can keep beingyou,because I’ve kind of become infatuated with you, Hex Hallow.”
A whimper resonates in the back of his throat. I wouldn’t have heard it if I hadn’t been so close to him.
“You are going to make it impossible,” he starts, eyes shut, lips swollen from me, “to get through these events now. The pretense was already difficult before—but every time you look at me, it is progressively more excruciating how much I want you to kiss me.”
My turn to whimper. My turn to dissolve.
