44. （im）Practical Magic

44

(IM)PRACTICAL MAGIC

PATRICK

99 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS

We end up back where we started.

Quinn's sleeping down the hall. I'm awake in the middle of the night. Worrying about what my game plan is now.

Even our move across the globe and abundant magic couldn't repair us. I'm saddled with a fear that there isn't any hope left.

I stayed to finish the simulation because I couldn't risk losing my husband and the Santa position in the same night.

The fact that I had to finish it in a lovingly crafted dream home that Quinn turned his nose up at and then stormed out of was the biggest lump of coal in the stocking of my night. My whole year, if I'm being honest.

On my trudge back to the chalet, I removed the cloak and stuffed it into my satchel. Back in my real body, I could breathe again. At least enough to face the music of my miscalculations. However, Quinn wasn't awake to talk. He was tucked away in a room in the far wing. Tossing and turning or dreaming? The closed, locked door won't allow me to know.

The déjà vu of it all is too strong to stomach.

In the main bedroom now, I remain sleepless. The darkness is too bright. The silence is too loud. My heart is a malfunctioning wind-up toy, fritzing one second and failing the next.

I replay Quinn's and my argument over again. I can't believe we said all of that in front of the elves. I thought walking with my head hung low and my box of belongings out of Carver & Associates was rough. But our public showdown was a whole new level of brutal.

My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by a whirring I haven't heard in the chalet before. A shaft of cold air blows straight onto my face. I reach over to turn the light on. It's only then that I notice I'm positioned right under the air vent.

There's a thermostat in the hallway. I need only a quick glance to confirm the air-conditioning has kicked on. Drowsily, I clamber downstairs. The sun is cresting on the horizon, but the light hasn't touched enough of the village to show me what I sense but can't quite see.

Storming through the kitchen, the chalet anticipates my thoughts. Lights turn on, preceding each one of my frantic steps. At the picture windows, I splay my hands on the glass. The snow is melting.

"I don't think that's supposed to happen," I mutter to myself. I'm already throwing on boots, a coat, and a hat. When I step outside, I'm knee-deep in gray, disgusting slush. It has to be at least seventy degrees and muggy.

The cinnamon scent that usually hangs in the air is replaced with an unpleasant odor. Fumes mixed with rotting sewage. I plug my nose.

It takes one long, single lap around the property to absorb the magnitude of this. The ice-skating rink has turned into a pond. The gazebo, unreachable without a bridge or a jet pack of some sort, is askew and slowly sinking.

In the front yard, the sharp and shrill cries of the reindeer echo. I resist the impulse to run to them. Instead, I grab the binoculars from their perch on the porch. Each reindeer tries to rev up and fly, only to flop back down to the ground, landing in a crumpled ball.

On the hour, the clock tower chimes as usual. Only it doesn't play a Christmas carol. It's… "Monster Mash." I groan at the obnoxious melody.

What in the world is happening?

As if it couldn't get worse, a heavy downpour rolls in. Lightning strikes in the distance. Thunder rattles the ground. I rush inside, where a wide-eyed, pajama-clad Quinn has appeared by the door. "What's going on?" He sounds scared. I want to hold him. Tell him it's okay. But I know it's not okay. And I know he doesn't want me to hold him. Which is worse?

A ping lights up on the house communication system. It's Hobart. "Not to alarm you, but we need you in the village right away."

Before long, we're standing in the cathedral hall. The Priors form a tribunal before us. We stand nervously with Hobart to our right like he's our criminal defense lawyer and we're awaiting sentencing. The air is thick with impatience. My brow is sweaty.

"It's happening again," Nicholas says with an unmatched fury. It strikes me in the chest like the sharp end of a sword. Until I notice he's wearing completely uncharacteristic board shorts with a tropical pattern on them. How can something sound so bad and look so funny?

"Now, hun," Colleen says. In a yellow sundress, she's the only one who doesn't appear disgruntled by the heat.

"What's happening again?" Quinn asks, shucking his coat.

Chris speaks evenly. "As we mentioned when you arrived, the magic of the North Pole runs on love. Namely, the love between the two of you." My heart takes off in a frantic gallop. It's like we've inadvertently walked into a high-stakes couples' counseling session. "If the balance gets thrown off…"

My skin grows tight and clammy. I thought we were doing the world a service by coming here. I thought we were doing us a service.

"The previous Santa and Mrs. Claus were deeply in love when the magic chose them, but their love buckled under the pressure of their roles," says Yvonne.

"Which is why you were able to knock Santa out last Christmas Eve. Their love was weak, so the magic was, too," Samson adds. "When the magic is weak, it acts out. At least, that's what we think. It hadn't happened before in any of our times here."

"Of course now it's happened twice. Back-to-back. We can't catch a break," Ashley bemoans, biting at her nails.

I want to reach out and hold Quinn's hand, but I couldn't if I tried. I'm frozen in place. And Quinn's standing so far away. Like we're repelling magnets.

"What can you do?" I ask. Fear piggybacks onto me.

"We can't do anything," says Nicholas forebodingly. "Only the two of you can."

"We'll do it. We'll do anything. Right, Quinn?" He gives me his profile. He bites his bottom lip. Tears gather in the corners of his gemstone eyes as he nods. He's scared, and I feel useless.

Chris stands to deliver this next part. "The last Santa refused, so thank you both for being willing. We know you both understand the importance of our mission. This won't be easy, but it is necessary. Once again, you're faced with a choice. The fate of Christmas will hang in the balance. Option one, you two both rescind your positions and leave the North Pole together. Christmas is canceled. Option two, you invoke a marriage separation and Quinn departs to appease the magic."

The top of my throat towers high with reservations that I can't spear my voice through.

It's Quinn who speaks. "Will that work? If we separate, and I leave?"

"We can't say for sure. All we can say is that we presented the last couple with the same choice. Instead of following our guidance, they decided to stay here while trying to mend things between them. It didn't work, and it caused chaos," says Emmanuella.

"The snowballs in the Tundra Dome turned to Nerf balls and the ribbons in the wrapping room turned to snakes. It was random and unstoppable. No matter how hard the previous missus, Nessa, tried, things just got worse and worse until her husband quit, and she left," says Jorge.

"From the start, we knew this was a risk. We should've expected this given how you two came into your positions," says Nicholas. "It's on us as much as it is on the two of you. We shouldn't have pushed you into this. True love is a scarce resource. The magic made do with what you were able to give, but now it's out of sorts again."

Colleen clasps her hands together in front of her chest. "We know this is an impossible ask. We believe if we remove the element altogether, we may be able to reset the magic."

"Like unplugging it and plugging it back in," says Samson. Everyone shoots him an annoyed look. It sounds too simple to work.

Quinn nods. Clearly not sharing my thought. "I'll go."

The blockage in my throat clears enough for me to choke out, "No. We'll go. Together."

He turns to me fully. His head shake is a somber toll. "I can't let you do that."

"I can't let you leave." Once again, we're having an important conversation in inadequate quarters. I wish the council could dematerialize for a second. I need Quinn alone. I need Quinn to know how desperately I need him. How consumingly I love him.

His watery eyes lock on mine. "You have to. I had time to think about what you said last night. You were right. You do belong here. I don't know where I belong. I don't want to be the shadow behind the mythical man. I've never been happy inside a mold, and frankly I can't live with being the reason Christmas is canceled."

"Quinn." It comes out garbled.

A single tear tracks down his cheek. Almost in slow motion. That tear is going to haunt me forever. "Maybe the space will be good for us." Two big steps and then he's holding me. Kissing me. I can taste goodbye on his lips.

He turns and lets Hobart escort him out of the room.

"One last thing, Quinn," Nicholas says, standing and striding toward him. "We'll need your ring."

I could disintegrate into the floor. Float away as dust. I don't want to witness this.

"My ring?" Quinn ekes out. "What for?"

"The magical bond. When Patrick donned the cloak and signed the scroll, the magic fused to your union. We can't let you leave with it," Nicholas says. "It's precautionary. You understand?"

Quinn wrestles the ring off his finger. He looks dully at the empty space where the ring has sat for the last year before slapping the band down into Nicholas's open palm. Nicholas could be holding a grenade given the pace with which my heart is racing. I want to chuck it into the ether. Save our relationship from the inevitable explosion.

"Thank you," Nicholas says.

"Good luck," Quinn says. His stormy eyes meet mine one last time before the doors glide closed behind him. Sealing our fate for the sake of Christmas.