Page 27 of War on Christmas

“Somebody’s a perv when they drink,” Freya mutters, and she sounds impressed. Maybe even pleasantly surprised.

“Everyone is a perv when they drink,” Bethany corrects her, taking a long pull of Jack straight out of the bottle. I glance at Freya, who winces and shakes her head at me, so I ease the bottle from Bethany’s fingers. She doesn’t seem to notice as she pats my knee. “Guess what?” she asks.

“What?”

“Weeeeee”—she circles her finger around the room—“are Freya’s coven now.”

“Oh.” I blink. “So, Freya’s a—”

“A witch, yes.” Bethany nods, a drunken sage. “We were helping her with her new moon ritual.”

“Iwas minding my own damn business and quietly contemplating, and they wanted me to pull tarot cards for them,” Freya explains, the corners of her lips pulling down as she shoots Bethany an exasperated glance. Then she turns her scowl to me. “You should probably go home.”

“And miss all the fun?” I bump my shoulder into hers.

I’m not surprised Freya was called in this direction. She did, after all, possibly (probably?) hex all three of my prom dates. My own spiritual beliefs are more practical—aka practically nonexistent—but her old Ouija board is likely still tucked under her bed, and she had a sizeable crystal collection by the time she got to high school. She also made Thad and I watchThe Craftwith her a couple dozen times.

“Yeah, don’t make McHottie go and miss all the fun,” Bethany says, flinging an arm around my shoulders. Mrs. Nilsen, who is now sitting in the circle with us,tsksquietly, but Bethany ignores her. “Now do my cards,” she orders Freya.

“You heard the woman,” I echo, smiling at Freya. “Do her cards.”

Nineteen

JEREMY

It’sanhour—andseveralswigs of Jack Daniels—later, when Mrs. Nilsen closes the bedroom door behind her with a tiny wave goodnight. Bethany, who is in no condition to drive, is tucked away safely in Thad’s old room, snoring next to a garden gnome named Edward that Freya planted there for her twin. And I’m sitting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of me. Freya’s cat lies on my thighs, gently rumbling as I trail my fingertips through her soft midnight fur.

“She doesn’t usually like men,” Freya says, her voice low, “but she likes you.”

“Good. Because I like her.” At my words, two golden eyes blink at me through the near dark. She’d put me through some weird butt-in-my-face ritual, but once I passed that gauntlet, she immediately plastered herself to my lap.

Freya’s sitting next to me, eyes closed and head tipped back to the wall, and I take the opportunity to stare at her, to drink in the sight of her flawless face mere inches from mine, relaxed and contented. The tilt of her nose, the strong chin that’s probably a little too pronounced to be feminine but fits her perfectly, the graceful arch of her brows. They’re all familiar, etched into countless memories from my most formative years, but they house a new, unknown creature. A woman whose calm and unshakeable confidence fill me with such an acute wanting, it makes my bones ache. Even now, sitting in the silence, I have to concentrate on keeping busy, tickling along Hecate’s spine, so that I don’t reach out and grab Freya’s hand. Again.

The impromptu tarot party was fun, and not just due to the whiskey. Freya took charge, guiding us newbies through the intricacies of each card, pointing out the symbolism behind every sketched detail. I’d marveled at the artwork, drawings that managed to be both ethereal and chilling, all while encapsulating centuries of tradition and meaning. Do I believe in the cards? I don’t know. But I’m mesmerized by Freya’s expertise. It’s another layer of her, rich and complex, and I can’t shake the feeling that getting to know her again is like watching a flower bloom, each row of petals revealed more gorgeous than the last.

“You looked like you were having fun tonight. With your mom.” I pause for dramatic effect. “AndBethany.”

Freya chuckles and turns her head toward me, hitting me with that steady look that makes my stomach tighten.

“Andyou,” she adds. “Jeremy Kelly. Prep. Academic rival. Captain of the football team.” Her pert little nose wrinkles. “Ew.What is happening?”

The corner of my mouth twitches as I watch her, her face animated with feigned shock and disgust. Twenty feet away, in my mom’s house, everything is confusing. Awkward and fraught. But here with Freya…it’s not that everything makes sense. It’s that everything outside of her and me ceases to exist. It reduces my world to a bubble of wide, slate-colored eyes and poison-apple lips and the fundamental need to be close to her. I shift my weight so my shoulder and hip brush against hers, and the ache of wanting her subsides a bit.

“Maybe it’s the booze,” I suggest. “It didn’t work so hot for my family, but it seems to loosen things up for yours.”

“It certainly appears to ease the stick out of Bethany’s ass,” Freya murmurs, eyes twinkling.

I’d been worried after brunch—and the friendly hand-holding—that she’d retreat, pulling into herself and shutting me out. I spent the afternoon and evening laboring through small talk with Mom as I helped her sort through Gary’s things, and the entire time, I had to fight the instinct to come to the Nilsen’s and glue myself to Freya’s side. I was an enemy army, desperate to hold on to the precious inches of territory I’d gained. Of course, there was the alternate strategy I’d tried in high school: giving her space to process. The result? Twenty years of “space.”

It’s not an outcome I’ll risk repeating.

My phone dings in my sweatpants, and I curse myself for not silencing it before I came over. I grab for it, fully intending to ignore the message and simply turn off the volume. Hecate gives me a grumpy look as she jumps off my lap.

“You can check it,” Freya says, breaking her gaze from mine.

“Thad,” I say as soon as I see my screen. My phone is just recognizing my face and automatically unlocking when Freya’s fingers sneak over and pluck the phone from my hands. The instinct to grab it back is automatic, but she’s quick, and when she slides away from me, shuffling her butt along the floor out of my reach, I let her go. There’s nothing on my phone I need to hide from her. Instead, I focus on reading her expression, which goes from curious to amused, her red lips curving.

“What?” I ask, and her eyes crinkle as they meet mine.

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