“No,” Somerset said. “He’s right. Magic is never that simple, and bear in mind that Santa still died before you came into play. Whoever killed him is still out there, and we don’t know what they have planned. Or if it would still work.”
Dylan’s leg was getting tired from being jigged up and down. He put his hand on his knee and pushed his heel down against the floor.
“So what then?” he asked. “What do we do.”
“He’s got a point,” Ket said. “What is our next move?”
“Like you said,” Somerset pointed out. “It’s not the first time I turned up with a new Santa and forced the Court’s collective hand.”
“They won’t like it,” Ket said.
“What new Santa?” Dylan protested. No one paid attention. He tried to get up from the table, but Somerset pushed him back down. “I’m not Santa!”
“They don’t have to like it,” Somerset said. “It’s Christmas Eve. They won’t have time to argue if they want the Sleigh to leave on time.”
There was a pause. Stúfur jerked his head at Ket, and they retreated from the table to confer in the corner.
“Somerset,” Dylan protested. “I can’t do this. I can’t be Santa.”
“Why not?”
Dylan spluttered over his answer to that. There were so many obvious reasons that it seemed impossible to pick just one.
“I don’t want to be fat,” he blurted out.
Somerset snorted. “You don’t have to be. There’s no minimum weight requirement.”
“I just… I don’t know how!” Dylan said. “I don’t know what any of this means.”
Somerset crouched down next to him. He put his hand on Dylan’s leg, and it was probably a crime against Christmas that he made Dylan’s cock twitch in reaction.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Not fair,” Dylan said.
“I don’t have to be,” Somerset said, as a grin tucked the corner of his mouth. “Do you?”
Dylan took a deep breath. He leaned over and rested his head against Somerset’s, close enough he could feel the other man’s breath cool against his cheek.
“I do,” he admitted.
“Then trust me,” Somerset said and claimed Dylan’s mouth in a quick, sharp kiss. “I’ll be with you. Every step of the way.”
Dylan wanted that to be enough. He just couldn’t believe it. Christmas wasn’t his thing. It never had been. How could he do anything but ruin it? But if he didn’t step up…
Christmas was for other people. It always had been. For Alice. For her kid. For the patients at the hospital who strung little garlands from their beds and FaceTimed loved ones before their hospital-food turkey dinner. He supposed Christmas was never reallyforSanta, of all people.
“OK,” he said and wanted to take it back almost immediately. He didn’t, though. “What next?”
Somerset kissed him again. It was almost gentle. He squeezed Dylan’s knee reassuringly, but what he said wasn’t.
“Now we go to the North Pole.”
That brought up one more obstacle, and it was one that couldn’t be kissed away. Maybe Dylan could get out of this with a clear conscience yet.
“I don’t have a passport.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Somerset said.
