He tipped his head and scratched his chin, shrugging. “It’s better than a deluge of pine cones at least.”
Even in the dark, Piper turned bright red and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
Kol waggled his brows at her as he passed to inspect the spruce closer. It was impressive, but it really shouldn’t have been a surprise—Piper had been holding in a lot, and the tree was only mimicking her. But when he touched one of the boughs, the needles were so dry they fell right off. “That might not be good.” His thaumatix told him then that his interpretation had been all wrong. “It looks like the tree expended an awful lot of energy. Energy it didn’t really have.”
“Shit,” Piper whispered, pacing silently behind the couch. “Do we need to do that severing thing now?”
Kol straightened, frowning. “No, I don’t think that would be wise. It’s already exhausted, and if it’s cut off from you without its roots, it might not make it through Christmas.”
“Oh, Tree, I’m so sorry!” She slipped around one of her sleeping cousins and stood before it, eyes big and baleful.
Kol carefully maneuvered both hands between the branches and reached the trunk. He felt for the magic inside the tree and mustered everything he had to lengthen the life it was holding onto. When he pulled away, he was unsure he’d done much, but it wasn’t quite ready to dry up and catch itself on fire. “That should help for now.”
“It’s still a lot bigger. People are going to ask questions.”
“Those presents in your closet might be a good distraction.”
“Usually I wait until Christmas Eve, but maybe this is a good year for Santa to come early.”
“Not just Santa,” he said, running a finger up her back.
Piper’s eyes went wide. “Stop that or the branches are going to break through the windows.”
When the MacLeans who hadn’t come back to the cabin the night before finally arrived the next day, they were another useful distraction besides all the gifts that Kol and Piper stacked around the bigger boughs, and no one really asked after what happened to the tree. The awfulness of the evening prior was forgotten, Grandma Tilda joking that she only had so many hours left to live as is and was glad she didn’t have to spend three of them watching that playagain,and Piper had her family back on schedule.
The day was filled with games, ones Piper actually took part in for once and convinced Kol to play along as well. One in particular required a row of tea light candles to be lit on the counter, and each family member took turns blowing out as many as possible from a spot at the row’s end. Little prizes were lined up beside each candle, and everyone won a different, simple gift as they goaded or cheered one another on. Even when Kol took his turn, aunts and uncles and cousins encouraged him, celebrating when he earned a candy bar he hadn’t had since he was a child.
Maybe this was the point, he thought, watching Piper grip the counter and take a deep breath, chest swelling up and cheeks filling with air. She shouldn’t run herself ragged for anyone, but he understood a little better when she blew out an impressive amount of candles and was swarmed by excited, squealing cousins. Piper loved these people, and she deserved to fit into them, to be happy. She deserved that quiet, normal life she had finally admitted to wanting.
When the game was done, Grandma Tilda wrapped a bony hand around Kol’s wrist and brought him out of the kitchen and to her spot by the tree, a little tighter with the encroaching branches, but she didn’t comment on that. Alone in the living room, she lifted the knitting project she’d been working on to show him the final product. “What do you think?”
The stocking was just like the others pinned to the wall, red and green striped with snowflakes peppered throughout, and around the band at the top was his name, Kolariel.
“Uh,” his breath caught, and he had to laugh to start up again. “You…spelled it right?” was all he could say.
“Course I did, I’m a genius. Come on, now, we’re going to hang it up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. I mean, it’s nice—it’s really nice,”—he pressed a hand to his chest to dull the sudden ache there as he followed her across the room—“but I’m not exactly…one of you. I don’t belong on your family wall.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? And Piper likes you which is good enough for me.” Grandma Tilda slipped the stocking over a nail that was helpfully already hanging beside Piper’s. The colors were a little more brilliant than the others, but it fit in all the same. “There, I think it looks nice, don’t you?”
Kol nodded because saying something then was too much of a risk, reflex tears being what they were.
“And if you’re good,” said Grandma Tilda, “there just might be something inside it on Christmas morning.”
Kol wasn’t sure about that, but he grinned at her and rejoined the festivities where Piper was quick to latch onto his arm and not let go. It seemed he was already getting the best gift he could hope for.
Later, after dinner, Piper plopped herself on the couch and then sat right back up, digging something out of the cushions. She held up a wadded piece of paper, greasy to the touch, and when she unfolded it, discovered the Sonny’s logo in its center. Kol watched her hesitate, but then she stood.
“Hey, guys?” She presented the wrapper to the room. “This isn’t cool.”
Some of the others mumbled, blaming one another, and Piper shrugged, wadding it back up. Kol stuck his foot under the couch and discovered another wrapper, clearing his throat until she saw.
Piper gasped then squinted at her family. “Okay, new game, this one is called Clean Up The Living Room Before Piper Goes Off The Deep End And Burns The House Down.”
The MacLeans looked at one another in silent astonishment.
“Ready?” she said with feigned sweetness, dropping the wrapper she’d found onto the floor. “Go!” Kol was prepared to help, but Piper tugged at his arm. “Not you,” she said. “We’re going to bed.”
