Nicholas Kringle's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Nicholas reached the house at last. The magic sat strong in his hands, banked from the fire he had bled himself to feed. He climbed the steps and pressed his palm to the door. It swung open on a cold, dark room. No fire in the hearth. No breath in the air. The bed was empty and the blankets were folded. His son was gone. Nicholas stood in the dark and felt the light dim. It needed a hand to pass into. It had no target now. A thread peeled off and died against the cold floor. He had spent himself to bring the magic here, and here was empty. Then a voice came from behind him. "You're late," it said. "By a lot." Nicholas turned. His son stood in the open doorway, boots dusted with snow, striped sleeves under a dark vest. His eyes found Nicholas in the black room without trouble. He had always seen in the dark. He had never once needed his father's routes to fly. Nicholas Claus Jr. stepped inside and looked at the fading shape of his dead father. He did not flinch. He looked instead at the light shrinking in the ghost's hands. "That's the magic," the son said. "You carried it all this way." "For you," Nicholas said. His voice was thin. "Take it. Now. It won't hold." The son did not reach for it. He crossed his arms. "You never handed me the sleigh," he said. "Not once. I waited years. Now you show up dead and hand me all of it at the end." He shook his head. "I fly my own route now. My own terms. I didn't wait around for this." "There's no one else," Nicholas said. He held the light out. It flickered between them. "If it fades, it leaves the world." "Then it leaves," the son said. He said it flat, no anger in it. "I built something without you. I'm not carrying yours." Nicholas pushed the light toward his son's chest. The son stepped back. The magic touched cold air and shrank hard. Half the glow was gone in one breath. Nicholas pulled it back to save what stayed. "Please," he said. "No." The son moved to the door. He paused there, his back to the room. "You had my whole life to ask. You picked tonight." Then he was gone. Nicholas heard boots on snow, then nothing. His son could fly. He would be miles off before the light died. Nicholas looked down at his hands. The magic was smaller now, and cooling. His intended heir had refused it and walked out. The one person he came for would not take it. He had no plan left. He had spent himself for this, and it had failed. But somewhere at the edge of his fading mind, the old pull stirred. It bent away from the empty house, toward the town, toward someone he had not yet met.