Page 26 of Jingle Spells

Caught off guard, Delilah snorted. “Wow. I would not have expected someone who looks like you to have a respectable Walken impression in his quiver.”

“I have many. LAYers. So, anyway, let’s get back to my question from before. Cui bono?”

“Who benefits?” Delilah considered this. “Well, whatever the magicians are doing is for their own benefit, rest assured. Why, though, I don’t know.”

“Something about the almighty dollar? Do you get repeat customers, if you tell completely confusing stories?”

“Sure, tourists just love that . . .”

Jasper grinned, taking on the persona of a Yelp reviewer. “Did the Oak Haven witch tour, and the guide confused the shit out of me. Five stars, totally recommend.”

A crash from the dining room interrupted her revelation. “Everything’s fine!” Kelly’s voice rang out.

“Should we . . .” Jasper gestured vaguely toward the noise.

“Absolutely not.” Delilah returned to her mint with renewed focus. “Trust me, when my mother starts ‘helping,’ that’s when you run. Of course, all you have to do to forget her reign of terror is just go home.”

The words hung in the air between them like frost.

“Right. I’m a human Etch-a-Sketch, basically. One good shake and . . .” He gestured like he was wiping a slate clean. “I wonder if that explains the magicians’ behavior? Seems like it would be tough to really grow a tourist trap if your visitors can’t remember where they’ve been.”

Their eyes met and something electric crackled in the air. Jasper watched her with that same focused intensity he’d given the molding in the lobby, like he was trying to memorize every detail before it slipped away.

“What?” She made a face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Professional habit. You’re a significant historical feature.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean . . .” He fumbled with the mint. “Not in an artifact way. More in a . . . uh. You know what? I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Probably smart.” But she was smiling that reluctant smile again, the one that made his chest do complicated things.

“Del!” Scarlett’s head appeared around the doorframe, her hair dusted with what appeared to be Roman tinsel. “Quick question about load-bearing walls . . .”

“No.” Delilah didn’t look up from her mint massacre. “Whatever Mama’s planning, the answer is no.”

“She says she’s been inspired by the Chatterjees’ Diwali celebrations? Something about how if one festival of lights is beautiful, then surely multiple would be better? So she’s conjuring more chandeliers. Like, a lot more, and uh, they’re all ghee-powered? She’s calling it her ‘Infinite Diyas Project.’”

“Her what.” Delilah slowly turned to face her sister.

“Yeah, she’s gone a bit . . . recursive with it? Each new chandelier spawns two more, and each of those spawns two more? And uh, I could really use some backup in here.”

“Oh fine, I’m coming.” She turned to Jasper. “Sorry about, uh . . .” She made a vague gesture, encompassing everything from the mint pile to Zahir’s frenzy to her mother’s apparent determination to bring the ceiling down.

“No worries,” he said. “Like you say, I won’t remember any of it anyhow.”

Something flickered across Delilah’s face, and for a moment she looked like she might say something else. But then came the sound of crashing crystal in the dining room. She stood, looking exasperated, and stalked out of the kitchen.

Jasper was left alone with his mint and a nagging feeling that he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

Pausing his work to take in the newcomer’s troubled expression, Zahir advised, “Don’t take it too hard, buddy. Del is a tricky one.”

“Sure.” Jasper stared at his pile of meticulously separated leaves. They offered no insights. “I don’t suppose you have any advice about falling for someone you’re destined to forget?”

“Plenty,” Zahir said. “So here goes: Don’t.”

Chapter 9