Page 44 of Jingle Spells

Jasper’s board came up: “Dewey decimal system, but with secondary categories that factor in acquisition date and condition assessment.”

The audience erupted.

“Who even are you people?” Scarlett demanded. Her board read: “By color because it’s pretty!”

Nate’s answer was: “Alphabetically by author,” and then he added verbally, “Because I’m not a monster?”

“But the rainbow shelves look so nice on Instagram!”

“Scar, the question was about what I think, not some dingbat influencer.”

“And that’s the game!” The host’s voice cut through their bickering. “Thanks for joining us on another edition of Made! For! Each Other! Don’t feel bad, you runners-up. Just remember: there’s lots of fish in the sea, okay? As a consolation prize, I’ll give you the name of a good lawyer, ha ha ha. Now, audience? Please congratulate our winners!”

Confetti rained down, the trumpet-heavy theme song blared, and the audience was on their feet. In the mayhem, Delilah caught Jasper’s eye. Reflected in his face, she saw the same surprised delight that she was feeling. But then she remembered: this nonsense was all he’d take away from his Oak Haven adventure. He wouldn’t remember the inn or the witches or walking arm in arm through the snow. He’d remember matching answers about the Dewey decimal system with some nerdy stranger. This moment was destined to become nothing but an amusing cocktail party anecdote: “Did I ever tell you about this time at a casino?”

Delilah and Jasper were taken off stage to collected their prize: a gift certificate for the casino’s magic shop, because of course. They looked at one another, uncertain what to say. Much to their relief, Scarlett came bounding over and grabbed them both by the elbows. “C’mon!” She pointed to the far side of the stage, where a new group of well-dressed people were heading out of the theater. “Those are definitely council members. Come on!”

They followed at what they hoped was a discreet distance, though Delilah suspected they were about as stealthy as those mechanical rabbits out front.

Nate was muttering to himself, “I hope we stumble onto The Gong Show next time, I bet we could win that . . .”

The hall grew darker and quieter, with only the faint sound of “White Christmas” drifting up from the casino floor.

“This is it,” Scarlett whispered excitedly. They found themselves before an unnecessarily tall door.

“Scar, c’mon.” Nate sighed, clearly at the end of his infiltration enthusiasm. “Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead?”

Delilah nodded. “We can’t just crash through every scary door we come across, Scar. We should probably⁠—”

“It’s stuck!” Scarlett announced, yanking fruitlessly at the massive handle. “Everyone help!”

“I really don’t think—” Jasper began.

“Push!” Scarlett threw her shoulder against the door.

Before Delilah could object, Nate was helping, then Jasper reluctantly joined in, and finally Delilah surrendered, adding her weight to the effort.

“On three!” Scarlett ordered. “One . . . two . . . three!”

They gave it everything they had: a united, unstoppable force straining against the immovable door. Then Delilah heard a soft click from the other side, like someone had just released a latch, and suddenly⁠—

The door swung open effortlessly, inviting them in. Having committed their full momentum to the push, the four went tumbling forward, skidding across polished marble in a tangle of limbs and startled yelps. The least dignified entrance in the history of magical espionage.

“Aw, dammit,” Scarlett muttered, “George Clooney would be so ashamed of me right now.”

Meanwhile, Delilah found herself at the bottom of the pile, her face pressed uncomfortably against cold stone, with Jasper half on top of her and someone’s elbow (Nate’s?) digging into her ribs. Well, she thought, this couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Then she looked up.

They were in a narrow chamber with what appeared to be an infinite ceiling, soaring upward into shadow. Delicate tendrils of light crawled up the walls like kudzu made of stars. At the far end of the room was a U-shaped table on a raised dais where sat what could only be the High Council of Magicians. Intricate carvings ran along the edge of the table—a riot of runes and symbols that made Delilah’s eyes water if she looked at them too long.

The four had to crane their necks to peer up at the council members, who sat in high-backed chairs that probably weren’t actually thrones but were certainly trying their best. Each magician wore formal evening wear in dark jewel tones that made them look like a murder of very well-dressed crows.

“Wow,” Scarlett whispered. “They’ve gone full Evil Overlord with this throne room.”

Jasper nodded. “Saruman’s interior decorator has been keeping busy.”

“Shut up, guys,” Nate said between gritted teeth.