Page 45 of Jingle Spells

“Fuuuuck,” Scarlett said, “I wish I had my magic right now.”

A woman at the center of the table rose. She wore an elegantly cut suit in deep burgundy, and her long hair was twisted into a complicated knot that looked like it could turn into glittering silver snakes at any moment. “Good evening.” Her cold smile unfurled slightly. “Welcome, witches of Oak Haven. We’ve been expecting you.”

Chapter 14

You Better Watch Out

Jasper was desperately trying to keep up with what was going on around him. But he felt like he was alphabetizing books in the middle of an earthquake.

The chamber they’d tumbled into was scrambling his brain; the ceiling appeared to stretch upward into infinity, which was obviously impossible. Then there was the massive, U-shaped table towering over them. Its edges were carved with symbols that Jasper wanted to study but couldn’t get a proper look at; his eyes would kind of slide off them, like they were rejecting the information. Again, impossible. Unless of course this was all a dream.

Ohhh, that’s it, he assured himself. This is a very elaborate, incredibly vivid dream. But why? Anita’s rum balls, maybe? Or did Toby slip me one of those cannabis gummies he’s always bragging about?

But wait . . . had he even gone to the party? Hadn’t he been adamant about avoiding it? The memory felt slippery, like he was grabbing at minnows in a stream. There was definitely something in his memory bank about a party, and mistletoe. He’d made a sharp comment about the Pogues, and then . . . what?

Well, hardly matters now. He was clearly fast asleep, enjoying (if that was the word) the most intense dream of his life. May as well just ride it out until I wake up.

But enjoyment was challenging. The faux-throne room just got more menacing the more he looked around. There were shadows in the corners that seemed to move independently of the light, and the air held a metallic tang to it. Like blood in his mouth.

Dream or nightmare, he wondered suddenly. It wouldn’t be the first time his subconscious had betrayed him.

At least he’d conjured up interesting company. The three people with him had seemed to know Jasper immediately and hadn’t bothered to introduce themselves. And there was zero chance he’d ask (he’d never reveal himself to be that thoroughly confused). But from context clues and overheard conversation, he’d pieced together that the couple, the ones currently holding hands like their lives depended on it, were named Scarlett and Nate. And the woman beside him, his partner in that crazy game show, was Delilah.

Delilah. She had a razor-sharp bob and eyes that seemed to contain entire galaxies within them. She was easily the most fascinating woman he’d ever seen, in a dream or otherwise. Her posture suggested she might know seven different ways to kill a man with an olive pick, but somehow that just made her more appealing.

I’ve created her, he thought with a mixture of pride and disappointment. My brain has conjured the perfect woman, and she can’t possibly exist in real life. And even if by some miracle she did exist, someone like me would never have a chance with someone like her. No matter what that game show said.

The council members on the dais stared down at them with expressions ranging from contempt to outright hostility. Their faces held the sort of cold disdain usually reserved for finding gum on the bottom of an expensive shoe. Whatever this dream-narrative was, Jasper was clearly cast as an unwelcome intruder.

“We desire to speak with the witches,” the burgundy woman said. Her voice sliced through the room. “The others may go.”

Witches? Jasper thought. Who’s a witch? Witches aren’t real.

But Nate seemed to understand the situation perfectly. He wrapped a protective arm around Scarlett and shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ah, they’re the witches, apparently. Jasper, wanting to be part of the team despite having absolutely no clue what was happening, awkwardly extended his arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “Neither am I,” he declared with a confidence he absolutely did not feel.

Delilah turned to glare at him, and he immediately withdrew his arm, his face burning.

“How charming.” The burgundy woman’s voice dripped with venom. “The men are so protective. Odd, given that you witches hate men.” She delivered this pronouncement with a smile that reminded Jasper of documentaries he’d seen about deep-sea predators: all teeth and no warmth.

“We do not!” Scarlett objected. “Oak Haven’s magic is matrilineal but not because we hate men. It’s just how our power is passed down. There are plenty of covens with male witches!”

“I can personally attest to that,” Delilah chimed in. “I’ve just returned from traveling the world and I encountered plenty of men with remarkable powers. In fact, I had a particularly memorable time with some warlocks in northwestern Ireland.”

The burgundy woman started to respond, but Scarlett held up one finger. “Hold please.” She turned to Delilah, her eyes twinkling. “Memorable? You mean because he gave you the wand?”

“Wait,” Nate sniggered. “Who gave Delilah his wand?”

“How memorable are we talking here? Do you mean, like, memorable memorable?”

Delilah’s eyebrows performed a little dance that made Jasper’s mouth go dry. “Memorable memorable,” she confirmed.

“But what about the infamous Irish curse?” Scarlett pressed.

“I don’t know what to tell you, sis. More like the Irish blessing where Conor the Warlock was concerned.”

Conor the Warlock?! Jasper’s ego deflated like a budget soufflé. Even in his own dream, he was being outdone by some magical Irishman. Presumably half Colin Farrell and half Thor. And if she were real, what chance would I have then?