Page 46 of Jingle Spells

“If you’ve quite finished—” the burgundy woman’s voice sliced through their exchange like a scalpel through flesh “—I’ll repeat myself. We shall speak only with witches. The others shall leave.”

“And I’ll repeat myself,” Nate shot back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A chilling laugh drifted down from the council table, multiplied by the acoustics of the chamber until it sounded like the entire audience at a villain convention was mocking them. The hairs on Jasper’s arms stood at attention, and he fought the urge to wake himself up. Because this was definitely veering into nightmare territory now.

“Very well,” the woman said, and snapped her fingers.

A cloud of smoke exploded at Jasper’s feet, acrid and thick. He coughed, his eyes watering as he tried desperately to wave it away.

When the smoke cleared and he could finally see again, the council chamber, the dais, and the witches were gone. He was standing next to Nate in the middle of the casino floor, surrounded by the cacophony of slot machines. One directly beside them was currently having a seizure, lights flashing and coins spilling onto the carpet.

“What the—” Jasper spun around, trying to get his bearings. “Where did they go? Where did we go?”

“Back to the casino,” Nate replied grimly as his eyes scanned the crowd. “They didn’t want us there for whatever they’re planning to tell the girls.”

“But . . .” Jasper gestured helplessly at the slots, the tourists, the general Vegas-meets-Christmas cacophony. “How did we get here?”

“It’s magic, dude.” Nate gave him a look that was equal parts pity and exasperation. “They’re magicians. It’s kind of their whole deal.”

“Magic? What, like, pulling rabbits out of hats and stuff?”

“We all used to think that way. Magicians are fakes, they’re just performers, blah blah blah. But as you can see—” Nate gestured at their surroundings. “We underestimated them.”

“So, what do we do? Should we go back to the room and rescue the women?”

“Rescue the women!” Nate laughed. “Who do you think you are, Conor the Warlock? Nah, nothing we can do, except wait.” He bent down to scoop up a fistful of coins that had spilled out of the slot machine, then clapped a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “C’mon, lemme buy you a beer.”

The magicians’ chamber seemed to contract, as if the walls themselves were breathing in. Whispers slithered through the darkness, too quiet for Delilah to make out but too deliberate to be random. Something cold brushed against Delilah’s cheek, something unknowable that left a trail of ice along her skin.

She edged closer to her sister. “I really hate this ‘separating the group’ crap. Very ‘horror movie 101’.”

“Agreed,” Scarlett whispered. “And I’m not really feeling like a final girl at the moment.”

The woman in burgundy was still visible on the dais. Her colleagues had melted into shadow, leaving only the impression of forms sitting at the U-shaped table.

Any lingering doubts that magicians had nothing to offer but smoke and mirrors had evaporated along with Jasper and Nate. Even Mama, with all her power, couldn’t teleport people with just a snap of her fingers.

“What did you do with them?” Delilah forced a belligerence into her voice that she absolutely didn’t feel. In truth, her pulse was pounding so hard, she worried the entire room could hear it.

The burgundy woman’s smile was the kind therapists reserve for patients with particularly embarrassing delusions. “They’re perfectly safe. Simply enjoying our casino’s amenities while we have a little . . . witch-to-magician chat.”

A voice from the shadows hissed, “It’sssss about time,” stretching the ‘s’ into something serpentine that made Delilah’s skin crawl.

“Oh my gods, are you actually doing the eerie whisper thing?” Delilah crossed her arms, channeling her fear into what she hoped passed for contempt. “What’s next on your Villain Clichés checklist? Any of you got long-haired cats on your laps?”

“What my sister means,” Scarlett cut in, “is that we’d appreciate hearing exactly what you want with us. This casino, the tour guides spouting nonsense . . . What are you all playing at?”

“Impatient children,” came another whisper from the shadows.

“’Twas ever thus,” added another. “Rushing through their teeny meaningless lives, never understanding the true nature of the eternal cosmos.”

That one talks like Louise Demain, Delilah thought, and she filed that away for later consideration. Assuming there was a later.

“You said you wanted to speak with us,” she said as confidently as she was able. “Fine. Speak. What the hell are you doing, putting up this bootleg Bellagio directly in our backyard? And what about the ridiculous ‘living museum’ tours? They clearly don’t make you any money—there aren’t enough people on the buses. So what’s the point?”

The burgundy woman leaned forward, her hair catching what little light existed in the chamber. “The point, my dear, is negotiation. We wanted your attention, to let you know we’re serious. And now that you’re here, we’re offering you a deal.”

“A deal,” Scarlett repeated flatly.