Page 52 of Jingle Spells

“Although,” Jasper offered hesitantly, “isn’t that exactly what you want?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him.

“I mean,” he adjusted his glasses nervously, “from what I gather, your entire town will be in one place.”

“You’re right,” Scarlett agreed. “Maximize our warning efficiency. But when? Mama’s got the whole evening scheduled down to the minute. There’s the welcome speech, the traditional toast, Maximillian’s performance . . .”

Delilah brightened. “That’s it! Everyone will be heckling the crap out of him anyway. We’ll interrupt it.”

“Mid-performance?” Nate asked. “Your mom will be furious.”

“Better in trouble with Mama than attacked by magicians,” Scarlett pointed out.

Nate made a face. “You sure about that?”

But Scarlett was already plotting. She turned to Jasper. “Could you do it? You’re a neutral party here. People might actually listen to you. Del and I have a history of⁠—”

“Shenanigans,” Nate interrupted. “Hi-jinx. Tomfoolery.”

“I was going to say, unfortunate errors in judgment. But okay. Point is, they may not take us seriously. But Jasper, you’ve got that whole professor vibe going.” Scarlett gestured at his general . . . Jasperness. “You’re an outsider. You’re an authority.”

“I don’t know . . . How can I be an authority on anything? I barely know where I am.”

“It’s a great idea! Listen—” Delilah squeezed his arm in her enthusiasm, and Jasper’s eyes widened in shock at her touch. It was an unpleasant reminder that he no longer knew her as well as she did him. “Listen,” she began carefully. “I know none of this makes sense to you right now. But our whole town is facing something really dangerous, and we could use your help.”

Jasper looked at her for a long moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “But if I’m going to stand up in front of an entire town of witches, I’d like to at least understand what I’m talking about. Can you explain everything to me? The whole situation, from the beginning?”

“Absolutely.” Delilah nodded. “But we better do it over a pile of potatoes, or Mama will hex the hell out of us once she gets her powers back.”

As they made their way toward the kitchen, Delilah found herself watching Jasper. The way he took everything in, his expression one of anxiety and fascination in equal parts. The way he kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Focus, Delilah, she told herself sternly. Crisis first, feelings later. If there is a later.

But as she followed him into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but think that even in the midst of impending doom, her heart had picked a spectacularly inconvenient time to remember it existed.

The kitchen was, as Delilah had expected, an utter madhouse.

Steam billowed from massive pots while three different timers beeped at different rates, each more insistently than the last. A mountain of potatoes sat beside an equally impressive pile of potato peels, looking like the Alps recreated in starch. There was a puddle of spilled hot sauce on the floor.

Jerusha stood atop a teetering stepladder, trying to wipe cranberry sauce off the ceiling. Her elegant hairdo was now polka-dotted with red.

“Oh for—” she muttered, stretching to reach a stubborn glob. “If I could just—” She pointed at the ceiling and snapped her fingers, then looked surprised when nothing happened. “Dammit!”

“You can stop your snapping,” Candace muttered. She was arranging flowers at a nearby workstation, her otherwise immaculate appearance undermined a bit by the holly leaves stuck to her sweater.

“Amateurs.” Zahir moved through the mayhem with resignation, quietly adjusting temperatures and rescuing sauces from the brink of separation. “You’d think after centuries of doing this, you’d remember how to function without magic for a few days.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jerusha shot back. “You’ve never had to live without it.”

“Oh yes, the lifetime I’ve spent actually developing skills is so much easier than your charmed existence of pointing at things and snapping your fingers.”

Across the kitchen, Kelly was attempting to truss a turkey, but the string kept slipping. “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered, trying again. “This would take two seconds if I could just—” She made a quick gesture, then looked annoyed when the string remained uncooperatively limp.

“Need a hand?” Delilah asked, approaching her mother.

“Pshh . . . I’ve been trussing poultry since before you were born,” Kelly replied. “I just need to remember how to do it manually.” She fumbled with the string again and cursed under her breath.

“Here.” Delilah gently took the string from her mother’s hands. “Let me.”