Page 57 of Jingle Spells

“That’s a very non-Grinchy perspective from someone who claims to hate Christmas.” She glanced at his hand, willing it not to move away from hers.

“You got me. I suppose I don’t hate every aspect. Mostly I hate the pressure. All the expectation. Like, Christmas is always supposed to be perfect but somehow it never quite is. And every gift is supposed to be perfect but they never quite are, either. And after all that stress, the gifts are opened in twenty minutes. And then it’s over, and that’s somehow the worst part of all.”

“Oh totally!” Delilah leaned forward, pleased to feel so understood. “That’s exactly it. The build-up, the worry, and then it’s all vaguely dissatisfying, and then it’s over.”

“Still, I have to say. This . . .” Jasper gestured around at the feast, the decorations, the smiling faces. “This is pretty amazing.”

“True,” she admitted. “I want to hate it on principle, but I can’t.”

“Delilah! Scarlett!” Mrs. Chatterjee approached their table, resplendent in a sari the color of a perfect snowy day. “Your mother has outdone herself! These Cardamom-Maple Roasted Brussels Sprouts are divine!”

“Oh, thank you,” Delilah said with a perfectly straight face. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.”

“Such talent in the kitchen,” Mrs. Chatterjee continued. “She’s a treasure! Io, Saturnalia, dears!”

“Io, Saturnalia,” they chorused back.

Just then, Zahir passed by with a platter of Yorkshire puddings. Scarlett couldn’t resist the opportunity to rub it in. “Oh, Zahir, Mrs. Chatterjee was just telling us what a marvelous job Mama did with those Brussels sprouts. You know Mama. And all her work. On the sprouts. That she did.”

“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes.

“Careful, buddy,” Scarlett said to him. “Your face could freeze that way.”

“My face has every reason to freeze that way,” he shot back. But then Zahir shrugged good-naturedly and continued his rounds, ever the unsung hero of the Saturnalia banquet.

As the meal progressed, Delilah found herself relaxing despite the knowledge of what was to come. There was something about sitting beside Jasper, watching him interact with her community, that felt both strange and perfectly natural. He asked Nine about the history of piracy in New England, discussed the tools of architectural preservation with Nate, and even got Scarlett to admit that maybe, just maybe, the Dewey decimal system had some merits after all. And whenever there was a lull in conversation, she would catch him looking at her with that same expression from the staircase, like he was trying to memorize her.

“What?” she finally asked, after the fifth or sixth such glance.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Then: “Well. Okay. I keep feeling like I’ve known you longer than I have. Which I guess is true, right? I have known you longer . . . than I’ve known you. I don’t know, this is a little trippy.”

Before Delilah could respond, Scarlett broke out in a tipsy version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” except with the lyrics changed to the fifth time, then the fifteenth, then the fiftieth.

Delilah nudged Jasper. “What do you think?”

He grinned. “Adele has nothing to worry about.”

The crowd gradually grew quiet. Kelly Melrose took her place on the makeshift stage at the far end of the banquet hall. She tapped a spoon against her glass, and the festive chatter died out.

“Before we begin the entertainment portion of our evening,” Kelly said, her voice carrying easily across the vast hall, “I want to remind everyone why we’re here. Yes, Saturnalia is about revelry.” A knowing smile. “And believe me, there will be plenty. But let us never forget—we are here to exercise a muscle that, in all honesty, witches sometimes allow to go slack: humility. We are here to remind ourselves what it means to live without magic, to be dependent on one another. To be . . .” She paused thoughtfully, gazing out at the crowd. “To be human. Which, as our non-magical neighbors remind us daily, is quite an extraordinary thing to be.”

A chorus of “hear, hear” rose from around the room.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Kelly continued, raising her glass. “To everyone here tonight, and to those who are not. To the ones we love who are far away—” here she glanced meaningfully at Delilah and Scarlett, clearly thinking of Luna “—and to those who are gone but never forgotten.

“To family, friends, and the bonds that sustain us through dark winters and bright celebrations alike. Io, Saturnalia!”

“Io, Saturnalia!” the room roared back, glasses clinking.

“And now,” Kelly announced, “I am delighted to introduce our evening’s entertainment. Please welcome, Maximillian the Magnificent!”

There was a puff of smoke on the stage, and when it cleared, a man in an aggressively sparkly tuxedo stood there, his cape fluttering despite the lack of wind.

“Look at that big faker,” Scarlett whispered, less discreetly than she should have. “His teeth are so white, I gotta wear shades.”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and all magical beings!” he announced in an accent that wandered vaguely through Europe without landing on any specific country. “Maximillian the Magnificent is honored to perform for you on this most auspicious occasion!”

He launched into his first trick: a bog-standard card manipulation routine, enhanced with exaggerated gestures and a constant patter that did not distract from the fact that his fingers weren’t nearly as nimble as he imagined they were.