Page 6 of Jingle Spells

What?

Jasper knew the county roads the way parents knew their children’s faces. And this . . . this was impossible. The county’s northwest corner was nothing but protected forest land, all hills and hollows and the occasional startled deer. There was certainly no grid of numbered streets. There was no 112th street anywhere in the county, nor was there 114th. There was no west side, no east side. How could West 113th Street possibly exist?

“What nonsense is this?” He reached for his phone, punching in the number for the Liquor Control Board. After sitting on hold for a while, Jasper was informed by a cheerful recording that the office had closed early for holiday festivities. Of course, he thought, annoyed. Because why work when you can Christmas.

He tried Zoning and Planning, the transportation department, and the tax assessor’s office. Nothing but voicemails and Christmas Muzak. Next he tried the mayor’s office; when someone picked up, Jasper momentarily hoped that maybe he was getting somewhere. But then the very drunk voice of the lieutenant mayor’s third assistant slurred, “Helllloooooo, North Pole . . . hahaha, I said pole, do you get it?”

Jasper slammed down the heavy old phone.

He held the license up to the light. The paper was real. The signatures seemed legit. But the address had to be fiction. May as well be a building permit for a summer home in Narnia.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, the mystery vexing him. Like that feeling of having something stuck in his teeth that he couldn’t remove. He glanced at his watch, then at the license, then back at his watch. He had questions. But everyone who might have answers was busy playing Secret Santa. Maybe tomorrow he could interrogate his hungover colleagues about this. For now, the mysterious J&J, Incorporated had to wait.

Or did it?

Jasper reached for his coat. He was already halfway up the stairs when he realized what he was doing. The lobby was empty—everyone else was upstairs singing butchered versions of classic songs and scarfing down Anita’s rum balls. No one would miss him. No one would even know he’d gone.

The northwest corner wasn’t that far. If there was a new business with a brand-new liquor license, surely it wouldn’t be hard to find. And really, what else am I to do? Go eat rum balls with Anita? He shuddered and reached for his key fob. At least he had a legitimate excuse to avoid the mistletoe.

Chapter 3

Feliz Navi Don’t

The portal spat Delilah and Scarlett out into Room 301 of the Stargazer Inn. They collapsed in an undignified heap in the back of the closet.

“For crying out loud, Scarlett!” Delilah complained. “What kind of landing was that?”

“Oh, stop moaning. I got us here, didn’t I?”

Delilah untangled herself from her sister and stepped out into the (fortunately unoccupied) room. Instantly she was struck by the scent: gingerbread and mulled wine, with just a hint of peppermint around the edges. It was the smell of Christmas at the inn. It was also the smell of Papa.

Why won’t they change that stupid scent spell? she thought bitterly. Make the air smell like . . . I don’t know, cranberries or cloves or something. Why do they insist on filling our noses with his memory every year?

She put down her case and straightened her blazer, hoping to maintain some basic level of dignity. “Scar, you really need to review the fundamentals of portal travel. See if you can get an eight-year-old to explain them to you.”

“Blah blah blah, Grumpus McCrankypants over here. Would it kill you to admit you’re a tiny bit happy to be home?”

“That would be false. But I’m here. You got what you wanted. Tell me what’s going on with the magicians.”

“In a minute. C’mere, you’ve got to see this—” Scarlett moved to the window and pulled back the curtains. “Mama’s gone full Clark Griswold this year.”

Delilah was horrified by the scene below. Twinkling lights wrapped every tree trunk and branch, creating a glimmering canopy. A collection of enchanted reindeer, crafted from branches and twigs, pranced around the shrubbery. One even had a glowing red nose, because of course. Even the old stone fountain was under a spell; instead of water, it sprayed streams of tiny golden lights, like an explosion at a sparkler factory. The sparkles formed themselves into patterns of stars and bells and wreaths as they dissolved into the air.

“Good grief . . . Santa’s elves seriously got into the Red Bull.”

“You’re such a Grinch. You could be a tiny bit impressed, at least. Mama’s had Nate hard at work helping out for weeks.”

“Aw, good old Nate.” Delilah couldn’t help but smile at the mention of their childhood buddy and Scarlett’s true love. “I’ve missed him. How’s everything going with you two, anyway? Engaged yet?”

“No, not yet,” Scarlett muttered, “and I really don’t want to discuss it. C’mon . . .” She grabbed her sister’s arm, yanking her toward the door. “Let’s go downstairs—everyone’s dying to see you.”

“Everyone meaning Mama, who must be furious that I skipped Thanksgiving? Or everyone meaning Zahir, who I’m sure is annoyed that I haven’t been around to help him in the kitchen? Everyone meaning the other witches in town, who all want to know why I’m not married yet? Or everyone meaning the outraged guests whose reservations you’ve bungled because you weren’t paying attention when I taught you how to use the computer?”

“All of the above, obviously. But I only bungled a few reservations. Now, cheer up and come with me.”

As they crossed the third-floor hallway, Delilah was hit with a memory so vivid it nearly knocked her sideways: she and her sisters as little kids, racing down this very corridor on Christmas Eve. Papa’s voice calling after them . . . “Girls! Girls, wait! Did you know that the tradition of enchanted evergreen actually dates back to pre-Christian Germanic tribes? The druids believed—” Then Mama’s laughter, cutting him off. “Edward, darling, they don’t need a lecture on etymology. They need to get to bed before You Know Who arrives.” But Papa was already deep into professor mode. He’d yanked a leather-bound tome from his study shelves and was standing in the hallway, waving it around. “But, Kelly, it’s fascinating! The linguistic evolution from the Old English ‘grēne garlēac’ to our modern ‘garland’ tells us about how magic adapted to⁠—”

That’s when toddler Luna had sneezed, and she must’ve been thinking about candles at the time because she accidentally set the stairway garland on fire. Mama quickly put it out while Papa beamed proudly and announced, “Great job, Luna! Burning the garland is precisely what the Saxons did! We’ll make you a pagan queen yet!”