Page 75 of Jingle Spells

“You are taking this far too well for my taste.”

She flopped down onto the grass and poked idly at a cluster of small purple wildflowers. They looked a bit like asters, but with more pronounced centers; a flower that hadn’t been common in New England since colonial times. So this was definitely pre-Oak Haven. Huh, she thought suddenly. Jerusha’s tedious botanical history class finally paid off, after all. “Remember, Jasper, I’ve been through this with the time witch before. Don’t worry. Soon enough, Scarlett will notice we’re missing. It won’t take her long to figure out what happened. She’ll go to the shop and demand Louise do whatever Louise does to reach through time and scoop us back up.”

But Jasper wasn’t listening. He stomped a few steps in one direction, apparently thought better of it, then stomped back and tried the opposite way. After three full circuits of indecision, he finally threw up his arms, glared accusingly at the sky, and plopped down on the grass beside Delilah.

“Nothing to be done,” she assured him.

“Indeed, Estragon.” He sighed. “I’m beginning to come around to that opinion.”

Delilah grinned. “You know Waiting for Godot?”

“Historians can appreciate theater, you know.”

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” Delilah nudged him playfully, and she felt a little surge of excitement as a plan formed in her mind. “Speaking of surprises . . . I’m thinking my magic might work here. After all, we’ve traveled way, way, waayyy before the point in time where I surrendered it for Saturnalia, so . . . I’m thinking . . .”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out her wand. With a flourish and a muttered incantation, a shimmering light bloomed around her. The familiar tingle of magic flowed through her fingertips, reassuring in its constancy; at least some things remained reliable, no matter when you were. When the light faded, their clearing had been transformed into a witch’s interpretation of “glamping.” A spacious tent made of silk stood nearby, its entrance tied back with silver cords. Inside were plush cushions, throws in jewel tones, and a low table set with two crystal glasses awaited. Outside, two comfortable-looking chairs sat beside a small fire pit where flames danced merrily, heating a pot that hung from an elaborate metal tripod. Fairy lights (from actual fairies, not the Christmas decoration kind) hovered in the trees, creating a romantic glow as dusk began to settle over the forest.

Delilah felt a little surge of pride at her handiwork. Luna could keep her yurts. This was how to travel.

Jasper stared at the transformation, mouth slightly agape. “You did all this . . . ?”

“Look, here’s how I see it. We’re deep in the past, which means no Stargazer Inn, and no missing Mama because Mama doesn’t even exist yet. No magicians to fight . . . Nothing we can do but wait, frankly. So if we’re gonna wait, we may as well wait in style, yes?” She walked over to the fire and lifted the lid of the pot, giving its contents a stir with a wooden spoon that materialized in her hand. Her face fell momentarily when she saw what she’d conjured. “Aw, man,” she said, disappointed.

“What’s wrong? And uh, is that . . . a cauldron?” Jasper approached cautiously. “Some sort of witch thing? Eye of newt, et cetera?”

“It’s risotto, dummy. I was trying for lobster. This appears to be shrimp and scallop. But you know . . .” She grinned widely. “Nobody’s nerfect, am I right? Check that case over there, would you? There should be some wine.”

Jasper went to investigate a wooden case near one of the chairs. Inside, nestled in straw, were several bottles of wine. “A 1982 Château Lafite Rothschild,” he read, impressed. “How did you⁠—”

“Technically, I didn’t steal it,” Delilah said quickly. Mama would have her head if she thought Delilah was using magic for theft. “Everything will disappear once I stop maintaining the spell. So really, we’re just borrowing it.”

“That’s remarkably specific magical ethics.”

“Witches have rules too, you know. We’re not barbarians like magicians are.” Delilah winked as she expertly opened the bottle. The pop of the cork sent a small thrill through her. Papa had always made a ceremony of opening wine, teaching her the proper angle to hold the bottle, how to pull it just so. “Now, how about you sit down and relax? You’ll quickly see that the distant past isn’t entirely bad.”

The sun began its descent beyond the tree line, painting the sky in strokes of pink. Delilah and Jasper sat side by side watching the spectacle while polishing off their impossibly expensive “borrowed” wine. Delilah felt a pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with the booze or the fire, and everything to do with the man beside her.

“So . . .” Jasper swirled the wine in his glass. “What was it like? Growing up in a town full of witches?”

Delilah tilted her head, considering. “Normal, I guess? I mean, I didn’t know any different.”

“But there must have been moments when you realized your life wasn’t like other people’s.”

“Fair. Let me think . . .” She took a sip of wine as memories surfaced that she hadn’t revisited in years. “Oh, man. I remember this one time, I was about six; Papa took me to the movies in Hartford. It was my first time outside Oak Haven, and I was so excited to see Beauty and the Beast in a real theater. Remember, I had these two super-annoying baby sisters at home, but on this trip I got to be special, just Papa and me.

“During the scene where all the dishes start dancing and singing? I got so caught up in the moment that I accidentally made my popcorn start dancing too. All these people started turning around, staring at us. Papa quickly pretended he’d spilled everything, and that’s why the popcorn was, like, flying through the air. He bundled me up and hustled me out of there before I could make anything else move. He wasn’t mad, though. He just laughed and said, ‘My girl sure does love movies.’”

“He sounds like a great father.”

“He was. Absolutely the best. When he died, all the color drained out of everything. Especially at Christmas. That was his favorite time of year.” She hadn’t meant to go there, to that raw place that still ached after all these years. But something about the golden light, the wine, the strange intimacy of being lost in time together made the words flow more easily.

“I’m really sorry you went through that,” Jasper said, and there was something in his voice that made Delilah look at him in a different way.

“You’ve lost someone too,” she realized.

He nodded. “My grandmother. I was sixteen. She practically raised me because my parents were workaholic lunatics. In fact, she’s the one who got me interested in history. She took me to every museum, historic home, and archaeological site within a hundred-mile radius.”

“What happened to her?”