Page 76 of Jingle Spells

“Stroke. It was quick, at least.” He took a long sip of wine. “At first I did the same thing you’re doing: recoiled from everything that reminded me of her. I couldn’t look at a museum brochure for two years.”

“And yet you became a historian anyway.”

“Eventually, I realized that avoiding things that reminded me of her meant that I was avoiding the things she loved most. All the things she’d given me. It was like losing her twice.”

Delilah let that settle over her. How many Christmases had she ruined for herself? How many times had she refused to participate, saying it hurt too much, only to end up hurting anyway?

“When does it get easier?” Though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“It doesn’t, unfortunately. I mean, not exactly. It just . . . changes. The grief is still there, but it stops being the only thing you think about. The bad memories don’t go away, so much as the good ones start to come back.” He reached over and touched Delilah’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I think your father would be proud of you. Time-displaced glamping and all.”

The comment surprised a genuine laugh out of her. “Oh, he would have thought this campsite was the coolest thing ever. Mama would be here complaining I was wasting my powers on nonsense and meanwhile he’d be roasting marshmallows for everyone.”

They fell into silence, watching as the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon. Delilah found herself studying Jasper’s profile in the firelight. It was uncanny how familiar he seemed. How necessary. This despite the fact that there was an obvious limit on how long he’d be around. He had a “hard out,” as they say on television. And that would be that.

“Can I ask you something, Jasper?”

“Anything.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? Knowing that when this is all over, you’ll forget all of this? Forget . . . um, forget me?”

He turned to face her fully. “It bothers me enormously.”

“Then why stay? Why not just leave now and save yourself the trouble?”

“Because some things are worth experiencing even if they won’t last,” he said simply. “Heck, maybe because they won’t last.”

The answer caught her off guard with its sincerity. Delilah felt something shift inside her, as though a piece of herself that had been held rigid for a very long time had finally been allowed to relax.

“Hey,” Jasper said suddenly, “let me ask you something: why don’t the witches make exceptions to the forgetting spell? For romantic partners, I mean. You’re all so powerful. Surely you could modify the spell to let certain trusted people keep their memories?”

“Ah, well. And thereby hangs a tale, as the Bard says. It used to be exactly as you suggest. For centuries, there was this special ritual they’d do for outsiders. A witch could vouch for her partner and bring them fully into the community, including gaining immunity from the forgetting spell.”

“What changed?”

“Well, my friend, the year was 1908 . . .” She jokingly slipped into a storyteller voice that Papa always used when recounting Oak Haven history. “A witch named Eleanor Whitman fell desperately in love with a charismatic magician named . . . oh, nuts, I always forget him. Alexander . . . Grey! Yeah, that’s it. Alexander Grey. He swept Eleanor off her feet, apparently, and he offered to give up his entire life, just to be with the woman he loved. And remember, witches and magicians already didn’t get along, even back then. So it was no simple thing. But Eleanor vouched for him, and eventually Alexander managed to win over the whole town. So the elders performed the exemption ritual. For a year or so, everything seemed perfect. Until . . .” Delilah leaned forward, the better to share this most scandalous tale. “’Twas a hot midsummer when Alexander revealed his true, dastardly intentions. He’d only used Eleanor to learn about Oak Haven’s magical defenses. He and a group of fellow magicians launched an attack that nearly destroyed the town.”

“What happened?”

“There was a magical battle so intense that it burned down half the forest surrounding the town. In the end, Alexander and his cohorts were defeated, but Eleanor . . .” Delilah trailed off. “She couldn’t bear the betrayal. She walked into the oak grove on a snowy December night and never came out again.”

“God, that’s terrible,” Jasper said quietly.

“After that, the rule became absolute: no exceptions to the forgetting spell. Ever. Not Nate, even. Nate was born in Oak Haven, but he isn’t a witch, so he’s in the same bind.”

“You’d think being the thirteenth Earl would get him a little leeway.”

“Nope.” Delilah tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Which is why he and his friends have been doing their trivia training for over a year now.”

“Trivia training?”

“Yeah, there’s this theory that if they strengthen their memories, they might be able to resist the spell? But Scarlett told me they’ve had no luck so far. Nate can recite the batting averages of every Red Sox player since 1912, but it doesn’t get him around the forgetting spell. Nobody gets around it.”

The implication lingered in the air, a tacit acknowledgment of the one obstacle they’d never overcome.

“Well.” Jasper set down his glass with deliberate care. “I suppose we should make the most of the time we have.”

He reached out to her, his fingers gently tilting her chin up until their eyes met.