Page 8 of Jingle Spells

“Sorry, ma’am,” Candace echoed.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you. Of all people, I would expect you two to maintain some level of— Oh! It’s my girls!” Mama’s eyes lit up at the sight of her daughters. She rose gracefully from her seat, abandoning the bickering witches to join her children in the lobby.

“Darling, you’re home at last!” She embraced Delilah but quickly pulled back with concern. “You’ve lost weight—you’re skin and bones. And my gods, what on earth have you done to your beautiful hair? Is this what passes for fashion in Outer Mongolia?”

Funny what a year away can do, Delilah thought. Her mother’s critiques, which had been endlessly irritating before, now just made her smile. In fact, if Mama hadn’t complained about her haircut, Delilah would’ve felt a little disappointed. “Hello to you too, Mama. Good to know some things never change.”

“Things do change,” Kelly protested. “Such as you, missing Thanksgiving this year! I hear you were too busy eating foie gras over in gay Paree to join your family.”

“Duck confit, actually. I’m here now, okay? What’s going on with the magicians?”

But the witches’ voices were rising again. Conversation had turned in the direction of choreography, and some feelings were about to be bruised. “The dance of the holly sprites must be completely redone,” Candace announced. “They look like sugar-rushed toddlers playing Ring Around the Rosie!”

“There’s no need to be rude,” sniffed Belinda Chatterjee, who happened to be the pageant’s choreographer. “The children and I do the best we can, you know.”

“They’re supposed to be pagan manifestations of mortality and darkness, not the touring company of Frozen!”

“How dare you, Candace!”

“All right.” Mama Melrose clapped her hands. “My meeting seems to be spinning out of control. Delilah, we’ll speak later.” She briskly returned to the dining room. “Candace! I must insist you let it go, as it were. No more attacks on Belinda’s previous work, inadequate as it may have been.”

“Hey!” Belinda protested.

Delilah turned to her younger sister. “Please, Scarlett, I’m begging you. What have the magicians done?”

“It’s, ah . . . it’s kind of hard to explain. You need to see it for yourself.”

“Well, fine, let’s go have a look.”

From the kitchen came a huge crash of pots hitting the tile floor, blended with Zahir’s voice raised in frustration. “Dammit to blazes!”

Long ago, Zahir’s parents had been co-head chefs at the Stargazer; as a consequence, Zahir had grown up at the hotel, practically a brother to the Melrose sisters. These days he was the head chef, plus he had recently opened a pub in town, and the complexities of organizing it all had clearly pushed him to the edge of sanity.

“Scarlett, for crying out loud!” He burst through the kitchen doors and stormed over. “My presence is required for the dinner rush at the pub, but somebody also has to prepare for tomorrow’s breakfast meeting of the Yuletide Planning Commission! And on top of all that, I also⁠—”

“Psst!” Scarlett gave him a nudge. “Look who’s back.”

Zahir stopped short, arching an eyebrow. “Oh hello, Delilah. Your hair looks weird.”

She turned to her sister. “What’s everybody’s problem with my hair?”

“And hey,” Zahir continued, “thanks so much for all the help you’ve not given me these past months.”

“Yeahhhh, I knew that one was coming.” Delilah grinned. Her mother wasn’t the only one for whom a verbal jab was a form of affection. “Nice to see you, too, Z.”

“Scarlett!” He turned his ire on the younger sister. “You must hire me some help immediately.”

“I have done,” Scarlett said truthfully. “And you fire them all within a few hours.”

“Well, maybe hire someone competent for a change. Because I cannot be in two places at once!”

“Buuuuut . . . couldn’t you, though?” Scarlett asked. “We could take another whack at the doppelgänger spell.”

“Don’t you dare! The last ones were drooling nightmare creatures from the galley of the damned.” Zahir stomped back toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “They needed a recipe to make ice!”

Scarlett turned to her sister with a wicked grin. “I talked him into letting me try a ‘Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ spell. I ended up with a dozen Zahir clones dancing around the kitchen like broomsticks in Fantasia. It wasn’t especially productive, but man, it was funny.”

“NOT! FUNNY!” Zahir’s voice boomed from behind the swinging doors.