Page 81 of Jingle Spells

A brilliant light engulfed them, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Jasper reached for Delilah instinctively, his fingers barely brushing hers before reality itself seemed to tear open around them.

The last thing he saw was Agnes Bartlett’s face, serene despite the chaos. Her lips moved in what might have been a blessing or a final instruction, but it was impossible to hear over the roar.

And then they were falling, tumbling through a kaleidoscope of fragmenting moments, until⁠—

THUD.

They landed in an ungraceful heap in the center of Oak Haven’s town green.

Jasper blinked, disoriented by the sudden transition and the assault of garish colors and loud sounds. The tasteful buildings of Oak Haven’s downtown were shrouded in gaudy signs and displays. “AUTHENTIC WITCH SOUVENIRS!” screamed one sign in neon. “HAUNTED WALKING TOURS EVERY HOUR!” proclaimed another.

Tourists swarmed like ants across an open jar of honey, snapping photos with their phones. Many wore loud-colored T-shirts emblazoned with cartoonish witch silhouettes and slogans like: “I GOT MY HEX ON IN OAK HAVEN!” and “MY PARENTS WENT TO WITCHTOWN AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T-SHIRT.” Across the street, a banner announced the grand opening of the “WITCH HISTORY WAX MUSEUM,” promising a “terrifying torture dungeon experience!” in the basement.

Jasper and Delilah gaped at their surroundings, the same dark thought occurring to them both at the same exact moment.

Are we too late?

Chapter 23

Holly Hashtag Christmas

Moments ago, Delilah had witnessed the mystical birth of her hometown. Now, she was staring dead-eyed at its potential end.

Her stomach lurched with a fresh wave of nausea that had nothing to do with temporal displacement. Oak Haven’s quaint gazebo, where she and her sisters had spent countless summer evenings—where Papa had taught them constellation names while they licked ice-cream cones dripping sticky trails down their fingers—was now wrapped in purple twinkle lights and draped with fake cobwebs. A banner announced the gazebo as “YE OLDE WITCH TRIAL SELFIE STATION,” where tourists could pose with their heads and hands locked in stocks while fake flames “burned” them at the stake.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Delilah struggled to her feet. “That’s wildly offensive.”

Jasper hoisted himself to standing beside her. “And historically inaccurate.”

“Good grief, Jasper. Inaccuracy is just the rancid cherry on top of this shit sundae of awful.”

She could feel her blood pressure rising with every tacky sign. This wasn’t just cultural appropriation. It was familial appropriation. Her family. Her home. Her hand slipped automatically into her pocket, fingers closing around her wand. She’d vaporize that booth, for starters. Just a quick spell, nothing too flashy⁠—

Nothing happened, of course. She felt for that familiar tingle, the electric buzz that ran from her fingertips up her arm when she cast. Delilah stared at her wand like it had personally betrayed her but, of course, she knew it wasn’t the wand’s fault. It was Saturnalia. “Still no magic in town.” She sighed. “And there I was, really enjoying having it again.”

“Does Saturnalia end soon?”

“Depends on when we are.”

A hunched figure in a pointy black hat and flowing robes rushed past, clutching what appeared to be a cauldron full of glitter-infused “potion bottles.” Delilah caught a glimpse of the woman’s face and felt her blood freeze.

“Aphra?”

The figure stopped short, head whipping around. Indeed, beneath the Halloween-store costume was Aphra. Elegant, dignified Aphra, now looking for all the world like Margaret Hamilton’s understudy.

“Delilah?” Her eyes darted nervously around the crowded square. “Oh my gods, where have you been? Quick, come with me.”

Before Delilah could respond, Aphra grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the park, across the road, and into a narrow alley between buildings. Jasper hurried after them, nearly colliding with a walking tour led by a witch whose costume had clearly been ordered from the “Slutty Salem” section of a catalog.

Once they were hidden from view, Aphra pulled off her pointy hat and ran a hand through her flattened hair. “You’ve been gone for days. When did you get back? Scarlett’s been losing her mind trying to track you down.”

“We just returned, literally minutes ago,” Delilah said. “Louise sent us to witness the founding of Oak Haven, if you can believe it. We actually met Agnes Bartlett and she— Wait, you said days? What’s happened? And why are you dressed like an extra from Hocus Pocus?”

Aphra’s face darkened. “Everything’s gone to absolute shit, is why. Remember that tourist girl you chased out of the inn? She was a social media influencer with millions of followers. She posted videos and photos of Oak Haven, those went viral, and suddenly we were flooded with visitors. The magicians saw their opportunity and took it.”

“And the forgetting spell?” Jasper asked.

“Faltering, clearly. The girl’s photos and videos never should have been visible, much less shareable. Now, all kinds of visitors are finding their way to Oak Haven on purpose. That’s never happened before. We’ve always had tourists occasionally, but they were like you, Jasper. They stumbled into us. They didn’t come here deliberately. Now, though? Lots of people are talking about us, lots of people are posting about us . . .” Aphra glanced around nervously. “On the upside, the tourists complain a lot about experiencing memory glitches. That’s our only saving grace at the moment. They come here but then they can’t remember precisely what happened. So that means we aren’t one hundred percent fucked yet. But people certainly remember enough to keep coming back, so the shit we are in is pretty deep.”