Page 85 of Jingle Spells

Louise’s rage evaporated instantly, replaced by a predatory gleam. “Yes. Enter, temporal pilgrim, and let us see what I might do to you. I mean, for you. Have you ever given any thought to the many benefits of timeshares?”

Jasper seized the opportunity to pull Delilah outside, half dragging her down the street before she could protest further.

“She sent that woman to the Middle Ages for literally no reason at all!” Delilah complained. “But she won’t help us fix this very serious problem?”

“I got the impression that Louise considers human problems beneath her notice. Like asking Stephen Hawking to balance a checkbook.”

She sighed. “Okay, I surrender. Let’s go to the inn. Maybe Scarlett has a plan that doesn’t involve Ms. Temporal Superiority Complex back there.”

“There’s always the Agnes plan . . .” Jasper reminded her.

“Shut up,” she suggested.

Together, they started down the street toward the inn, as the shadows lengthened behind them like an omen.

Getting to the Stargazer—or what had been the Stargazer—was like navigating a witch-themed Pinterest obstacle course. And when they arrived, they found the inn was in the same shape. It was a nightmare of fake cobwebs, plastic cauldrons, and animatronic black cats that meowed the theme from Bewitched. This wasn’t her home anymore.

“Listen, Delilah,” Jasper said carefully as they strode toward the inn, “I have a thought, if you don’t mind hearing it?”

“I am made of ears at the moment. What’s your thought?”

“Well, Aphra said the forgetting spell was getting shaky, right? So, maybe we can use that to our advantage here. Maybe I could actually get to my office, find the portal spell, and get back here, then back there without a problem.”

Delilah stopped short. “Why are you so eager to leave all of a sudden!” Her voice came out sharper than she intended, that old defensive edge back in full force.

“No no,” he said gently. “Not eager at all. Just practical. I mean . . . I want to save the town, Delilah. Don’t you?”

“I want to save us, Jasper. Don’t you?” Her vision went a bit swimmy as her eyes filled with tears. She knew she shouldn’t be taking this out on him. It wasn’t Jasper’s fault the town was in shambles. All he’d wanted was to help out. But the thought of him walking away, forgetting her . . . it clawed at her insides like a mouse trapped in her chest.

Delilah and Jasper stood there on the sidewalk, facing each other, caught between the past and future, trapped in a present neither one of them wanted. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, then pulled her toward him, pressing his lips to hers.

She took hold of his face with both hands and looked at him—really looked at him. His rumpled shirt from their wilderness adventure, the slight stubble along his jaw, those worried eyes behind smudged glasses. Her chest ached with the absurd, impossible wanting of a future she clearly couldn’t have. She’d spent so long avoiding attachments only to find herself desperate to keep one. “Last resort,” she said finally. “Agnes is our last. Damn. Resort.”

“Agreed.”

Locating the old coal chute required circling to the back of the building, where thankfully few outsiders ventured. The rusted metal door yielded to Delilah’s push, revealing a narrow, dusty slide into darkness.

“Ladies first?” Jasper suggested weakly.

“Chivalry really is dead,” Delilah muttered, but she went ahead anyway, sliding down into the musty darkness below.

She landed with a thud on a pile of cushions, Jasper following seconds later with considerably less grace. Before they could orient themselves, a familiar voice called out: “Password?”

“Quentin,” Delilah replied.

“Del?” Scarlett emerged from the shadows, her hair wild and her eyes ringed with exhaustion. “Holy shit, you’re back!” She flung herself at Delilah with enough force to nearly knock her over, hugging her fiercely. “I went to see Louise and demand she send you back . . . I nearly ended up in the Jurassic period myself!”

Delilah hugged her back, surprised at how good it felt. “We met Agnes Bartlett. It’s a long story.”

“Save it for the others,” Scarlett said, pulling back to examine her sister. “You look . . . Something has . . . Wait, did something happen between you two?” Her eyes darted suspiciously between Delilah and Jasper.

“Focus, Scar,” Delilah said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “Aphra said you’ve been organizing resistance?”

“Trying to.” Scarlett led them into the darkness, deeper into the basement. “It’s been . . . challenging.” She opened a creaky wooden door to the old root cellar, dimly lit by battery-powered lanterns. Maps of Oak Haven were pinned to the walls, with red X’s marking magician checkpoints. A few familiar faces looked up as they entered: Zahir, handing out sandwiches; the four Earls, cleaning an alarming array of antique weapons; and a handful of other witches Delilah recognized from around town.

“Jasper!” Zahir abandoned his work and rushed over, pulling his new pal into a bear hug. “Thank God you’re all right. We’ve all been worried sick since Louise zapped you away.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Jasper replied. “I wish the circumstances were better.”