Page 88 of Jingle Spells

“It got worse,” Ten continued. “When Toby tried to explain that Tom Brady was a quarterback, Nine said, ‘Quarterback? I’ll tell you what, I want a whole lot more than a quarterback from Buffalo Bill. Damn him and damn his nancy-boy pal Tom Brady, too!’”

“Oh no, Nine!” Scarlett said, barely holding back a laugh. “You called Tom Brady a ‘nancy boy’? And then what happened?”

“We uh, we made a tactical retreat,” he replied with as much dignity as he could muster. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“You’re lucky you made it out alive, frankly.” Jasper sighed, trying not to let his disappointment show. “It’s okay. We’ve got other options.”

Earls Eleven and Twelve were already gearing up for their attempt. This time, they’d sneak in through a back door, avoiding Toby entirely. Jasper spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the layout of the building, drawing diagrams, and emphasizing all the places they should avoid.

“Remember, my office is in the basement, across from the boiler room. The portrait of Agnes Bartlett hangs on the north wall. Seems like the best place to start the search.”

“Basement, boiler room, portrait, north wall,” Eleven repeated. “Got it.”

An hour later, Nate’s phone buzzed. His father was calling from the archives of the Schoharie County Historical Society. “The directions were very specific about the building,” Twelve complained, “but less so about which county it was in.”

Jasper winced, realizing he’d assumed too much. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think⁠—”

“Well,” Scarlett said, “we shouldn’t wait for them to get back. Who’s going next?”

The third pair of volunteers were Jerusha and Belinda’s husband Sam Chatterjee. This seemed to have more potential. Sam was highly motivated, given the fact that Belinda was among the disappeared, and he’d had a lot more experience with the real world than the Earls. This time Jasper provided them with explicit directions, both to the clerk’s office and where to go once inside. “Remember, be casual. Don’t mention anything magical. Just say you’re looking for historical records of property deeds or something.”

“I understand,” Jerusha said sternly. “I was navigating the world while you were nothing but a dirty thought in your father’s mind.”

“Uh, right . . . Yeah, I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” Jasper said quickly. “Just, you know, as a reminder.”

Less than an hour later, Priti Chatterjee received a phone call from the Pleasant Valley Senior Center. She listened intently, saying little beyond: “Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . yes, I understand.” And finally: “I’ll be right over.”

“What happened?” Delilah asked when Priti got off the call.

“According to the nurse I just spoke to, Jerusha marched up to Toby and announced, ‘Hark, mortal! I am a witch of great power, temporarily bereft of my magical abilities due to seasonal obligations. We have arrived to retrieve an ancient spell hidden by Agnes Bartlett, she of the stern countenance and impeccable record-keeping.’”

“Great . . .” Jasper dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sure Toby wasn’t freaked out by that at all. What about Sam?”

“Apparently my dad was nodding along, adding helpful details like, ‘I’m here to touch the document, since witches can’t.’ Toby decided the two of them must have wandered away from the old folks’ home and he had them picked up.” Sighing, Priti grabbed her medical bag and headed out to retrieve them. “They’re likely enjoying Jell-O and Murder, She Wrote right now.”

Jasper’s hope flickered anew when Zahir and Aphra volunteered to make the next attempt. They seemed the most level-headed of the group, not to mention the most familiar with the world outside Oak Haven. “You’ve got this,” he told them. “Just be casual. If anyone asks, you’re researchers interested in county history.”

“Researchers. History. Got it,” Zahir agreed. “But, um, can we borrow Nate’s car? The old folks keep taking our cars and not coming back.”

Aphra nudged Zahir. “You mean Jasper. It’s Jasper’s car.”

“Right, sorry! I’m a little tired. Jasper, can we borrow your car?”

The wait for Zahir and Aphra’s return stretched Jasper’s nerves to the breaking point, and not because of the borrowed car. He paced the basement, acutely aware of Delilah watching him, her own anxiety evident in the way she kept rearranging the emergency supplies.

When Zahir and Aphra finally returned, they looked like they’d narrowly escaped a disaster.

“We were so close . . .” Zahir collapsed onto a crate, exhausted. “Made it all the way to the basement!”

“Went brilliantly at first,” Aphra said. “Got past Toby without a hitch. I explained how we were doing research on New England architectural preservation . . . He got so bored halfway through my explanation, he just waved us through.”

Jasper nodded. “That’s my Toby.”

“We found your office,” Zahir continued. “Everything was going according to plan. We located Agnes’s portrait and were examining it when we heard voices upstairs.”

“Turns out,” Aphra said grimly, “Toby was giving a tour to two police officers who were there about a missing person case.”

Jasper’s stomach dropped. “About me?”