Page 16 of Jingle Spells
“No, no, and definitely no. He’s um . . . Guy . . .”
“Yeah,” Ten said, “you made it clear he was a guy.”
“No, I didn’t say he’s a guy, I said he is Guy.”
“Twelve, what are you talking about?!”
Jasper sighed deeply. “Guy Pearce. The actor’s name is Guy Pearce.”
“That’s it!” Twelve clapped his hands, delighted. “Guy Pearce!”
Nine frowned, muttering to himself. “Who in the blazes is Guy Pearce . . .”
As if beyond his ability to control it, Jasper kept speaking. “Guy Pearce got his big break in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, soon followed by 1997’s L.A. Confidential. As a young actor he appeared in more than four hundred episodes of the soap opera, Neighbours, only to return as the same character in 2022. He was actually born in England but moved to Victoria in—” He stopped abruptly. “What is happening? Why in the name of the National Archives do I know any of this?”
Twelve smiled. “Told ya. Junk drawer.”
“Oh! That must be why I knew random football trivia this morning. I can’t beat the spell, can I? It’s hopeless.”
Eleven gave Jasper a friendly slap on the back. “For you, maybe it’s hopeless. For us, it’s a privacy dream come true. Or at least, it used to be. Speaking of which, c’mon lads, it’s about time we got outside.”
Ten checked his watch. “Yeah. It’s almost time.”
“Time for what?” Jasper asked helplessly. “What is it now?”
“The current show,” said Nine grimly. “Though you might want to brace yourself. May get ugly.”
The men arranged themselves along the store’s front porch and stared out into town. Jasper followed their upward gazes and felt his knees go weak.
Just beyond the tree line, a massive casino tower thrust up from the earth like the world’s largest middle finger, its mirrored surface reflecting the winter sun with smug superiority. It was the kind of Vegas brutalism that would make Frank Lloyd Wright wish he’d gone into accounting instead.
“That’s what all the paperwork’s been about,” Nine explained. “The environmental studies, the zoning variances, and um, what brings you here this time?”
“A liquor license.” Jasper squinted up at the monstrosity. “But how did this mess pass an environmental impact study? I mean, who are they kidding?”
Eleven shrugged. “These are some powerful people we’re talking about.”
“Look, I know powerful, okay? Powerful is, like, somebody’s son-in-law plays golf with a committee chairman. There’s powerful and then there’s . . . whatever the hell that is. Nobody is politically connected enough to sneak something like this by county government. I mean, what are they, wizards?”
“Funny you should say that—”
“Also? I can’t get my head around the address . . . West 113th Street? Where are the other hundred and twelve?”
The Earls shared a dark look. “Just their idea of a joke,” said Ten. “West 113th Street was Harry Houdini’s address in New York.”
“Harry Houdini? Why would anybody even know his address, much less—”
“Magicians,” all four Earls said in unison.
“Smug little shits,” Twelve added.
“This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to take Oak Haven for themselves.”
“Far from it,” said Nine. “They’ve had it in for this town for a very long time. Fight’s been going on so long, nobody even remembers how it started.”
“Okay, hang on.” Jasper put both hands to his head, which was starting to ache quite a lot. “First you tell me I’m supposed to believe in witches. Now you’re telling me that witches have some longstanding feud with magicians.”
“Oh sure,” Nine began, “it’s an old, old thing. Nobody even remembers how it started. My dad told me witches and magicians were on opposite sides of the Civil War, but I’m not even sure that’s the first—”
