Page 24 of Jingle Spells

“You are not. He’s permanently pissed off that Kelly only brings him out of storage for one week every year. However, if you balance a coin on his head, he will smile for you. So give that a shot maybe.”

“Huh . . . not sure if I want to see that or not.”

“Understandable. Anyway, yeah so every year there’s this feast. Trouble is, the Melroses can’t so much as make ice without assistance. Which means all the prep has to be done for them in advance. And I do mean alllllll the prep. It’s not just mise en place, it’s mise en every goddamn thing. Every pinch of salt has to be measured. Takes me days.”

“So here you are, doing all this cooking? Isn’t that . . . I mean, it’s not my place to judge, but isn’t that⁠—”

“Cheating?” Zahir grinned. “Absolutely. We are absolutely cheating. Having me do all the prep totally defeats the purpose. But trust me, you don’t want to go anywhere near a Melrose-cooked meal that wasn’t carefully plotted in advance. Like . . . take a look at this.” He reached for a well-worn cookbook on a nearby shelf, its spine cracked and pages stained. “This old thing has saved more lives than penicillin around here. Grandma Doralee Patinkin’s Holiday Cookbook: A Jewish Family’s Celebrations. Kelly swears by it, though between you and me, I think it’s only because she has some sort of a past with the author’s son. Anyway, my point is, before we put this little cheat code into action? We had dozens of food-poisoning incidents, and I can’t count how many times this kitchen has burned down.”

“Okay . . .” Jasper paused a moment to try and process all this, while Zahir attacked his dough. “So let me get this straight . . . The entire town celebrates an ancient pagan festival, the observation of which routinely leads to illness, fires, and general catastrophe, all while drowning in Christmas decorations?”

“Welcome to Oak Haven’s holiday mayhem.” Zahir grinned. “Originally the witches were hardcore pagans, full stop. Which, I mean, fair enough, given that it was Christians who’d chased them out of Salem in the first place. But then Kelly married Edward Melrose and, well . . .” He gestured at a nearby window: outside, an enchanted snowman was enthusiastically lip-syncing “All I Want for Christmas Is You” while a stone gargoyle wearing a Santa hat clapped along.

“So Delilah’s father brought the holidays to Oak Haven?”

“More like he infected the place with them. The man never met a tradition he didn’t want to adopt. Look—” Zahir pointed to various decorations around the kitchen. “See that Diwali lamp display? The Chatterjees brought that over. And over there, that’s an image of Lady Fatima Zahra, the Prophet’s daughter, whose birthday falls around this time. Edward’s theory was that they are all celebrations of light over darkness, and all worth celebrating. Of course, some people think that’s⁠—”

“Culturally incoherent?” Jasper suggested.

“I was going to say ‘bonkers,’ but sure, Professor, get fancy with it.” Zahir plopped the dough into a collection of proving trays and went to work on yet another batch.

“And it all works out?”

“Mostly—sure! Overall, the town gets incredibly excited about the whole thing. Of course, there’s the occasional grumpus who isn’t quite so keen . . .” Zahir’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “All the witches in Oak Haven loved Christmas a lot,” he declaimed. “But Delilah, who lived at the Stargazer Inn? Did NOT.”

“She’s not a fan.”

“Del’s complicated. She was really close to her dad, you know? When we lost him . . . well. Sometimes the people who love the hardest also break the hardest.” He attacked his dough with renewed vigor. “But don’t tell her I said that. She’d probably turn me into something with substantially fewer limbs.”

“Zahir!” Kelly Melrose’s voice preceded her into the kitchen. “We’ve come to help!”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” She swept in like a great ship arriving in port, with her daughters following close behind. Scarlett looked eager to assist; Delilah looked like she was being dragged to her own execution. “We thought we should lend a hand with the preparation before tomorrow.”

“Kelly, please no . . .” Zahir’s tone carried a bit of PTSD around the edges. “Remember the potato incident?”

“Those poor potatoes,” murmured Scarlett.

“They died with honor,” Delilah added. Then she noticed Jasper. “Oh. Hey, you.”

“Uh. Hey, you,” Jasper agreed awkwardly.

Kelly regally waved away Zahir’s concern. “How hard can cooking be? Normals do it every day.” She picked up an onion with one hand and a large knife with the other, regarding both with theatrical suspicion. “Though I must say, whoever invented the concept of chiffonade was clearly disturbed. Chiffonade sounds like a place to keep one’s undergarments.”

“You’re thinking of a chifforobe.” Zahir gingerly removed the deadly weapon from Kelly’s hand. “And you don’t chiffonade an onion, that’s a technique for leafy greens.”

“Well, there you go! I’ve learned something already—how charming!”

“Mama.” Scarlett took the onion away, too. “Maybe we should start with something simpler?”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to be defeated by an allium. Ooh, wait, though, how about these beauties?” She reached for a bowl of large, dark red orbs. “What can we do with these?”

“Pomegranates,” Zahir said with the desperate calm of a man about to witness culinary war crimes. “Actually, though, that’s a fairly safe job for—I mean good, it’s a good job for you. A fun job. You and Scarlett can remove the arils.”

“The what?!”

“The seeds, Mama,” Scarlett whispered. “The tasty bits.”