Page 49 of Jingle Spells

“That’s very kind, thanks.” Suddenly he became painfully aware that he was just standing there, staring at her like an idiot. But he couldn’t help it. The way the moonlight caught in her hair, turning the dark strands almost blue. The determined set of her jaw that suggested she was keeping about seventeen different emotions locked inside.

“What?” she asked, noticing his stare.

“Nothing, I just . . .” He cleared his throat. “I keep having this feeling that we’ve met before. Which is impossible, because I would definitely remember someone like you. But there’s something about you . . .” He trailed off, unsure how to explain his unexplainable sense of connection.

Oh, fantastic job, Hopkins, he thought. Very smooth. She’s definitely not going to think you’re a total creep now.

But instead of backing away slowly, which would have been entirely reasonable, she said, “Yeah, well. There’s something about you too.”

For a moment, they just stood there, surrounded by the impossible perfection of a town Jasper was certain he’d never visited, yet somehow knew in his bones.

“Come on,” Delilah said finally. She gently took his elbow and guided him in the direction of the inn. “I’ll show you to a room with an actual bed, where no one will try to quiz you about your coffee preferences.”

“That was part of the dream!” Jasper exclaimed. “Or, wait . . . was it? Did that happen? Oh God, I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

Delilah’s laugh was warm and genuine. “Welcome to Oak Haven, Mr. Hopkins.”

Chapter 15

Saturnalia’s Upon Us

Delilah awoke to the sound of little feet thundering down the hallway outside her room. The footsteps were followed by children’s laughter, then the unmistakable clatter of something expensive hitting the floor.

“Maya Injabere! Elijah! What have I told you about running in the halls?” Their grandmother Ruth’s voice was warm but steeped in authority. “There are people still sleeping! Or, there were before just now!”

“Elijah said he could beat me to the end of the hall,” came a little girl’s voice, “but he was wrong.”

“You cheated!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Children,” said Ruth. “Go downstairs for breakfast. Now. Before you wake up every guest in the inn.”

Delilah pulled her pillow over her head, but it was too late. Wide awake after maybe three hours of sleep, tops. Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d see that woman in a red suit. Her hair piled atop her head like some demented snake charmer. The council lurking in the shadows. All the while, their ultimatum still echoed: Share the grove or we take everything.

“Share,” she muttered into her pillow. “Share, my ass.”

On top of all that, it was awfully strange to be back in her own bed after her Year of Yurts. The bookshelf still held her worn copies of Tolkien, Le Guin, and Butler—books that Papa had insisted every right-minded person should own. The ceiling still bore the glow-in-the-dark stars that he’d helped her arrange into constellations. Here in her room, it was like the past year had never happened. But even if the room wasn’t any different, she was. Delilah could feel the changes inside; she just didn’t know what they meant.

A soft knock at her door made her groan. “Go away. I’m hibernating until the apocalypse is over.”

“Miss?” It was Ruth Injabere again. “I just wanted to apologize about the children. And I wanted to make sure they didn’t wake you.”

Delilah chuckled. Waking you up to discuss someone else having woken you up—such a grandmother move. “No worries. I should be up helping Mama anyway.”

“Oh, you mean Mrs. Melrose?” She heard Ruth chuckle on the far side of the door. “Last time I saw her, she was trying to use magic to stir the pancake batter and then yelling at the bowl when nothing happened.”

Mama forgetting the Saturnalia restrictions was no surprise. It’s tricky when you’re used to using magic for the smallest things and suddenly you can’t. It’s like a right-handed person suddenly trying to do everything with the left.

“I’ll be right down,” Delilah called back. “Just need to locate my will to live . . . I think it rolled under the bed.”

“Check behind the nightstand,” offered Ruth. “That’s where all the important things hide.”

After Ruth’s footsteps retreated, Delilah dragged herself into the shower. Perhaps the water pressure could blast away some of her existential dread.