Page 63 of Jingle Spells

“Wow,” Jasper breathed, the archivist in him immediately calculating how long it would take to catalog everything. “This is incredible.”

“This is a mess,” Delilah corrected, picking her way through the narrow paths between stacked belongings. “Mama?” she called. “Mama, are you up here?”

No response came except the settling of old wood and the whisper of dust motes disturbed by their movement.

“Look at these,” Jasper said, carefully examining a stack of leather-bound books. “These look like journals. Family records, maybe?”

“Probably,” Delilah said, only half listening as she continued searching. “The Melrose family has been keeping records since they arrived in Oak Haven. Half the attic is just documenting the other half.”

“Your family history is extraordinary,” Jasper said, carefully replacing a journal. “All this tangible connection to the past . . . it’s remarkable.”

“It’s a lot of dusting, is what it is,” Delilah replied, but her tone was softer now. She paused by a large object covered with a sheet. “This was Papa’s desk. After he died, none of us could bear to see it empty, so we moved it up here.”

Jasper joined her, standing close enough that their shoulders touched. “I’m sorry about your father. And we’re going to free your mother.”

Delilah nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I just⁠—”

A noise from the far corner of the attic cut her off—a soft thump, like something being knocked over. They both froze, straining to hear.

“Mama?”

Another sound, more distinct. The unmistakable shuffle of movement behind a large wardrobe near the back wall.

“There’s someone here,” Jasper said, instinctively stepping slightly in front of Delilah. He had no idea what he would or could do to protect her, he only knew he wanted to.

They moved cautiously toward the sound, stepping around piles of old holiday decorations and what appeared to be several generations of outgrown winter coats.

“Hello?” Delilah called, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Is someone there?”

The shuffling stopped. A moment of tense silence stretched between them and whatever, or whoever, was hiding in the shadows beyond the wardrobe.

Then, with a sudden movement that made them both start, a figure emerged from behind the looming piece of furniture.

But it wasn’t Kelly Melrose.

Chapter 18

I’ll Be Clone for Christmas

The figure stepped forward. The weak glow of a strand of Christmas lights—plugged in but only half working—illuminated his eerie, semi-transparent features. Delilah felt her jaw actually drop. Beside her, Jasper tensed and stepped partway in front of her—as though he could somehow protect a witch from whatever magical nonsense was about to unfold. It was an adorably pointless move that Delilah couldn’t even take time to enjoy, due to the strange person standing before her.

It was Zahir.

Except it wasn’t. Not really. Zahir was downstairs trying to salvage the Saturnalia feast while processing the fact that magicians had just kidnapped the closest thing he had to a mother.

This Zahir was . . . off. Like someone had taken the original and given him multiple runs through a poorly maintained photocopier. He seemed faded around the edges somehow. Ever so slightly transparent. And Zahir’s usual tightly wound energy had been replaced by a lounge-lizard, can’t be bothered sort of air.

“Well, well.” Not-Zahir leaned against a massive plastic tub labeled X-MAS DÉCOR (PRE-1950). “This is awkward.”

Jasper’s hand, still half extended in that protective gesture, drifted down to Delilah’s wrist. His touch sent a completely inappropriate tingle up her arm.

Get it together, Delilah.

“Who are you?” she demanded while trying not to think about how Jasper’s fingers had somehow migrated from her wrist to her palm.

The figure executed an ironic little bow that the real Zahir would rather die than perform. “I’m Epsilon. Or Eps, for those who’ve earned the privilege of nickname usage.”

“Epsilon?” Jasper repeated. “What, like the Greek alphabet?”