Page 66 of Jingle Spells

“C’mon, don’t cop out on me. I’m asking for your opinion, so go ahead and have one.”

“Well . . .” He folded his arms across his chest and tugged at his chin in thought. “Fundamentally, you’re asking me, does Eps have free will? The magic of Oak Haven is yours to command, so inasmuch as Eps is simply magic in a different form, then no, he does not. On the other hand, he clearly has developed his own personality, separate from the Zahir we know, and has begun making his own decisions. So . . . maybe? Sorry that’s not a more definitive answer. This is why I prefer history to philosophy.”

Despite everything, despite the missing mother and the magician threat and the fact that Jasper Hopkins wouldn’t even remember her name tomorrow, Delilah felt a rush of something dangerously close to adoration for this impossibly precise man who somehow understood that this wasn’t about cats or clones. It was about choices. And about who gets to make them.

She turned back to Eps. “Your secret’s safe with me for now. For as long as I’m able to keep it.”

Relief washed over the clone’s semi-transparent features. “Thank you.”

“DELILAH MARIE MELROSE!” Scarlett’s voice reached them from downstairs. Her pitch had reached that special timbre that suggested imminent catastrophe; the question was, was Scarlett trying to prevent it or cause it?

“We’re coming! Don’t come up here, you’ll just trip over yet another box of Christmas ornaments,” Delilah called back. “We’ll figure this out, Eps. All of it. Just . . . maybe stop making cats for a bit? We need you to stay solid enough to, you know, exist.”

Eps’s smile was pure Zahir, full of the stubborn certainty that he knew best. “I make no promises. The Melrose Archive Protection Program continues unabated. Also they’re cuddly and I love them.”

Delilah and Jasper took a few steps down the stairwell when Jasper stopped suddenly. “Hang on,” he told Delilah, and jogged back up. “Mr. Epsilon, one quick question. In all your scrabbling around up here, have you come across anything related to someone named Agnes?”

“Jasper! Would you stop it with the Agnes stuff?” Gods, this man was cute but frustrating. “We need to focus on my mother right now. Agnes died over two hundred years ago; she has absolutely nothing to offer on the magicians question, I promise.”

“I’m sorry . . .” and he did look quite sorry, which really was adorable. “. . . but, Delilah, think about it. Agnes is significant in my life and in your life. That can’t just be some kooky coincidence, can it?”

“It’s very romantic,” she assured him. “It’s just not particularly helpful right now.”

Scarlett’s screech again. “DELILAH!”

Jasper sighed. “Right. Okay.” But as he turned to go, Epsilon made a psst noise behind him.

“Hey,” Epsilon whispered. “Hey you, Oak Haven’s answer to Dr Jonathan Crane. I got lots about Agnes. I got Agnes for days up here. At the risk of sounding too conspiratorial, this is all about Agnes.”

Delilah grabbed Jasper by the arm and pulled him down the stairs with her. As they went, she could feel the weight of the day settling on her heart. Her mother, vanished. Her powers, surrendered. Her home, under attack.

And yet.

As they made their way down the narrow staircase, Jasper rested his hand on the small of her back. And when they paused at the landing, his eyes met hers with an intensity that made her forget everything else.

“So,” he said quietly, “you have a clone of your best friend living in your attic and making cats out of himself to protect your father’s Christmas decorations.”

“Just another day in Oak Haven,” she replied, trying for lightness and missing by a mile.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face. “We’ll get your mom back . . . somehow. I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

“Promise?” The word slipped out before she could stop it, childish and vulnerable.

Instead of answering, Jasper leaned forward and kissed her. Not the desperate, clinging kiss they’d shared upstairs, but something softer. A promise in itself.

“DELILAH! I can hear you guys whispering! Get your butts down here!”

Chapter 19

The Most Dangerous Time of the Year

Scarlett descended the stairs two at a time, her curls bouncing with righteous fury. Meanwhile Delilah struggled to keep up. She was dragged down by a highly impractical velvet dress and the emotional whiplash of everything that had occurred in just the past hour. Her brain felt like an overheated cell phone running too many apps at once: Mom missing. Town in danger. Magical clone in attic. Just kissed Jasper Hopkins. Mom MISSING. Jasper followed at a safe distance behind the sisters with the careful precision of a man who’d wandered into a minefield and was trying very hard not take a wrong step.

“. . . and I’m telling you,” Scarlett was saying, “we’re one hundred percent done taking crap from these Vegas rejects . . .”

Delilah sighed. This was classic Scarlett-in-crisis: all action, zero thought, and (all too frequently) maximum collateral damage. She’d been that way when they were kids, always ready to hex first and ask questions never.

“I’m serious, Del. They show up in our town, build their tacky casino, kidnap our mother? No. Hell no. Enough.”