Page 68 of Jingle Spells

“What the hell is he doing here?” Scarlett glared at the magician with undisguised loathing. “Zahir, why are you sharing our leftovers with this mope?”

Zahir shrugged. “I went to the wine cellar looking for Kelly, just like you told me to do. Found him instead. And don’t worry, I’ve got leftovers for days.”

Scarlett rounded on the hungry magician. “You should’ve run,” she said threateningly. “Why didn’t you run when you had a chance?”

Maximillian sighed dramatically and set down a half-eaten turkey leg. “I thought that burgundy-clad harpy was taking me along for the ride. Instead, she transported me to your basement and left me there. Abandoned me among dusty bottles of—” he squinted at the label on the wine he’d apparently helped himself to “—Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Quite good, by the way.”

“Where did she take our mother?” Scarlett was leaning in so close that Maximillian had to lean back to avoid ending up with a face full of angry witch.

“How the hell should I know?” He plonked down in a chair and slurped his stolen wine. “Why would I help you, even if I did?”

“Because if you don’t help us, I will personally ensure that your career path runs from ‘mediocre magician’ to ‘mediocre magician who is also on fire.’”

Jasper’s grip on Delilah’s hand tightened. She glanced at him, surprised to see a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your sister is formidable,” he whispered.

“That’s one word for it,” Delilah whispered back. “‘Terrifying’ and ‘unhinged’ are also acceptable.” She ambled up beside Max to try a different approach. Good cop to Scarlett’s pyromaniacal cop. “Do you remember us?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember anything, remember? That’s how you witches like it. Sure, now you want me to remember, but that’s not⁠—”

“No,” Delilah interrupted. “Do you remember us from Las Vegas?”

Maximillian stared at the sisters, truly seeing them at last. His eyes widened with dawning recognition, then narrowed with outrage. “You!” he spluttered. “You tricked me! You stole my rabbit!”

“Rescued, more like. That poor rabbit had been stuffed into increasingly tiny hats for years. But yes. That was us.”

“You want to see him?” Scarlett’s smile turned predatory. “You want to see your little bunny Quentin again?”

“Wait, he’s here?” Maximillian put down the wine. His face was suddenly alight with hope. “You still have him?”

“For the time being.” Scarlett glanced over at Zahir, who had moved closer, his expression newly calculating. “Unless . . .”

“Yeah, the thing is,” Zahir caught on immediately, “I was just about to whip up a little lapin à la moutarde. Rabbit with mustard sauce? Quite delicious, especially with some of that Châteauneuf-du-Pape you’ve been swilling.”

“Don’t you dare!” Maximillian half rose from his seat, genuine panic in his eyes. “That rabbit is a trained professional! An artist!”

“What’s it worth to ya?” Scarlett asked.

Maximillian slumped back down, defeated. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. But keep in mind, I’m not very high up in the organization.”

“Shocking,” Scarlett deadpanned. “C’mon, out with it.”

“Right, well. I understand that you witches all think magicians are nothing but card tricks and rabbits from hats. And yes, there are plenty of amateurs running around calling themselves magicians who don’t know anything beyond basic sleight of hand. But that’s just the beginning.” He lowered his voice, forcing everyone to lean in closer. “Real magicians? Like that woman who took your mother? They’re extremely powerful. Much more powerful than the average witch, I’ll tell you that.”

“Shut your filthy lying mouth!” hollered Jerusha.

“Hey, crone,” Max shot back, “you want to hear this or not?”

“Enough,” Delilah said before anyone else could interject. “Trust me, we’ve seen plenty of genuine magic from your people recently. No need to convince us of that. But what’s their plan?”

Max confirmed what had already been suspected. The magicians were attempting to break the forgetting spell by introducing so much contradictory information that it would essentially blow a fuse. They wanted to turn Oak Haven into a tourist trap, just as Salem had become.

Scarlett shook her head in dissatisfaction. “None of this is new. You’ve all tried this game before.”

He poured the last of his wine into his glass. “You know what they say, if at first you don’t succeed . . .”

“Why, though?” Jasper interjected. His brows were drawn together in rumination; it was an expression Delilah found distractingly attractive. “What do they gain from that?”

“For the money, honey?” Max suggested.