5. Happy Christmas （War Is Coming）
Happy Christmas (War Is Coming)
Delilah stepped out onto the inn’s front porch, and immediately part of her wished she hadn’t.
The winter air was crisp and clean, the snow pristine and untouched, and every single goddamned thing was decorated for the holidays.
She felt as though she were under the sway of some powerful Christmas bully, smashing her face into every bit of tinsel on Earth.
But despite her best efforts to maintain a proper Grinchian attitude, the simple beauty of her home still managed to take her breath away.
It seemed like just yesterday she’d been in Perth, watching Aboriginal witches paint the sunset with their fingertips.
Mere months ago, she’d wandered through an enchanted Bangkok market, where the merchandise floated from stall to stall without any visible means of support.
She’d seen the Northern Lights dance a waltz over Iceland, watched Romanian witches race their enchanted Dacia sportscars through the mountains, and attended a rave in Sao Paolo where the DJ was a particularly musical ghost.
But none of those wonders had prepared her for the simple magic of coming home.
Even when excessively Christmas-ed, the Stargazer Inn radiated a kind of power that no amount of globetrotting could replicate.
The kind of power that came from generations of witches living and loving and arguing and reconciling under one roof.
The kind of power that made you feel like you belonged here, even when you were dead set on not belonging anywhere at all.
The inn sat about a mile from downtown, where properties spread out into gracious lawns and prehistoric trees.
The old stone wall that lined both sides of the road dated back to the turn of the eighteenth century, when the first witches had arrived.
Delilah had seen a lot of impressive stonework in her travels—the Great Wall of China, Angkor Wat, those mysterious ruins in the Belize River Valley that the local witches refused to explain—but there was something about these humble New England walls that caught Delilah’s heart.
Maybe it was knowing that her ancestors had placed each stone, powered by nothing but pure determination to make a home.
The windows of neighboring houses glowed with the warm light of carefully placed candles. Garlands of evergreen draped elegantly along rooflines, and tasteful wreaths adorned every door. The kind of restrained holiday decorating that spoke of old money and good taste and?—
Oh, who was she kidding.
The Chatterjees had transformed their formal boxwood garden into the Island of Misfit Toys, with their gnomes dressed as Charlie-in-the-Box, the Doll for Sally, and the Bird that Swims. The Friedmans’ house, just down the way, was surrounded by a small army of inflatable dreidels that spun in perfect synchronization.
Meanwhile the Adebayos had unleashed what could only be described as a fusion Christmas—their animatronic Santa wore traditional Nigerian formal attire, and his sleigh was pulled by a team of enchanted zebras who appeared deeply confused about the whole snow situation.
It was exactly the sort of cheerful holiday chaos Papa would have loved.
The thought stabbed through her like an icicle.
Edward Melrose had been the one who brought Christmas to Oak Haven in the first place.
Before him, the witches had focused solely on celebrating the winter solstice—none of this business with mangers and reindeer and jolly old elves.
But Papa, raised in a typical human family in Bedford, Massachusetts, had refused to give up his beloved holiday traditions just because he’d married a pagan.
Instead, he’d infected the entire town with his enthusiasm for the secular pleasures of the season.
Under his influence, the entire town eventually gave itself over to the many nonreligious delights of the holiday: to fanciful decorated trees and elaborately wrapped presents, to wassailing and cookie making, to Bing Crosby and Jolly Old St Nick.
For Delilah, every single Christmas decoration was on some level a reminder of Papa. And every single one jabbed her in the heart just a little.
Worst of all, she was clearly the only one who felt this way.
The first Christmas after Papa’s death had been very grim indeed.
Scarlett had run off to San Francisco by that point, so it was only Delilah, Luna, and Mama that year.
And since they had the hotel to run, there had been no time for sleeping till four or drinking at noon or any of those so-called self-care measures that people go on about.
They had no choice but to set their jaws and keep going.
The Melrose women had hated every minute of the holiday that year, and they’d done so together, as a team.
They decorated only the most minimal amount possible.
They’d steered well clear of the pageant and the snowman-building contest and all the rest. And holiday carolers would inspire nothing but irritated glances and rolled eyes.
The only song they could tolerate that year was Otis Redding’s version of “White Christmas”; the natural anguish in his voice made it clear Otis had no expectation that his days would be merry or bright, and he certainly wouldn’t judge if your days weren’t, either.
In time, her family somehow forgave Christmas. Not immediately, that’s for sure. But over the next few years, the joy of the holiday gradually crept back inside the Stargazer Inn. The decorations returned, and the Yuletide feasting... and the carols.
Ugh, the carols.
As if summoned by her thoughts, music drifted through the winter air.
Delilah’s eyes landed on the source: a line of enchanted snowmen positioned at intervals along the stone wall.
Each had the traditional coal eyes and carrot nose, each wore a jaunty scarf, and each was lip-syncing Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas” with surprising soul.
The snowmen were created by a collaborative spell of all the witches along the road.
As you walked past one snowman, the next would pick up the song, creating an endless, inescapable chain of melody.
Delilah just shook her head and started down the path toward town. She heard the inn’s front door thrown open and slammed shut behind her. “Del, wait!”
She spun around on one heel to see Scarlett, chasing after her as usual.
“Sorry about the wand thing,” Scarlett said as she caught up. “Personally I think it’s groovy. Some sexy warlock, offering you his sharp stick? Love it. But you know how Mama is.”
Rather than evaluate the sexiness level of Irish warlocks—which was surprisingly high, but she didn’t feel like getting into it at the moment—Delilah changed the subject entirely. “I hate these fucking snowmen, Scar.”
“Oh stop, they’re adorable.”
“They’re an imposition, is what they are.
Someone else picked the music, which means someone else is controlling my environment.
Trying to control my mood. And I can’t escape it.
” Just like I can’t escape the memories, she thought.
The way Papa used to jokingly conduct the snowmen as they walked past, using a candy cane as his baton. ..
“Ah, I see!” Scarlett’s voice broke through her brooding.
“As it happens, the decorating committee agrees with you; they put a new spin on it this year. Watch.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, squinting in concentration, then snapped her fingers.
Instantly, the snowmen switched to “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses.
“You’re kidding.” Delilah sighed. “The snowmen take requests now?”
“Hey, it’s fun when it’s fun! Although, things did get a little weird for a while, when all the neighbors were arguing about which songs to play. Mrs. Chatterjee kept overriding everyone else’s selections with the Mariah Carey one until finally Mama had to step in.”
“Whatever,” Delilah cut in. “Can we talk about the magicians now?”
“Oh yeah. So let’s see, you and Luna left right after last Thanksgiving, right?
It was quiet around here for most of the year.
Then about a month ago, a massive convoy of trucks arrived in Oak Haven.
Nobody I talked to had ever seen anything like it.
Just eighteen-wheeler after eighteen-wheeler rolling through the streets.
I lost count of how many. Naturally, the witches were all kinds of freaked out.
There was a whole town meeting where everybody argued about the ‘juggernaut jamboree.’ But the weird thing was, the trucks didn’t stop in town.
They just drove on through. So... it was weird but, on the other hand, no big deal?
Or so we thought? About a week later we woke up to, um. ..”
“To what?”
Scarlett put her hands on each side of Delilah’s head and turned it toward the center of town. Then she tilted her sister’s head up. And up. And up some more.
Holy shit.
For over two hundred years, the tallest structures in Oak Haven had involved the occasional Victorian turret.
But now, over the tree line, loomed a behemoth.
Fifty stories of glass and steel thrust up from the earth like some dark version of Jack’s beanstalk.
Its sides spread out in a series of swooping curves that suggested both tacky Vegas fever dream and Brutalist concrete nightmare.
Its massive footprint dwarfed the entire Oak Haven downtown, like Godzilla looming over a smattering of dollhouses.
One good stomp from this monster, and they’d all be so many broken candy canes in the rubble.
Giant neon signs promised SLOTS! SHOWS! CELEbrITIES! Searchlights swept the sky in lazy circles, as if the building was casually marking its territory: Mine now, mine. All of this is mine.
“You’re telling me they built that overnight.”
“More or less, yep.”
“And you let them?”
Scarlett made a face. “We didn’t know! How were we supposed to know?”
“My gods!” Delilah shouted. “The noise? The clamoring and hammering and all the heavy equipment?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Del. There was none of that. They seem to have trucked in some supplies and then assembled everything, instantly, with no sound, no workers, and no effort that we could perceive.”
“But how? How is that possible? How do a bunch of dum dums who yank rabbits from hats at children’s parties accomplish a feat like this? What, you’re telling me they pulled infinite scarves out their sleeves and turned them into a hotel?”
“And casino, don’t forget the casino.”
“A casino? Did they put a McDonald’s in while they were at it?”
“Wimpys.”
“Wimpys? What the hell, Scar? I didn’t even know that was a thing anymore. A Wimpys in Oak Haven—good grief!”
“Ah ha, well,” Scarlett sighed. “This is where things get tricky. It is not in Oak Haven, strictly speaking. It’s a few yards beyond our perimeter.”
“So . . . it’s not influenced by our magic.”
“Exactly. I think we can officially abandon the idea that magicians aren’t every bit as powerful as we are. Or, you know...” Scarlett gestured helplessly up at the glittering tower. “More.”
Delilah felt a hot flush of shame. While she’d been off collecting passport stamps and exotic magic tricks, this.
.. this thing had sprouted up like some kind of corporate kaiju , threatening to swallow everything her ancestors had built.
She’d been swanning around the world with Luna when she should have been here, protecting her home.
But what could anyone have done against something like this?
The witches of Oak Haven were capable, yes, but their magic was intimate, personal—enchanted snowmen and floating ornaments, protection spells woven into stone walls.
This hotel seemed to present a different kind of power entirely.
The kind that came with lawyers and permits and environmental impact studies.
The kind of power that could crush a small town.
Delilah stared up at the casino. The building’s endless rows of windows stared down at her with the impassive menace of a thousand eyes.
“There are who knows how many guests up there, in those rooms, gazing at us. At Oak Haven. They are looking at us from up high and just beyond our range—a vantage point that is not influenced by the forgetting spell.”
“Del, you know how I was complaining before, about the locator spell that doesn’t consider altitude? Well. Here we are, altitude fucks us yet again. But that’s not even the worst bit.”
“That’s pretty bad! Our anonymity is completely blown.
People must be looking out the windows: ‘Oh, look, Tyler! What an adorable little town. Won’t our followers just eat that up?
’ ‘You’re so right, Chloe! Think of the content we could generate.
’ How long do you reckon before we end up a trending topic?
Those magicians are trying to wipe us out, Scar, pure and simple.
Last year they infiltrated the town to get us from the inside out.
This time, it’s a full-frontal assault from the outside in. They’re trying to?—”
“Okay, you’re ranting, sis. I agree with everything you’re saying. But I’m telling you: it’s not the worst bit.”
“Well, what is?”
“Let’s go into town, because I think you need to see for yourself. But I have to tell you, I just... I don’t know...” Scarlett’s voice trailed off and, for the first time, Delilah could see the worry in her sister’s eyes. “I can’t figure how we’re going to fix this one.”
Delilah grabbed her sister by both shoulders. “They won’t beat us. This is our town, built by our mothers and fathers, and their mothers and fathers, and their mothers and fathers before them, going back hundreds of years. In Oak Haven, magicians do not win. Got it?”
Scarlett impulsively threw her arms around her sister and squeezed her tight. “I’m so glad you’re home, Del.”
“Okay, okay, cut it out. Come on.” Delilah pulled back, wrapping one arm around her sister’s.
“Let’s go fuck their shit up.” But first she paused, put one hand to her forehead for a moment, then snapped her fingers.
Suddenly the headbanging snowmen were belting out “Back in Black.” The sisters marched toward town like twin storms while AC/DC’s thunder rolled down the perfect New England street.