8. Mint Leaves and Fruit Cleaves and Infinite Diyas
Mint Leaves and Fruit Cleaves and Infinite Diyas
Back at his apartment, Jasper’s sock drawer was arranged by color, pattern, and thickness.
His spice rack was alphabetized by name and cross-referenced by type of cuisine.
He had an alarm on his phone, notifying him to change his toothbrush every ninety days.
(A wholly unnecessary alarm, as it happened, because he changed it every eighty-five days with no reminder required.) And yet here he was, standing in a strange hotel room in an even stranger town, with nothing but the clothes on his back and eighteen dollars in his wallet.
“This is fine,” he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “This is reasonable. People spontaneously abandon their lives to stay in magical hotels all the time.”
His reflection gazed back skeptically.
“What’s more, the county clerk’s office will barely notice I’m gone. They’ll be relieved, most likely.”
His reflection allowed that this much was probably true. And what did he have to lose, really? It wasn’t as if there was anyone waiting for him back in that little apartment.
The guest room was amazing, of course. Dominating the space was a four-poster bed with hand-carved acanthus leaves that had been enchanted to slowly unfurl and curl back up again.
A Yuletide wreath of evergreen hung above the fireplace, tiny golden lights dancing among its branches like captive stars.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, all overstuffed with leather-bound treasures that could easily occupy Jasper for weeks.
On the other hand, his phone was at twelve percent battery and dying fast. His dress shirt was not the freshest. And he had absolutely no explanation for why he’d decided to stay, beyond the way Delilah Melrose’s eyes had flashed when she’d threatened to turn that top-hat lady into a newt.
His stomach growled, reminding Jasper that he hadn’t eaten since this morning. Hadn’t he seen a dining room off to the side of the hotel reservation desk? Yes, he was certain he had.
Good plan, he thought. Let’s hunt for food. Far preferable to standing here, contemplating why I’ve done this crazy thing in the first place.
The hallway was decorated for both Christmas and what appeared to be a significantly more ancient holiday.
Silver and gold garlands shared space with bundles of wheat and ivy wreaths that definitely pre-dated Christianity.
Guarding the hallway was the carved stone bust of a severe-looking man with a long beard.
Was it Roman? Greek? Jasper wasn’t certain.
All he knew for sure was that statue seemed to glare at him when he paused to study it.
And then— Wait, did that thing just blink at me?
Jasper decided to be on his way.
The air was scented with a complicated potpourri of holiday smells, along with something else.
.. Was that fresh bread? He followed his nose down to the first floor.
The dining room was empty, but peeking into the kitchen, Jasper saw a harried-looking man in chef’s whites.
He was simultaneously kneading three different kinds of dough while muttering under his breath.
“Oh!” The chef looked up. “You must be the newcomer that the gals were talking about. I’d shake your hand but.
..” He gestured at his flour-covered fingers.
“I’m Zahir. And you’re just in time to witness my annual descent into madness.
Well, no, on second thoughts, you can’t descend to a place you already live in.
My annual in-depth exploration of madness, how about that? ”
“I don’t mean to interrupt?—”
“Nonsense. Sit. You’re hungry, a cook can always tell.
I’ll make you something. Just bear with me one sec.
” He glanced around the kitchen conspiratorially.
“And don’t tell Kelly I’m using the dried pasta.
I’m way behind here, and I am NOT hand-rolling noodles until three in the morning just because it’s Saturnalia. ”
“Saturnalia? You mean... no, you can’t mean Saturnalia . The Roman festival?”
“The very same. You’ve picked a wonderful time to visit, actually.
Oak Haven comes to a complete halt for three days of all sorts of shenanigans.
Poetry readings at Spellbound Books, live music at the pub every night.
Oh, and a weaving competition at the yarn store, Sometimes a Great Notion.
And it all kicks off with a massive feast here at the hotel, which supposedly the witches prepare but let’s not kid ourselves. It’s me. Don’t rat me out, though.”
“Your secret’s safe. Why all the skullduggery, though?”
“Ah yes. Well.” Zahir kept working as he talked.
Kneading, rolling, punching multiple batches of dough.
“Historically, a big aspect of Saturnalia was this sort of social inversion: servants being waited on by their masters, et cetera, et cetera. Our interpretation of that here in Oak Haven means no magic is allowed for the whole five days. Tomorrow at midnight, there’s a ceremony where the witches willingly put their powers into containment.
And then for the remainder of Saturnalia, witches use no magic whatsoever, and the town’s non-magical residents get to lord it over them. ”
“Oh, wait!” Jasper exclaimed. “That grouchy-looking stone bust upstairs. That’s the god Saturn, isn’t it?”
“None other.”
“He was, um. He was glaring at me? Possibly? Am I nuts?”
“You are not. He’s permanently pissed off that Kelly only brings him out of storage for one week every year. However, if you balance a coin on his head, he will smile for you. So give that a shot maybe.”
“Huh... not sure if I want to see that or not.”
“Understandable. Anyway, yeah so every year there’s this feast. Trouble is, the Melroses can’t so much as make ice without assistance.
Which means all the prep has to be done for them in advance.
And I do mean alllllll the prep. It’s not just mise en place, it’s mise en every goddamn thing .
Every pinch of salt has to be measured. Takes me days. ”
“So here you are, doing all this cooking? Isn’t that... I mean, it’s not my place to judge, but isn’t that?—”
“Cheating?” Zahir grinned. “Absolutely. We are absolutely cheating. Having me do all the prep totally defeats the purpose. But trust me, you don’t want to go anywhere near a Melrose-cooked meal that wasn’t carefully plotted in advance.
Like... take a look at this.” He reached for a well-worn cookbook on a nearby shelf, its spine cracked and pages stained.
“This old thing has saved more lives than penicillin around here. Grandma Doralee Patinkin’s Holiday Cookbook: A Jewish Family’s Celebrations .
Kelly swears by it, though between you and me, I think it’s only because she has some sort of a past with the author’s son.
Anyway, my point is, before we put this little cheat code into action?
We had dozens of food-poisoning incidents, and I can’t count how many times this kitchen has burned down. ”
“Okay...” Jasper paused a moment to try and process all this, while Zahir attacked his dough.
“So let me get this straight... The entire town celebrates an ancient pagan festival, the observation of which routinely leads to illness, fires, and general catastrophe, all while drowning in Christmas decorations?”
“Welcome to Oak Haven’s holiday mayhem.” Zahir grinned.
“Originally the witches were hardcore pagans, full stop. Which, I mean, fair enough, given that it was Christians who’d chased them out of Salem in the first place.
But then Kelly married Edward Melrose and, well.
..” He gestured at a nearby window: outside, an enchanted snowman was enthusiastically lip-syncing “All I Want for Christmas Is You” while a stone gargoyle wearing a Santa hat clapped along.
“So Delilah’s father brought the holidays to Oak Haven?”
“More like he infected the place with them. The man never met a tradition he didn’t want to adopt.
Look—” Zahir pointed to various decorations around the kitchen.
“See that Diwali lamp display? The Chatterjees brought that over. And over there, that’s an image of Lady Fatima Zahra, the Prophet’s daughter, whose birthday falls around this time.
Edward’s theory was that they are all celebrations of light over darkness, and all worth celebrating. Of course, some people think that’s?—”
“Culturally incoherent?” Jasper suggested.
“I was going to say ‘bonkers,’ but sure, Professor, get fancy with it.” Zahir plopped the dough into a collection of proving trays and went to work on yet another batch.
“And it all works out?”
“Mostly—sure! Overall, the town gets incredibly excited about the whole thing. Of course, there’s the occasional grumpus who isn’t quite so keen.
..” Zahir’s eyes took on a mischievous glint.
“ All the witches in Oak Haven loved Christmas a lot ,” he declaimed.
“ But Delilah, who lived at the Stargazer Inn? Did NOT .”
“She’s not a fan.”
“Del’s complicated. She was really close to her dad, you know?
When we lost him... well. Sometimes the people who love the hardest also break the hardest.” He attacked his dough with renewed vigor.
“But don’t tell her I said that. She’d probably turn me into something with substantially fewer limbs. ”
“Zahir!” Kelly Melrose’s voice preceded her into the kitchen. “We’ve come to help!”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes!” She swept in like a great ship arriving in port, with her daughters following close behind. Scarlett looked eager to assist; Delilah looked like she was being dragged to her own execution. “We thought we should lend a hand with the preparation before tomorrow.”
“Kelly, please no...” Zahir’s tone carried a bit of PTSD around the edges. “Remember the potato incident?”
“Those poor potatoes,” murmured Scarlett.