11. In the Bleak Town Meeting
In the Bleak Town Meeting
“Wait, Scarlett. Say that again. Louise suggested we do what ?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “In order to get past the magician wards protecting the casino, Louise said we need to gather the midnight tears of sleeping children.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish.” Scarlett wrapped her arms around herself, either against the December chill or the memory of her visit to the lair of the time witch. “She said they had to be gathered with, and I quote, ‘a brush made from a mother’s grief.’ Whatever that means.”
“It means Louise has officially lost what remained of her mind,” Nate offered. “Okay, so what’s Plan B, ward-removal-wise?”
“I didn’t stick around for Plan B. Once she started talking about collecting children’s dreams in mason jars, I realized Louise wasn’t going to have any suggestions I wanted to hear.”
Delilah fought off the urge to say she’d told her so. “Well, at least you tried. Meanwhile, Jasper and I might have figured out what the magicians are actually?—”
“Ooh, speaking of your historian.” Scarlett’s grin was uncommonly wicked even for her. “Why isn’t he with us? I would’ve thought he’d want to document every second of an authentic New England witch meeting.”
“He’s not my historian.” Delilah focused very hard on not meeting her sister’s eyes. “He’s helping Zahir prep for tomorrow’s feast.”
“Oh, Jasper and Zahir are pals now, are they?”
Delilah shrugged. “Apparently they’ve bonded over a shared dedication to doing everything the hard way.”
“ Uh-huh .” Scarlett’s knowing tone was deeply irritating.
“And you left Jasper alone to chat with a guy who’s known you since you were in diapers?
A guy who knows every embarrassing story about you?
It’s a bold strategy, sis. Let’s see if it pays off for ya.
You know, as we speak, Z’s probably telling him all about the time you accidentally turned the entire breakfast buffet into frogs. ”
“Can we focus?” But Delilah could feel her cheeks warming, and not from the winter air. “The point is, Jasper and I think we know what the magicians are up to. We were on this absolutely ridiculous Christmas house tour, and?—”
“Hold that thought.” Scarlett grabbed Delilah’s and Nate’s arms, yanking them both to a stop. “What fresh hell is this?”
Delilah followed her sister’s gaze... and her heart sank. Oh fantastic. Because this day wasn’t messy enough already.
Outside the town hall, two distinct crowds had formed on either side of the entrance.
On the left, a tour group milled about, gawping at the sights, their HAVEN OF HORRORS T-shirts glowing eerily in the winter twilight.
On the right stood a cluster of Oak Haven’s witches, their faces set in such fierce expressions, the phrase “ready to rumble” was practically visible across their foreheads.
“Yikes,” Nate said. “This is a bit too ‘Sharks versus Jets’ for my taste.”
A man with a MAGIC IS REAL fanny pack made the questionable life choice of trying to get Louise Demain to “break character.” “C’mon, lady! Give us a smile! You can’t be grumpy all the time! I got a member of the Queen’s Guard to smile one time—surely I can get a grin out of you.”
Louise’s eyes glowed with an unsettling purple light. “Hear me, meatsack. Your doom approaches posthaste. Your last coherent thought shall be the maddening recognition of your own inconsequence in the vast and indifferent cosmos. Your death will be as unmerciful as Time itself.”
“Um.” The tourist’s smile wavered. “Just a quick selfie, then?”
Part of Delilah wanted to warn these people. Not about Louise specifically; anyone dumb enough to poke that particular bear deserved what they got. But about what was really going on here. About the damage they might be doing, treating Oak Haven like it was budget dinner theater.
Then again, they wouldn’t remember what transpired here, anyway. None of them would. Just like Jasper wouldn’t remember...
Nope. Not thinking about him right now.
The town hall doors burst open and Conrad Delmonico emerged, his cardigan somehow managing to radiate both authority and anxiety in equal measure.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the tourists, “I’m afraid town hall is closed for a private event.
If you could please return to your buses, I’m sure they’ll take you back to your hotel.
Or back to the airport. Or to perdition, frankly.
Truth is, I don’t care where you go next.
But you know what they say: you don’t have to go home but you can’t?—”
“But we paid for the Authentic WitchTown Experience!” a woman protested. “The hotel promised we could watch you guys perform a real town meeting!”
“I assure you,” Conrad replied with impressive patience, “that whatever the hotel promised, we are not actually a living history museum, and?—”
“That’s exactly what a living history museum would say!”
Delilah felt a headache building behind her eyes. Reality in Oak Haven seemed to be getting slipperier by the hour.
“You know what?” Conrad’s voice cracked slightly. “Everyone is welcome to join us! Yes, what a wonderful idea. Very authentic! Come right in!”
A cheer went up from the tourists. The witches, meanwhile, looked about ready to riot. Delilah couldn’t blame them. How exactly were they supposed to discuss fighting back against a magician mafia who didn’t technically exist, in front of people who thought they didn’t technically exist?
Delilah’s gaze drifted to the tree line, where the sun was sinking toward the horizon. In just a few hours, Saturnalia would begin. Every witch in Oak Haven would willingly give up their powers. The timing couldn’t possibly be worse.
Inside, the town hall looked exactly as it had for Delilah’s entire life, except now it was infested with tourists taking endless photos that would never come out.
The wood-paneled walls still bore the scorch marks from the Great Pyromancy Debate of 1922, and the old folding chairs still creaked like they were auditioning for a horror movie.
Mama Melrose sat on the raised platform with the other elder witches, each wearing a carefully maintained expression of annoyed but dignified impatience. Delilah knew that look; she’d seen it directed at herself plenty of times.
“Young lady!” A tourist grabbed Delilah’s arm. “Where do you burn the witch?”
“We don’t,” Delilah shot back. “And we never have, by the way. There may have been witch burnings in Europe, but not in America. That’s a myth.”
The woman’s face fell. “Ah, nuts. Really? The casino told us someone would be put to the torch. I mean, we paid extra!”
Delilah grabbed the woman by the collar of her WITCHTOWN sweatshirt. “You paid extra for seats to an execution?!”
Nate swooped in to separate the two. “Okaay, let’s not pursue this. Ma’am, why don’t you join the other... uh... audience members in the back. Okay? Del, please don’t kill the out-of-towners. C’mon, come sit with Scar and me.”
Grumpily, Delilah slid into a seat beside her sister, wishing that Jasper were here to see all this. Not that she missed him or anything. She just... appreciated his academic perspective. On history. Nothing else.
“Order! Order!” Conrad’s voice cracked as he tried to maintain control. “Now, before we begin, I must remind everyone that we have some, ah, visitors joining us this evening...”
“Visitors, my eye!” Polly called out. “More like colonial cosplayers with boundary issues.”
A tourist in the back raised his hand. “Excuse me, is this authentic colonial sass?”
“Silence from the peanut gallery please! As I was saying,” Conrad soldiered on, “we need to discuss certain... community concerns... while being mindful of our audience.”
Delilah watched her mother exchange meaningful glances with the other elders. How exactly were they supposed to discuss the magician problem with half the room treating this like a Renaissance faire?
“I would like to speak.” Belinda Chatterjee stood, straightening her shoulders like a general preparing for battle.
“It seems clear that our first—and for that matter, second, third, and fourth—order of business should be the upcoming holiday pageant. After all, we’ve been planning this for months. ”
Of course . Delilah groaned inwardly. Trust Belinda Chatterjee to prioritize her precious pageant over an actual crisis.
“Yes, about that.” Scarlett rose, and Delilah felt her stomach clench. Here we go . “Given the current situation with... uh, our new neighbors , shall we say, maybe we should consider postponing the pageant? Along with the rest of the holiday festivities?”
The horrified gasp from the witches made the tourists lean forward eagerly, no doubt hoping for some authentic witch-versus-witch drama.
“Cancel Christmas?” Mrs. Chatterjee pressed one hand to her chest like Scarlett had suggested canceling oxygen.
“No no, not cancel. Postpone. Why don’t we deal with our neighbor issue first, and then we can really focus on celebrating. It’ll be better, actually, because we won’t be under threat and we can really enjoy ourselves.”
“Scarlett Melrose, what on earth is wrong with you,” Polly called out.
(This wasn’t framed as a question. Ever since Nate had chosen Scarlett over her, Polly always seemed very clear that there was quite a bit wrong with Scarlett.) “We haven’t missed a celebration since the founding of Oak Haven!
Not through war, not through plague, never! ”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. But Scarlett wasn’t moved. “I know, the timing sucks. But we have intelligence suggesting that the magicians—er, I mean, our neighbors —are planning something big. Likely tomorrow. And if we’re all powerl— if we’re all indisposed ?—”