14. You Better Watch Out
You Better Watch Out
Jasper was desperately trying to keep up with what was going on around him. But he felt like he was alphabetizing books in the middle of an earthquake.
The chamber they’d tumbled into was scrambling his brain; the ceiling appeared to stretch upward into infinity, which was obviously impossible.
Then there was the massive, U-shaped table towering over them.
Its edges were carved with symbols that Jasper wanted to study but couldn’t get a proper look at; his eyes would kind of slide off them, like they were rejecting the information.
Again, impossible. Unless of course this was all a dream.
Ohhh, that’s it, he assured himself. This is a very elaborate, incredibly vivid dream. But why? Anita’s rum balls, maybe? Or did Toby slip me one of those cannabis gummies he’s always bragging about?
But wait... had he even gone to the party?
Hadn’t he been adamant about avoiding it?
The memory felt slippery, like he was grabbing at minnows in a stream.
There was definitely something in his memory bank about a party, and mistletoe.
He’d made a sharp comment about the Pogues, and then. .. what?
Well, hardly matters now. He was clearly fast asleep, enjoying (if that was the word) the most intense dream of his life. May as well just ride it out until I wake up.
But enjoyment was challenging. The faux-throne room just got more menacing the more he looked around. There were shadows in the corners that seemed to move independently of the light, and the air held a metallic tang to it. Like blood in his mouth.
Dream or nightmare, he wondered suddenly. It wouldn’t be the first time his subconscious had betrayed him.
At least he’d conjured up interesting company.
The three people with him had seemed to know Jasper immediately and hadn’t bothered to introduce themselves.
And there was zero chance he’d ask (he’d never reveal himself to be that thoroughly confused).
But from context clues and overheard conversation, he’d pieced together that the couple, the ones currently holding hands like their lives depended on it, were named Scarlett and Nate.
And the woman beside him, his partner in that crazy game show, was Delilah.
Delilah . She had a razor-sharp bob and eyes that seemed to contain entire galaxies within them.
She was easily the most fascinating woman he’d ever seen, in a dream or otherwise.
Her posture suggested she might know seven different ways to kill a man with an olive pick, but somehow that just made her more appealing.
I’ve created her, he thought with a mixture of pride and disappointment.
My brain has conjured the perfect woman, and she can’t possibly exist in real life.
And even if by some miracle she did exist, someone like me would never have a chance with someone like her. No matter what that game show said.
The council members on the dais stared down at them with expressions ranging from contempt to outright hostility.
Their faces held the sort of cold disdain usually reserved for finding gum on the bottom of an expensive shoe.
Whatever this dream-narrative was, Jasper was clearly cast as an unwelcome intruder.
“We desire to speak with the witches,” the burgundy woman said. Her voice sliced through the room. “The others may go.”
Witches? Jasper thought. Who’s a witch? Witches aren’t real.
But Nate seemed to understand the situation perfectly. He wrapped a protective arm around Scarlett and shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ah, they’re the witches, apparently . Jasper, wanting to be part of the team despite having absolutely no clue what was happening, awkwardly extended his arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “Neither am I,” he declared with a confidence he absolutely did not feel.
Delilah turned to glare at him, and he immediately withdrew his arm, his face burning.
“How charming.” The burgundy woman’s voice dripped with venom. “The men are so protective. Odd, given that you witches hate men.” She delivered this pronouncement with a smile that reminded Jasper of documentaries he’d seen about deep-sea predators: all teeth and no warmth.
“We do not!” Scarlett objected. “Oak Haven’s magic is matrilineal but not because we hate men. It’s just how our power is passed down. There are plenty of covens with male witches!”
“I can personally attest to that,” Delilah chimed in. “I’ve just returned from traveling the world and I encountered plenty of men with remarkable powers. In fact, I had a particularly memorable time with some warlocks in northwestern Ireland.”
The burgundy woman started to respond, but Scarlett held up one finger. “Hold please.” She turned to Delilah, her eyes twinkling. “Memorable? You mean because he gave you the wand?”
“Wait,” Nate sniggered. “ Who gave Delilah his wand?”
“How memorable are we talking here? Do you mean, like, memorable memorable?”
Delilah’s eyebrows performed a little dance that made Jasper’s mouth go dry. “Memorable memorable,” she confirmed.
“But what about the infamous Irish curse?” Scarlett pressed.
“I don’t know what to tell you, sis. More like the Irish blessing where Conor the Warlock was concerned.”
Conor the Warlock?! Jasper’s ego deflated like a budget soufflé. Even in his own dream, he was being outdone by some magical Irishman. Presumably half Colin Farrell and half Thor. And if she were real, what chance would I have then?
“If you’ve quite finished—” the burgundy woman’s voice sliced through their exchange like a scalpel through flesh “—I’ll repeat myself. We shall speak only with witches. The others shall leave.”
“And I’ll repeat myself,” Nate shot back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A chilling laugh drifted down from the council table, multiplied by the acoustics of the chamber until it sounded like the entire audience at a villain convention was mocking them.
The hairs on Jasper’s arms stood at attention, and he fought the urge to wake himself up.
Because this was definitely veering into nightmare territory now.
“Very well,” the woman said, and snapped her fingers.
A cloud of smoke exploded at Jasper’s feet, acrid and thick. He coughed, his eyes watering as he tried desperately to wave it away.
When the smoke cleared and he could finally see again, the council chamber, the dais, and the witches were gone.
He was standing next to Nate in the middle of the casino floor, surrounded by the cacophony of slot machines.
One directly beside them was currently having a seizure, lights flashing and coins spilling onto the carpet.
“What the—” Jasper spun around, trying to get his bearings. “Where did they go? Where did we go?”
“Back to the casino,” Nate replied grimly as his eyes scanned the crowd. “They didn’t want us there for whatever they’re planning to tell the girls.”
“But...” Jasper gestured helplessly at the slots, the tourists, the general Vegas-meets-Christmas cacophony. “How did we get here?”
“It’s magic, dude.” Nate gave him a look that was equal parts pity and exasperation. “They’re magicians. It’s kind of their whole deal.”
“Magic? What, like, pulling rabbits out of hats and stuff?”
“We all used to think that way. Magicians are fakes, they’re just performers, blah blah blah. But as you can see—” Nate gestured at their surroundings. “We underestimated them.”
“So, what do we do? Should we go back to the room and rescue the women?”
“ Rescue the women !” Nate laughed. “Who do you think you are, Conor the Warlock? Nah, nothing we can do, except wait.” He bent down to scoop up a fistful of coins that had spilled out of the slot machine, then clapped a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “C’mon, lemme buy you a beer.”
The magicians’ chamber seemed to contract, as if the walls themselves were breathing in.
Whispers slithered through the darkness, too quiet for Delilah to make out but too deliberate to be random.
Something cold brushed against Delilah’s cheek, something unknowable that left a trail of ice along her skin.
She edged closer to her sister. “I really hate this ‘separating the group’ crap. Very ‘horror movie 101’.”
“Agreed,” Scarlett whispered. “And I’m not really feeling like a final girl at the moment.”
The woman in burgundy was still visible on the dais. Her colleagues had melted into shadow, leaving only the impression of forms sitting at the U-shaped table.
Any lingering doubts that magicians had nothing to offer but smoke and mirrors had evaporated along with Jasper and Nate. Even Mama, with all her power, couldn’t teleport people with just a snap of her fingers.
“What did you do with them?” Delilah forced a belligerence into her voice that she absolutely didn’t feel. In truth, her pulse was pounding so hard, she worried the entire room could hear it.
The burgundy woman’s smile was the kind therapists reserve for patients with particularly embarrassing delusions. “They’re perfectly safe. Simply enjoying our casino’s amenities while we have a little... witch-to-magician chat.”
A voice from the shadows hissed, “It’sssss about time,” stretching the ‘s’ into something serpentine that made Delilah’s skin crawl.
“Oh my gods, are you actually doing the eerie whisper thing?” Delilah crossed her arms, channeling her fear into what she hoped passed for contempt. “What’s next on your Villain Clichés checklist? Any of you got long-haired cats on your laps?”
“What my sister means,” Scarlett cut in, “is that we’d appreciate hearing exactly what you want with us. This casino, the tour guides spouting nonsense... What are you all playing at?”
“Impatient children,” came another whisper from the shadows.
“’Twas ever thus,” added another. “Rushing through their teeny meaningless lives, never understanding the true nature of the eternal cosmos.”