20. You’re a Mean One, Ms. Demain
You’re a Mean One, Ms. Demain
As Jasper and Delilah walked hand in hand through town, it struck him that the festive atmosphere had taken a subtle turn for the worse.
What had been kitschy and fun now seemed tense, bordering on militant.
The decorations themselves were fine: magical garlands chased each other around lampposts; enchanted snowflakes fell in perfect geometric patterns; a quartet of gingerbread men performed holiday harmonies on the corner.
But there was something forced about the level of cheer, something false.
Like it had all been generated by a holiday-obsessed AI.
Beneath the surface, a sense of melancholy was everywhere.
“It’s the magic,” Delilah explained, catching his gaze as it followed an ornament that had detached itself from a tree to chase a squirrel. “Something’s wrong, and even the enchantments feel it.”
“Towns can’t feel things,” Jasper replied automatically, then regretted it. “I mean, normal towns can’t. Obviously.”
“Obviously. So anyway, back to Louise . . .”
Jasper realized the decorations weren’t the only things trying too hard: Delilah hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left the inn, her words tumbling out in an anxious stream.
“Whatever you do, don’t look her directly in the eyes. She’ll take that as a challenge.”
“Okay.” Jasper nodded. Seems straightforward enough.
“But also, don’t look at the floor. She’ll take that as weakness.”
“So . . . where should I look?”
“At her face, but slightly to the left. Maybe focus on her earlobe? She wears these complicated earrings... I think they’re the crystallized tears of her enemies, maybe?
Or that’s what Scarlett told me. Anyway, they make a good focal point.
And, trigger warning: never, ever mention Jacksonville.
Long story. Also, don’t compliment her outfit, but don’t not compliment it either.
Stay neutral on the outfit. And if she offers you tea, you should accept, but absolutely don’t drink it. ”
As Delilah rattled off more warnings (don’t sneeze, don’t check your watch, don’t think about the color orange), Jasper found his attention drifting to the graceful curve of her neck.
He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to press his lips against that spot, to feel her pulse quicken under his touch.
Focus, Hopkins. The woman’s mother has been kidnapped by evil magicians, and you’re daydreaming about making out.
But his treacherous mind continued its wandering.
Recent days had been a surreal blur: witch meetings, magical banquets, and that mind-melting kiss on the stairs.
Now they were headed to consult a time witch who might help them rescue Kelly Melrose from a space that technically didn’t exist.
.. but somehow, all Jasper could think about was how beautiful Delilah looked with snowflakes in her hair.
“...and that’s why you should never, ever mention quantum entanglement theory unless you want to spend an hour listening to her rant about Schrodinger’s fundamental misunderstanding of feline psychology.”
“Delilah.” Jasper stopped walking.
“What?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
They’d paused in front of All Who Wander, Oak Haven’s travel agency, whose window dressing featured an elaborate scene of Santa’s sleigh visiting the Seven Wonders of the World.
Beside the entrance, an enchanted snowman was crooning “Every Year, Every Christmas” in a surprisingly accurate Luther Vandross voice.
“Did I forget something important? Oh no, did I mention her thing about shrimp cocktail? Because you absolutely cannot?—”
Jasper reached out and gently brushed a snowflake from her cheek. Delilah’s skin was soft beneath his fingertips, and he let his hand linger there longer than strictly necessary.
“You’re worried,” he said softly.
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “My mother’s trapped in interdimensional limbo, magicians are trying to destroy my home, and I’m bringing a civilian to see a witch who once turned a mailman into a sundial for delivering too much junk mail. Worried doesn’t cover it.”
“I know.” He moved closer until there was barely any space between them. “But we’re going to figure this out. Together.”
“You’re very confident for someone who thought card tricks were the height of supernatural activity until a couple of days ago.”
“What can I say? I’m a fast learner.” Jasper leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted faintly of cinnamon and coffee. Delilah stiffened momentarily in surprise, then melted against him, her hands coming up to grip his lapels.
“Try not to worry so much,” he murmured when they finally broke apart. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“You haven’t met Louise.”
“True, but I’ve met you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I can’t imagine anyone, be it witch, magician, or otherwise, getting one up on Delilah Melrose.”
She laughed, a genuine bit of music better than any carol. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
As he leaned in for another kiss, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Jasper pulled back, frowning slightly. “Wait a minute. What do I have to worry about? Witches gave up their powers for Saturnalia, right? So the worst Louise can do is be rude to me, which, frankly, is an occupational hazard at my office.”
Delilah’s expression shifted from dreamy to alarmed. “Oh no. No, no, no. The time witch does not participate in our town’s tradition.”
“Why not?”
She straightened her posture and adopted a deep, portentous tone that Jasper assumed was an impression of Louise. “‘A surrender of my temporal powers would cause the past, present, and future to horrifically collapse into an ouroboros of catastrophic simultaneity.’”
“An ouroboros,” he repeated.
“Of catastrophic simultaneity.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Exactly.”
Despite this less-than-reassuring news, Jasper couldn’t help but kiss her again. There was something addictive about how she responded to him, as if she’d been waiting for his touch as much as he’d been wanting to give it.
“ Excuse me !” A sharp voice sliced through their moment. “Is this really the time for those shenanigans?”
They broke apart in time to see Jerusha pedaling past on a bicycle. “You have an important assignment to fulfill!” she called over her shoulder. “Stop frittering around and get on with it!”
As Jerusha disappeared around a corner, Jasper and Delilah exchanged sheepish glances. A grouchy witch on a bicycle immediately reminded him of The Wizard of Oz , and he murmured the Wicked Witch’s theme.
“Very true.” Delilah sighed. “But she’s right. We should go and see Louise before I lose my nerve.”
“Lead the way.” Jasper offered his arm with a gallantry that felt both ridiculous and completely necessary.
As they continued down the street, Delilah leaned in close. “But just so you know, once we’ve sorted this all out? You and I definitely have some other things to get on with.”
The look she gave him made his collar suddenly feel two sizes too small.
“Right,” he managed. “Excellent. Looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” she said, and the promise in her smile carried him all the way to the clock shop.
Jasper’s first indication that Louise Demain might be as terrifying as advertised was a six-foot-tall Krampus statue guarding the entrance to Tout le Temps.
Unlike the cheerful snowmen dotted across Oak Haven, this horned, chain-wielding demon was humming Mozart’s Requiem in a bass so deep it made Jasper’s fillings vibrate.
Its ruby eyes followed them as they approached the door.
“Huh,” Jasper said, aiming at nonchalance and missing by miles. “That’s not my favorite decoration in town.”
Inside, Tout Le Temps was less ‘quaint clock shop’ and more ‘dimly lit hoarder den,’ home to everything from delicate pocket watches and sturdy chronographs to Ancient Greek water clocks and ceiling-high obelisks.
And each told a slightly different time.
Their off-beat ticking created a chaotic sonata that made Jasper’s brain itch with the wrongness of it all.
But Jasper’s mind really went into revolt when he stopped looking at specific details and took in the overall architecture of the place.
The walls were parallel to one another but somehow also not at all, and they met the ceiling at nonsensical angles.
“Something is seriously wrong with this room,” he whispered.
“It’s... um... sort of... well.
..” He gave up. “What am I looking at?”
“Non-Euclidean architecture,” Delilah said.
“Oh, sure. Of course. And what exactly am I smelling?” There was an odor of metal and incense and something else he couldn’t quite identify, something unsettling.
“Eau de Last Breath of a Dying Star .”
“Ah. Okay. You know, I think I’m just going to stop asking things.”
On the far side of the room, Louise lounged in an antique chair, drinking tea and flipping through prehistoric scrolls with the privileged air of a bored housewife at her hairdresser.
Simultaneously, and with no apparent effort, she was also engaged in repairing a massive grandfather clock sitting on the other side of the shop.
The body of the clock hung open, and screwdrivers, pliers, and delicate gears floated in the air, dancing to her unspoken psychic instructions.
Delilah and Jasper stood there silently awhile, waiting for Louise to acknowledge them.
She did not.
Jasper shot Delilah a questioning look. She shrugged helplessly.
“Um, excuse me?” he ventured. “Ms. Demain?”
Louise’s head snapped toward him. Her eyes were violet and ancient and as cold as the void between galaxies. They fixed on Jasper with predatory intensity.
“SILENCE, MEATSACK!”
The command boomed through the shop and rattled the timepieces. Jasper felt the words in his bones, as if Louise’s voice had skipped his auditory system entirely and resonated directly with his skeleton.