26. If the Fates Allow
If the Fates Allow
It was Christmas Eve-eve in Oak Haven, and the old folks said son, she won’t see another one. And so they sang some songs, rare old holiday tunes. They turned their eyes away . . . and dreamed about winning the annual Christmas Karaoke Cup.
Delilah nursed her mulled wine at a corner table in Double, Double Boil and Trouble, watching as Earl Nine and Ten took stood up to introduce the next performer.
The pub was packed with witches and non-witches alike, all apparently determined to pretend everything was normal, despite the influencer invasion and the conspicuous absence of Kelly Melrose, Belinda Chatterjee, and several other Oak Haven witches.
“Next up,” announced Nine, squinting at a handwritten note, “is Sam Chatterjee with his rendition of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’!”
Jasper leaned closer, and Delilah could feel his warm breath against her ear. “Is it weird that he’s so cheerful?” He nodded at Sam, who bounded onto the stage with alarming enthusiasm. “What with his wife missing and all?”
“It’s weird for him to be so cheerful when she’s not missing,” Delilah replied, frowning. “Mr. Chatterjee’s not a cheerful guy in general.”
And yet, Sam grabbed the microphone with the confidence of a Vegas headliner. With a deep breath, he sent the opening notes of the holiday classic echoing through the pub. What followed was a performance that could only be described as aggressively joyful, complete with TikTok-inspired dance moves.
“Who wants to rock around the Christmas tree with me later?” Sam called out during the bridge, which earned him shocked looks from longtime residents.
“His wife is literally trapped in trans-dimensional limbo,” Delilah whispered to Jasper. “What is he doing?”
Jasper’s expression turned grave. “He’s forgotten.”
“Forgotten? No, that’s not—” But Delilah’s protest died as Sam took a theatrical bow, his face showing not a single hint of worry or grief.
“You know what,” Delilah said, “I’m sure he’s just putting on a brave face.
He knows everyone is thinking about Belinda having been taken.
He just doesn’t want people to worry about him.
” Delilah watched as Sam rejoined his friends, accepting high fives and backslaps as if he were celebrating a promotion rather than enduring his wife’s unexplained absence.
“Thank you, thank you!” Sam called as he left the stage. “Merry Christmas to all! Best holiday ever!”
Jasper turned to Delilah, one eyebrow arched. “That’s pretty damn brave.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine.” Jasper might be right, but Delilah wasn’t ready to admit what that would mean. Because if the forgetting spell was breaking down, it meant their time was running out. Not just for retrieving Agnes’s spell, but for herself and Jasper, too.
Still, where others saw failure in their various attempts to get Agnes’s spell, Delilah saw progress. They knew exactly where the spell was hidden now. Behind Agnes’s portrait in Jasper’s office. They just needed to figure out how to retrieve it without losing him along the way.
“You know,” she began, “I’m thinking... Maybe we could?—”
But Jasper’s attention had shifted to the stage, where Aphra was now setting up for her performance.
Dayo appeared at their table, sliding another round of drinks in front of them. “On the house,” she said with a wink, and she slid into the empty seat beside them. “Thought you might need fortification for what’s coming. You guys were drinking scotch, right?”
Delilah and Jasper glanced at one another. They were absolutely not drinking scotch, but who’s going to complain about a free round? After all, Delilah thought to herself, it wasn’t like Dayo could be expected to remember every drink order, right?
But inside, she knew. Dayo absolutely could be expected to remember every drink order.
Usually, Dayo could remember who had ordered what last week .
Not tonight, though. The forgetting spell was never supposed to impact people who stayed within the town limits, but now it was spreading like a virus.
“Much appreciated!” Jasper forced as much cheer into his voice as he could. “But is Aphra going to be that bad? Like, double-scotch, neat bad?”
“Without her magic? Catastrophic,” Dayo confirmed. “But we love her anyway.”
Delilah had always appreciated Dayo’s calm amusement at Oak Haven’s perpetual chaos. As a non-witch who’d voluntarily chosen to stay in town, Dayo was living proof that some connections were worth sacrificing for.
“How do you do it?” Delilah blurted out, surprising herself.
“Do what, hon?” Dayo asked.
“Choose to leave your old life. Knowing you could never go back.”
Dayo’s warm smile turned thoughtful. She glanced over at Aphra, who was nervously adjusting the microphone. “When you know where you belong, it’s not about leaving. It’s about coming home.”
Jasper’s hand found Delilah’s under the table. Could it really be that simple? To just choose each other, consequences be damned?
Aphra’s rendition of “Silent Night” was anything but. Her untrained voice wavered painfully on the high notes, causing undisguised wincing in the audience. Still, Delilah felt a surge of unexpected hope. Maybe they didn’t need perfection. Maybe being together, broken spells and all, was enough.
“It doesn’t have to be you,” she whispered to Jasper.
“What?”
“The spell. Maybe Agnes was wrong, or maybe we’re interpreting her words wrong. We could try again, get someone else to?—”
“The Earls tried,” Jasper reminded her. “Your friends tried. Nate has burns on his hands because he tried to do something that I should have done from the beginning. I think we have to accept that Agnes meant what she said.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, the forgetting spell is clearly breaking down,” Delilah argued, keeping her voice low. “Maybe it wouldn’t affect you anymore.”
“Well yeah, that would be good. But there’s only one way we’re going to find out. Which is, I have to go.”
The evening progressed with each performance more entertainingly terrible than the last. Jerusha, who’d been sprung from the senior center, delivered a spoken-word interpretation of “Frosty the Snowman,” turning that cheerful tale into an existential meditation on impermanence.
Then came Zahir’s turn, clutching the microphone with the determination of a man facing execution.
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...” he began confidently enough, but then his expression clouded.
“One pound of butter, unsalted.” The audience tittered as he continued.
“On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... two cups of flour, and one pound of butter, unsalted.” Before long he was listing: “Seven sprigs of rosemary, six cloves of garlic... fiiiiiive golden egg yolks.” Dayo was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, and Aphra had her face buried in her hands.
“He forgot the lyrics,” Jasper whispered.
“Oh come on,” Delilah objected. “That’s a joke. He was clearly doing a bit.”
“What about when Nine introduced him as ‘whatshisname, that tall fellow’? Was that comedy, too?”
“Maybe they’re just drunk. Nine is an old pirate, and this is a party.
.. What do you expect?” But Delilah had to admit, something was off.
The forgetting seemed to be accelerating, even among people like Zahir, who’d lived in Oak Haven his whole life.
Small lapses cascading into larger ones as the night wore on.
But why is this my damn problem to fix? Resentment sparked up in Delilah’s chest. After all, Scarlett had ended up living as a bird for an entire year because it fell to her to save the town.
Now Delilah had to give up Jasper? Why was it always a Melrose who had to sacrifice?
Why couldn’t someone else take the hit this time?
“I believe our next performer is...” Ten squinted at his card, then looked up with a triumphant smile. “Jasper Hopkins! Come on up, young man!”
Delilah’s head whipped around. “You signed up?”
Jasper adjusted his glasses nervously. “I may have. When in Rome, right?”
“What are you going to sing?”
“You’ll see,” he said with surprising confidence. He gave her hand a quick squeeze before making his way to the stage.
Jasper cleared his throat, looking slightly terrified as he faced the crowd. “So, I’m not much of a singer,” he began, “and I’m definitely not a fan of Christmas music.”
A good-natured boo rippled through the audience.
“But,” he continued, “sometimes you meet someone who changes how you feel about... well, everything.” His eyes found Delilah’s across the dim pub. “This is for you.”
The oddly mournful opening notes of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” filled the room, and Jasper began to sing.
His voice wasn’t spectacular. A little thin, a little “pitchy,” as they say at singing competitions.
But his earnestness mattered more than the notes.
When he reached the part about all of us being together that strongly implied we would never be together again, Delilah felt tears pricking at her eyes.
When Jasper finished, the applause was genuine and warm. Jasper made his way back to their table, his face flushed with embarrassment.
“That was...” Delilah began, but found herself unable to finish the thought.
“Terrible?” he suggested.
“Perfect,” she corrected, and kissed him, not caring who was watching.
The kiss deepened, and suddenly the pub felt too crowded, too noisy. With no discussion, they both stood, offered some flimsy excuses to Scarlett and Nate, and headed for the door.