Witchin' Around the Clock

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I think that’s normal whenever anything bad happens,” I said. “When I was a little girl – much younger than you – my parents divorced and I kept hoping it was a dream for weeks.”

  “This isn’t a dream.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  He abandoned his spoon in his dish and focused on me. “Do you know who killed my dad? I asked my mother, but she’s kind of lost. She doesn’t really want to talk to us right now.”

  “That’s not true.” I immediately started shaking my head. “She wants to talk to you. It’s just … people react in different ways when they’re grieving. Right now, it’s hard for her to wrap her head around what happened. She can barely keep her own head up. Helping you guys probably feels overwhelming.”

  “She just sits in her bedroom and cries. I hear her through the door.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” I meant it. “I was with her this morning. I thought she was holding it together relatively well.”

  “Well, she’s not holding it together now. She’s all over the place … and I can’t stand it.” His eyes took on a hint of malevolence as he stared at Masterson. “It’s all his fault.”

  Oh, well, that answered that question. It was obvious Nick was aware of his mother’s relationship with Masterson. Did that mean he knew about Lisa, too? It was likely. I didn’t want to be the one to drop that particular bomb on him.

  “What’s his fault?” I asked feigning ignorance.

  “He’s been with my mom,” Nick growled. “They’ve been together for months. She doesn’t think I know … but I know.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  He shot me a “Well, duh” look. “What do you think?”

  “I think you have a right to be bothered,” I replied evenly. “I also think sometimes things happen in a marriage that don’t make a lot of sense. I know you’re angry with your mother … .”

  He cut me off with a firm shake of his head. “I’m not angry with my mother. I mean … I’m not happy with her, but I’m not angry with her. I’m angry with him. He … seduced … her. I think that’s the word, right?”

  Sure, if this was the Dynasty era. “I don’t know that I believe that. Have you talked to your mother about this?”

  “I’m not talking to her about it.” His cheeks flooded with color, the teenager he was on full display. “No way.”

  “Okay. I probably would have issues doing the same if I were in your position. What were you going to say to Masterson?”

  “I was going to punch him in the face for killing my dad.”

  “You think he killed your dad?”

  “Who else? He was dating my mother and my father wouldn’t let her have a divorce. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  I had news for him. He’d gotten some parts of the story wrong. Still, it wasn’t my place. “I think you should talk to your mother before you do anything. You don’t want to make matters worse.”

  “How could I possibly make things worse? My dad is dead.”

  “Things can always get worse. You really should talk to your mother. It’s important.”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “You should try,” I insisted. “I guarantee approaching Masterson is a bad idea. It won’t end well.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I come from a long line of impulsive people, and it very rarely ends well when we melt down in public. There’s a better way to handle this. Talk to your mother.”

  “I need to think about it.”

  “Good. Do you want more ice cream while you do your thinking?”

  “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

  Fifteen

  I greeted Landon with a choice when his shift ended.

  “We can either go back to the festival and you can eat so much bacon that you get the sweats again or we can head to the inn and eat pot roast and red velvet cake. Your choice.”

  Landon’s mouth dropped open in mock horror. “It’s like Sophie’s Choice.”

  I smirked. “I don’t care either way, but if we eat at the inn we’ll be close to home ... and bed.”

  “Are you anxious to be close to our bed because you’re feeling tired or frisky?”

  He wasn’t going to like my answer. “Well ... .”

  His fingers were gentle as they brushed my hair out of my face. “I’m tired, too. I didn’t realize how tired you looked until just now. Do you want to tell me about your day?”

  “Can it wait until we’re on the way home?” I cast a glance over my shoulder to make sure no one of consequence was listening. “I just want to get out of here.”

  He nodded without hesitation and pulled me to him. “Yeah. We’ll eat at the inn. I can have pot roast sweats just as easily as bacon sweats.”

  I snickered. “Good to know.”

  We walked to his Explorer in silence. He loaded me in on the passenger side — taking the time to open the door for me and fasten my seat belt — and then hopped behind the steering wheel. He didn’t press me for details as we drove to the inn, which I appreciated. Still, it was better to get it out of the way now.

  “So ... I saw Nick Harris this afternoon.”

  Landon’s forehead wrinkled as he stared out the windshield. “That’s the dead guy’s son, right? Why is that important? Did something happen?”

  “The whole thing is a mess.” I stared out the window as the foliage blurred. “He knows about his mother’s affair, but as far as I can tell he doesn’t know about his father’s relationship with Lisa. That seems weird because Dani brought up her father’s relationship.”

  “Maybe neither one of them said anything to the other because they didn’t want to upset anybody.”

  “Maybe.” I chewed my bottom lip. That was always possible, but it felt unlikely. “The thing is, when Clove, Thistle and I were kids we told each other everything. We couldn’t wait to gossip about our mothers. Like the time we thought Twila was messing around with the guy who drove the bus – who also dressed up like a clown in his free time – we couldn’t wait to share that information.”

  Landon shuddered at mention of a clown. “Not all kids are the same. Maybe Nick and Dani aren’t close.”

  “I guess.” I leaned my head against the glass and thought about our conundrum. “I researched harbingers today. There were things I didn’t know, but I’m not sure anything I found helps us.”

  “I’m not going to lie,” he started as he pulled into the guesthouse driveway. Apparently we were walking to dinner. “I find the bird thing creepy. I never really paid birds much heed until we saw that flock circling over Lorna last night. That was all kinds of weird.”

  It was definitely weird. “I don’t know what to make of it. I just ... feel out of my depth.”

  “Have you considered bringing up the topic over dinner? You’ll be surrounded by witches. Maybe one of them knows more about the subject.”

  I wasn’t sure if I liked or hated the option, but it was something to consider. “You’re smarter than you look sometimes.”

  “That’s impossible. I look like a genius.”

  Actually, he looked like a male model. I decided to keep that observation to myself, though.

  CLOVE, THISTLE, SAM AND MARCUS WERE ensconced in the library at the inn. Thistle hovered by the glass door, watching the other witches enjoy drinks in the lounge, her eyes speculative.

  I met Clove’s gaze, hoping she would volunteer the pertinent information without me having to ask, but she and Sam were too wrapped up in one another.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, glaring as Sam pressed his hand to Clove’s abdomen. She sat on his lap, their heads bent together, and they whispered and giggled. It was a sweet scene ... that almost made me sick to my stomach.

  “Stop that!” I slapped Sam’s hand away when he held it flat against her midriff again. “Do you want to tip them off about what’s going on?”

  Sam lifted hi
s head and gave me a lazy smile. “There’s a baby in there. Are you telling me you don’t find that miraculous?”

  Oh, geez. “Not really. Babies have been hanging around in places like that since the dawn of time. It’s nothing new.”

  “I see you’re in a crabby mood,” Clove complained, shooting me a dubious look as Landon moved to the drink cart. “Why are you so unhappy?”

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  Clove didn’t look convinced. “Landon, why is she so unhappy?”

  “She doesn’t like the birds,” he automatically answered, his eyes going to the open doorway when he heard familiar snorting. “Hello, beautiful.” He beamed at Peg as the pig wandered in. She was back in her tutu and looked thrilled to see him. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  The question, although seemingly innocent, was enough to irritate me. “Seriously?”

  Landon realized his mistake too late. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He was sheepish. “I just ... she’s very cute. Everyone knows you’re my favorite girl, Bay. Peg has low self-esteem. She needs me to bolster her ego.”

  I rolled my eyes and flopped on the couch, leaving Landon to play with his favorite girl while Thistle snickered and Marcus shot me a sympathetic look.

  “You look like you’ve had a rough day,” Marcus noted. “Didn’t you sleep last night?”

  “Actually, I didn’t sleep all that well,” I admitted. “I had a weird dream.”

  “About what?” Thistle asked, tearing her eyes from the activity. “By the way, have you noticed that Aunt Tillie is hiding behind the potted plant and spying on all the other witches? She’s not even being stealthy about it.”

  I craned my neck to see, laughing when I realized she wore a hat that had fake palm fronds jutting from the top of it. “Where did she get that hat?”

  “I think she made it,” Clove replied. “She thinks no one can see her if she doesn’t move and hides behind the plant.”

  “She’s like a cat that way,” Thistle agreed. “A moronic cat, but a cat all the same.”

  I elevated my feet on the coffee table and rubbed my forehead. “So ... about that dream.” I told them the story, from beginning to end, and then frowned when Thistle’s eyes lit with annoyance. “What?”

  “You didn’t mention the dream when you were doing research earlier,” she complained. “You just said you saw the birds hanging around Lorna ... and making a spectacle right before Adam died. Why did you leave out the dream?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it. Do you think the dream is important?”

  “I would say so. You’re growing more and more powerful with each passing day. I think there’s a reason for that dream.”

  “I think so, too.” Landon looked up from the floor, Peg giving him sloppy kisses, and held my gaze. “I think you need to stay away from Lorna. Leave the investigation to Chief Terry and me from here on out.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Excuse me? That’s not what you said this morning.” My tone was shriller than I intended. “You said we were stronger together and we would solve this as a team.”

  “We are part of the same team.” He feigned patience as he rolled to a sitting position. “You’re always going to be the most important member of my team.”

  Something had obviously changed. He’d just said as much. “But you want to cut me out of the action.”

  “I didn’t say that.” He held up a finger and wagged it. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I want you safe, Bay. I don’t like the birds. They creep me out. When you couple that with the ghost with his lips sewn shut I can’t help worrying about you. Sue me.”

  “Wait ... what ghost had his lips sewn shut?” Clove forgot about flirting with Sam and swung her head in my direction. “You didn’t mention a ghost with his lips sewn shut. How does that even happen?”

  “I forgot with all the Aunt Tillie hoopla,” I muttered. “It was at Lorna’s house.”

  “Was it Adam?” Thistle folded her arms across her chest and rested her hip against the door as she regarded me. She seemed to be standing guard ... although I had no idea against what.

  I nodded. “He looked like a man who was tortured and had his lips stitched together with a very heavy thread. The thing is, other than the stab wounds and some dirt, he looked normal when we found him. That obviously wasn’t done to him in life.”

  “Which means someone managed to do it in death,” Thistle noted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t even know what to make of that.”

  She wasn’t the only one. “He couldn’t speak. He looked really upset. We need to find a way to unbind him.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” Clove pointed out. “We’ve never been very good with spells like that.”

  “We’ll have to figure out a way to get better at them. I can’t help but think that Adam is key.”

  “You’re a necromancer,” Thistle pointed out. “Can’t you force him to rip out the thread?”

  I found the notion appalling. “Why would I do that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a ghost. It’s not as if he can feel pain.”

  Landon looked intrigued at the prospect. “Is that possible? Can you do that?”

  I hadn’t really considered it before now. The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I was with the prospect. “I would rather not do that unless I have no other choice,” I countered. “It makes me feel ... mean.”

  “Mean?” Landon arched a speculative eyebrow. “Since when does anybody in this family care about being mean?”

  “Since now. I don’t want to use this new magic for anything bad. I already screwed with those three other ghosts. I would like to refrain from doing that again if I can help it.”

  “What new magic?” a voice asked from the other side of Thistle, who had forgotten to watch for interlopers because she was caught up in questioning me.

  When I jerked my head in that direction, I found Hazel watching us with curious eyes. Well ... crap on a cracker.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her expression conciliatory. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I’m intrigued.”

  “You couldn’t help but overhear?” Thistle’s eyes flashed with annoyance as she regarded the woman. She and Aunt Tillie agreed on very little, but their dislike of Hazel was well matched. “You would’ve had to have been on top of us to hear a single word we said.”

  “Believe it or not, your entire family has voices that carry,” Hazel replied brightly. “It’s good to see you again, Thistle. You look exactly the same now as you did then ... other than the hair. This suits you much better. But I’m talking to Bay now.”

  And just like that, Thistle had been dismissed. Hazel turned her full attention to me. “What new powers have you been manifesting? You’ll have to forgive my question if you find it invasive, but I’ve always had a certain fascination with you, Bay. I can’t help myself.”

  Landon finally separated himself from his lovefest with Peg and joined me on the couch. There was something mildly aggressive about the way he positioned himself between the two of us. “Bay is the most fascinating person I know,” he agreed. “I don’t know that I think this conversation is appropriate for the dinner hour, though.”

  “Really?” Hazel looked amused rather than put off. “The inn is full of witches. We all understand about magic. Quite frankly, we understand about loyalty, too. Certain factions of the Winchester household have always been secretive, but that’s no reason to make Bay suffer.”

  “Bay isn’t suffering,” Landon countered. “She’s just hungry. It’s pot roast night. We all love pot roast night.”

  I wanted to laugh at the way he delivered the statement. There was a certain amount of insolence in his drawl, but there was a pointed admonishment in his eyes when Hazel held his gaze. He was sending a warning. I couldn’t help but wonder if she would back down.

  “I don’t know you very well, Mr. Michaels,” Hazel started. “Y
ou seem like a good man. A little intense, perhaps, but I have a feeling that goes with the territory as it pertains to your occupation. I’ve known Bay for a very long time — longer than you, in fact — and I think I know her better.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Thistle muttered, her forehead creasing. “Landon and Bay have been in each other’s lives for a long time. Granted, we were forced to hang out with you at gatherings over the years when we were children, but we were hardly bonded to you.”

  “I blame Tillie for that,” Hazel replied evenly. “She was always determined to keep you away from outside influences. She insulated you because she thought you would be powerful. I recognized your power before she did.”

  Her tone rankled. “You recognized our power?”

  “Yes. You’re a fearsome threesome. Real power comes in threes. You know that. With Bay as your ringleader, you could do almost anything.”

  Thistle was outraged. “With Bay as our ringleader? I’m the ringleader. Me!”

  Hazel shot her a hilarious look. “You’re one point of the triangle. Depending on the direction you’re looking from, you could be the top or one of the bottom corners. You’ve always been a bottom corner. There’s no shame in that.”

  Thistle’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just call me a bottom corner?”

  “Batten the hatches,” Landon muttered, sliding his arm around my shoulders. “Hurricane Thistle is about to reach land.”

  “Shut up, Landon,” Thistle snapped, her eyes glowing with potential mayhem. “This is serious. I’m the ringleader of our group. Me.” She thumped her chest and looked to Clove for confirmation. “Tell him ... and her. Tell everybody.”

  “Well ... .” Clove was obviously uncomfortable as she shifted on Sam’s lap. “I don’t know that I would call you the leader. I don’t really think we have a leader.”

  That was a good answer. Would it be enough to placate Thistle? “Clove is right. We don’t have a leader.”

  “Yes, we do. I’m the leader.” Thistle refused to back down. “I’m serious. Everyone knows I’m the leader. Bay can’t be the leader simply because she’s the oldest. That’s not fair.”