A Breath of Witchy Air

by Amanda M. Lee

“There’s a whole platter of bacon right in front of you,” I pointed out, my temper threatening to erupt. “Is there a reason you felt the need to steal from my plate?”

  Aunt Tillie shrugged, noncommittal. “Maybe I think there’s something special about your bacon.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. “Or maybe it’s too much effort for you to reach to the center of the table,” I suggested, doing just that so I could grab more bacon for myself. “It’s not that hard. See.”

  Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the light. I’ll never steal bacon from your plate again.”

  “Whatever.” I exhaled heavily and gnawed on the bacon. “You just have to be difficult, don’t you? I don’t get why that’s always necessary in your world.”

  “You see me as being difficult. I see me as living my life the way I want to live it. I think you need to come around to my way of thinking.”

  I was fairly certain that was never going to happen. “Right.” I rubbed the back of my neck and turned my full attention to my mother. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

  Mom, her blue eyes widening, snorted. I recognized incredulity when I saw it, and I couldn’t help being offended that my mother chose now to whip it out. “When have you ever volunteered to help me clean up?”

  “I’ve volunteered before. I mean … I’m helpful.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the day I was born.”

  “That’s not exactly how I remember it,” Aunt Tillie argued as she stole another slice of bacon from my plate. “I remember you being helpless when you were born. I’m pretty sure you did nothing but sit around and crap your pants. That doesn’t sound especially helpful to me.”

  I scowled. “I was a baby.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “You’re not supposed to do anything more advanced than … um, what you said … when you’re a baby,” I argued. “It’s physically impossible to do anything else.”

  Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I was walking and talking at two months. I was a gifted baby. That means I started helping around the house when I was six months old. That’s when I started bringing in money to help the family. None of you did even close to that.”

  Mom made an exaggerated face. “Oh, please. We don’t believe that. You know we don’t believe that, right?”

  “You weren’t there,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “You didn’t see how gifted I truly was.”

  Mom, always one to argue a topic, refused to back down. “It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t there. I happen to know for a fact that you weren’t walking and talking at two months.”

  “And even if you were, when is talking helpful?” My aunt Marnie challenged. “Your mouth has never caused anything but trouble for this family.”

  Aunt Tillie had the gall to be offended. “That’s not true. My mouth is a gift.”

  Mom and Marnie snorted in unison. “Your mouth is the exact opposite of a gift.”

  Aunt Tillie was clearly at her limit as she extended a warning finger in Marnie’s direction. “You’re on my list.”

  Because I wasn’t in the mood for a fight – and that seemed to be exactly where we were headed – I changed the subject. “What does that have to do with this conversation we were having a few minutes ago?” I asked. “All I wanted to know was why you can’t grab your own bacon from the platter. You didn’t need to turn it into a thing.”

  “You’re the one who turned it into a thing,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “You’re always the one who turns it into a thing. If we didn’t have Clove already claiming the title of Queen Kvetch I would anoint you.”

  In Aunt Tillie’s world, that’s the apex of insults. “I’m not a kvetch.”

  “You’re a total kvetch.” Aunt Tillie wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. “I don’t get how any of you turned into kvetches. That’s not how I raised you. I wanted self-assured great-nieces who never kvetched about anything. Is that what I got? Of course not.”

  I turned to Mom for backup. “Tell her I’m not a kvetch.”

  “Yes, Winnie, tell me she’s not a kvetch,” Aunt Tillie sneered. “Good grief. Only a kvetch would order someone else to argue that she’s not a kvetch.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Where did I go wrong?”

  “I’m pretty sure you went wrong with those leggings you’re wearing,” Marnie answered, changing the subject. “I thought we banned you from wearing those things.”

  Mom’s expression darkened as she took in the loud leggings Aunt Tillie proudly displayed. “Not only did we ban her from wearing them, we burned every pair we could find. That means she either bought new ones and had them delivered without us noticing or hid old ones when she thought we weren’t looking.”

  Aunt Tillie adopted an innocent expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. These aren’t leggings. They’re yoga pants. There’s a difference.”

  “You don’t do yoga,” I pointed out, grabbing more bacon. Mine kept disappearing and, because I was mildly agitated, I needed something to do with my hands. Eating bacon seemed a good way to burn some restless energy.

  Aunt Tillie balked. “I do yoga.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do, too.”

  “You do not.” I was firm. Aunt Tillie was in her eighties. Her yoga years were long behind her. Even back when she was physically capable of doing it, I knew that exercise wasn’t one of her go-to activities. “I’ve never seen you do yoga.”

  “That’s because you’re all caught up in your own life,” Aunt Tillie supplied. “You don’t care about me, your wonderful elderly aunt. You care about your new business and your live-in boyfriend. By the way, I would just like to point out that no one asked me if I was okay with people living in sin on my property.”

  The change in topics threw me for a loop. “You knew Landon was moving in weeks before it happened.”

  “Yes, but it was announced as fact rather than something that was up for debate. I’ve had time to think about it now and I don’t think I want ‘The Man’ living on my property.”

  Those were fighting words. Landon Michaels, in addition to being my boyfriend and new roommate, is an FBI agent. Aunt Tillie has had issues with law enforcement her entire life. Her issues with Landon, however, seem somehow exaggerated.

  “Well, he’s here and he’s staying.” I looked to Mom for support. Aunt Tillie technically owned half the property – Mom, Marnie and their sister Twila owned the other half – and I was certain they would veto whatever plan Aunt Tillie had cooking in that evil brain of hers. “Right? He’s staying?”

  Mom let loose a weary sigh, one that she’d perfected over the years because she helped raise three young women along with an aunt who was more child than adult. “Landon is staying. He’s paying rent and we came to an agreement. No one is going to kick him out.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “I think, as the matriarch of this family, I should’ve been consulted before we decided to let an outsider move into my house.”

  “He’s not living in your house,” I reminded her. “He’s living in the guesthouse, with me. That’s technically my house.”

  “No, that’s technically our house,” Mom corrected. “We added the guesthouse years ago. Now, I don’t have a problem with Landon staying there – and for an extended period of time if it becomes necessary – but that’s not your house.”

  Of course she would decide to get technical when I was in the middle of a fight with Aunt Tillie. To be fair, I was almost always in a fight with Aunt Tillie that didn’t give her a lot of wiggle room. “I know it’s not my house. It’s just … that’s where I live.”

  “And soon it will be just you and Landon in the house,” Marnie offered, patting my hand. She was clearly over whatever fight was brewing moments earlier. The Winchesters weren’t known for being docile, so fights were the norm rather than the exception. That didn’t mean she wanted to engage in a fight so early in
the morning. “Thistle will be out very soon and then it will just be you and Landon. You must be very excited.”

  “Yes, because who isn’t excited about living alone with ‘The Man,’?” Aunt Tillie drawled. “That sounds like a life-affirming event for everyone, doesn’t it? By the way, if he tries to cuff you that’s not some romantic ploy. He’ll lock you up if he gets the chance and we’ll never see you again. I would be fine with that, but I think your mother might put up a fight.”

  “That will be enough of that,” Mom warned, shaking her head. “Why must you always make things more difficult?”

  Aunt Tillie adopted an innocent expression. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  “No, I’m eating bacon and behaving myself,” Aunt Tillie countered. “Bay is being the kvetch. She’s the one who can’t stop herself from being a pain in the keister, although the Goddess knows I’ve tried to make her easier to get along with over the years.”

  That’s me, Bay Winchester, a pain in Aunt Tillie’s keister. Wait … I don’t think she meant that as a compliment. My mouth dropped open. “How have you done that?”

  “I gave you lessons when you were a kid. But you always had the attention span of a gnat. You’ve obviously forgotten my lessons. We can start them up again, if you’re interested, that is.”

  That sounded like pure torture. “I’m good.”

  “Yes, we’re all good,” Mom said, exhaling heavily. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “I think we can all agree with that,” Marnie said. “Let’s talk about … um … Bay’s new business. You close on The Whistler tomorrow, right? After today you’ll actually be the boss of the newspaper. How does that feel?”

  That was a loaded a question. I had no idea how to feel about that. I’d worked as the lone reporter at Hemlock Cove’s weekly newspaper for six years now and I was comfortable in my role. Then, out of nowhere, a new opportunity opened and I was given the chance to buy the business.

  Now I was going to be the sole proprietor of the newspaper. I would own it, run it, write articles, handle advertising … and completely fall apart because I couldn’t believe everything I ever wanted fell into my lap at one time. It was almost magical the way things came together, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for a family of witches, but this was something different.

  I had no idea how to feel about it.

  “Um … I’m excited,” I answered evasively, sipping my juice. “I’m totally geeked for this new adventure.”

  “Oh, well, that was convincing.” Aunt Tillie made an exaggerated face. “That wasn’t unbelievable in the slightest.”

  If I had a list, she would totally be at the top of it right now. “I am excited.” That wasn’t a lie. “I’m also a bit nervous,” I conceded. “It’s a big deal.”

  Mom’s smile was kind. “It is a big deal,” she agreed. “This is a big change for you.”

  “How is it a big change?” Aunt Tillie countered. “She’s been the brains behind that entire operation since she started there.”

  That was, quite frankly, one of the nicest things Aunt Tillie had ever said to me. “Wow.”

  “Oh, don’t let it go to your head,” she sneered. “That operation has had zero brains running it since it started. I liked William Kelly well enough, but he was a total idiot sometimes. You at least have a little common sense – very little, mind you – and a good work ethic.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment. I’m the one who gave you the good work ethic. It was really a way to pat myself on the back.”

  I could see that. “Well, thank you anyway.” I reached toward the bacon platter to grab another slice, but Mom slapped my hand. “Hey!”

  “You’ve had enough,” Mom chided. “You shouldn’t eat that much fat in one sitting. It will go to your thighs.”

  “Yes, and we can’t have that,” Aunt Tillie mocked. “No bacon thighs in this house.”

  “Let’s go back to talking about your leggings,” Marnie suggested, her temper flaring.

  “Let’s not,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “I’m happy with the leggings. I mean yoga pants. They’re yoga pants! They say so right on the label. You can check. I like them, so that’s all that matters.”

  “That makes one of us,” Mom groused. “I … .” She didn’t get a chance to finish her statement because my other aunt, Twila, was making a lot of noise as she bustled through the swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen.

  “What are you twittering about?” Aunt Tillie demanded. “I freaking hate that noise.”

  “What don’t you hate?” Twila shot back, her Ronald McDonald red hair gleaming next to the chandelier. She was agitated, but forgot about it quickly when she realized I was still at the table, instead opting to focus her full attention on me. “So, guess what happened.”

  Uh-oh. I hated it when she started a story like that. “I have no idea, but I’m hoping this isn’t going to be a long story. I have to get to work.”

  “Of course you have to get to work,” Twila agreed. “You have a big story to cover.”

  Intrigued despite myself, I leaned forward. “Where have you been?”

  “And what have you heard?” Aunt Tillie added. “No matter what anyone says, I did not put a camera in Margaret Little’s store, and if the FBI has decided to track down the person who did that … well … it’s not me.”

  I cast her a sidelong look, instantly suspicious. “You put a camera in Mrs. Little’s store?” That sounded like a terrible idea. Mrs. Little and Aunt Tillie have been mortal enemies since long before I was born. Their fights are notorious … and often ridiculous. An unwanted camera could get Aunt Tillie in real trouble.

  “I just said I didn’t do that,” Aunt Tillie reminded me. “Sheesh. Pay attention.”

  “Whatever.” I heaved out a sigh and turned back to Twila. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a big to-do and it’s all anyone is talking about,” Twila twittered. “I think Hemlock Cove is actually going to be on the television news for this one.”

  Twila looked to be the only one excited about that. “Why? What happened?”

  “A beer truck tipped over.” Twila looked proud as her gaze bounced from face to face. “Isn’t that the ult?”

  I could think of quite a few things that were more “ult” than that. “A beer truck tipped over? Where?”

  “On the north side of town. It’s one of those big trucks that carries kegs. It hit so hard the highway is flooding with beer.”

  That sounded unlikely but mildly interesting. “Huh. How did you hear about that?”

  “I was talking to Beatrice Rose on the phone – she has the best yeast in the area, you know that – and I wanted to stock up so we could get some baking done.” Twila’s eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together. “Anyway, she told me that she saw the truck go over and didn’t think anything of it until half the people in town showed up because they wanted to get drunk.”

  That didn’t make a lot of sense. “How are they going to get drunk?”

  “I told you that the highway was filling with beer,” Twila admonished. “I wasn’t kidding. Apparently the kegs are leaking … and some are spraying beer everywhere like they’re sprinklers or something … and everyone in town is down there trying to get their hands on free kegs.”

  “Wow.” I slowly got to my feet. “That sounds … crazy.”

  “It sounds like a news story,” Twila corrected. “I mean … how cool is it that Hemlock Cove is going to be on the news for public drunkenness?”

  I could think of several ways that wouldn’t be cool, but I kept them to myself. “I should get down there,” I said. “At the very least, it will make for some cool photos.”

  Mom bobbed her head, understanding. “This will be your first big story as the owner of the newspaper. You should definitely get down there.”

  I offered her a wan
smile. “I won’t be the owner until tomorrow.”

  “And you won’t print the story until Friday,” she reminded me. “This will be your first big story as owner.”

  I swallowed hard, doing my best to remind myself that the job – this job, at least – was the same. There was no reason to freak out until I had to tackle something I’d never done before, like corralling advertisers.

  “It will be my first story.” I offered up a genuine smile. “That’s kind of exciting, huh?”

  “It’s definitely exciting,” Mom agreed. “Go and cover it right.”

  “I’m on it.” I headed for the door, slowing my pace and frowning when I realized Aunt Tillie was following. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I want to see the highway of beer,” Aunt Tillie replied without hesitation. “If everyone in town is getting drunk, I want to be there to document what happens.” She held up her cell phone for emphasis. “It has a terrific camera that works in the cold.”

  “So you’re basically saying you want to take photos and video so you can blackmail people later, right?”

  Aunt Tillie adopted an innocent expression. “That is a horrible thing to say.”

  “It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Tillie’s lips curved into a sly smile. “It’s totally true. I just hope Margaret Little is down there getting drunk and dancing with her skirt over her head.”

  My lips twisted with dismay. “I’m not sure I want to see that.”

  “You’ll live.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “Fine.” I exhaled heavily. “You can come, but you have to behave yourself. Do you think you can manage that?”

  Aunt Tillie mimed crossing her heart. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  Most people would’ve believed her innocent act. I wasn’t most people. “This is going to go sideways. I just know it.”

  “You’ve always been an optimist. Oh, wait … no, you haven’t.”

  “Just … don’t do anything embarrassing.”

  “I never do anything embarrassing.”

  Two

  Hemlock Cove was officially in the middle of a cold snap.