Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One)

by Christiana Miller

  I placed the skull on the altar slab, took off my tee-shirt and wrapped it around my injured hand. When I looked up, the front of the skull was shimmering. On top of the bone, I could see a face -- tribal, tattooed, angry. I swallowed. "Lucien?" And then it was gone.

  I shone the flashlight on the skull, but it was just a blood-covered skull. My imagination was really running away with me. Before I went upstairs to bandage my hand, I couldn't resist looking inside the column again. In the light, I could see the silver glint of a knife blade, with fresh blood on it. Lisette's athame. That must have been what I cut myself on.

  I debated trying to get it, but with my luck, I'd sever a finger. So I gave it up and ran upstairs.

  It was freezing cold in the house. As I bandaged my hand, I heard Tillie's voice scream in my head. "Fool! You never give blood to the dead!"

  I couldn't argue with her. She was right. I had known it the moment I felt how happy the blood had made the skull. I just hadn't wanted to think about it. "It was an accident."

  "It doesn't matter." She appeared beside me. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  "It was an accident," I repeated.

  "You have a lot of accidents and unfortunate consequences. This is exactly why your mother never wanted you using magic."

  "Maybe if she had stuck around and trained me, instead of taking off, I wouldn't be learning the rules the hard way."

  "Maybe if you stopped meddling in things that are none of your business, you wouldn't be such a menace."

  "I'm not a menace."

  "Then stop feeding that skull," she said and vanished.

  I went back down into the temple room and tried to wipe the blood off the skull, as well as the altar. But the damage was done. I could feel that it had awakened something within the room, but I had no idea what. All the same, it was kinda creeping me out. This time, when I left, I locked the door, to keep whatever it was, in.

  I was really starting to worry. I called Gus, but all I got was voicemail. I called Mama Lua, to ask her about blooding a skull -- or how to unblood one -- but the store was closed. I tried to talk to Aunt Tillie, but she was ignoring me. I researched it for hours on the internet, but it was the one thing no one seemed to have any interest in doing. Or, if they were, they weren't posting about it. I even asked Grundleshanks, but all he did was blink at me. Finally, I gave up. I fed Grundleshanks a cricket and went to bed.

  A warm wind blew in through the windows, making the curtains dance. Everything was white. Like a bridal chamber. There was even a white canopy over the bed.

  I writhed around, feeling on edge. My skin was so hyper-sensitive, the feel of the silk sheets was almost too much to bear. I ran my hands down my body, pressing the sheets against me and moaning in pleasure when a shadow came into the room.

  Moonlight hit the shadow and it morphed into a large, naked man with skin the color of kahlœa. He was covered -- from his feet to the top of his bald crown -- in tribal tattoos. Lucien.

  He never said a word as he slid into bed with me, stroking my body like it belonged to him. His touch was smooth, gentle but firm. His lips were full. And I gasped in pleasure at what his tongue could do. As he lingered between my legs, I thought I'd lose my mind with ecstasy.

  And when he was done, he kept going. Licking the sides of my belly, outlining my breasts, before taking my aching nipples in his mouth. Teasing, nibbling and stroking me until I was near the breaking point. He worked his way up to my neck and throat, licking, nuzzling and gently biting.

  Finally, he brought his mouth to mine and he plunged into me, again and again, until I felt like I was riding a rollercoaster. Our bodies fit so perfectly together. It was like we had been made for each other. We were suspended in time and space, twisting and turning, weightless. I rocked against him until the world exploded inside me.

  I woke up with a gasp, only to find a pillow between my legs. Was all that a dream? Did I really just hump a pillow? I sighed and lay back down. If Lucien was really like that -- no wonder Lisette had gone to crazy lengths to save him.

  A cold breeze wrapped around me and inside my head, I heard, "All that and more..."

  I tried to go back to sleep, to get back into that dream, but no matter how hard I tried, it eluded me. But when I stopped trying, he came to me again and it was even better than before.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  When I woke up the next morning, it finally dawned on me how freaky the previous night had been. I could understand dreaming about Lucien, but that erotically?

  And it had felt so real. That dream had left me so incredibly horny, it was physically painful. And nothing I did seemed to ease that pain.

  But what if it wasn't a dream? What if Lucien's spirit had paid me a nocturnal visit? Would he have been able to get past my wards?

  After a cold shower and a brisk walk through the woods, I called Gus again. This time he answered.

  "Finally. Where the hell have you been?!"

  "Busy." That was all he would say. Bastard.

  So I filled him in on the days and nights of yours truly. "Do you believe that ghosts can come back from the dead and have sex with a living person?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because if it could happen, I would have already done it. You know how many hot gay men have crossed over? Hubba, hubba."

  "I don't think you can force yourself on an ethereal partner. I'm talking about if they're interested in you. Not the other way around. It happens in Hollywood movies, all the time."

  "And we all know how realistic they are."

  "You're just jealous."

  "You know what I think? I think you're just horny. You had a vision of some sexy dude that lived a million years ago and you've created a whole fantasy out of it. Because you need to get laid. Bad. Want me to call Mr. Lyra for you?"

  "Shut up. What the fuck is your problem today?" Although at this point, I probably wouldn't turn anyone down. Even Lyra. Or his wife. I was so antsy, it was driving me crazy.

  "I'm not the one with imaginary lovers."

  "Bite me." I was tempted to hang up on him, but I had a question and I knew I'd rather ask him than Aunt Tillie. And there was no guarantee Gus would answer his phone again. "Just suppose, for a minute, it was really Lucien. How would he have gotten past my wards?"

  Gus sighed. Impatient.

  "Spare me the commentary. Do you know or not? It's a simple question," I snapped.

  "Fine. Let's, for the moment, say you're right. You said he lives in the skull, right?"

  "Yeah." Given everything I had seen, I was pretty sure he did.

  "Well, you blooded the skull. So if he came to you, he would have smelled like you, like your blood. So your wards wouldn't have done squat to stop him. Can I go now?"

  "Sure, little Miss Sunshine. Call me back when you find a better personality." I hung up in an even fouler mood. Eh, he was probably right. I just needed to get laid. Bad. Boy, did I need to get laid. I was usually fine with total abstinence -- I've had a lot of practice -- but not right now.

  I wondered if Paul was back in town? I had been hoping that he would fall for my charm and wit, but I hadn't seen him since the accident. Not even a phone call. Bastard.

  When I went to sleep that night, Lucien was back. And it was the best time yet. Everything about his body just felt so right. From the curve of his muscles to the heft of his penis. But I woke up the next morning, feeling slightly foolish. I mean, here I was, either being seduced by a ghost or having a torrid affair with my freakin' pillow.

  I really needed to get a man in my life. It had been way too long if even the memory of sex could make me orgasm. Suddenly, I thought of the love spell I had written for that woman at Pagan Day. A slight modification and I was pretty sure it would work for me.

  I spent a little bit of time reworking the spell, then I lit a small candle and fired up some dragon's blood incense. Holding onto a serpentine stone in one hand and a rose quartz crystal heart in the oth
er, I chanted:

  "Love and sex are whirling.

  Lust be in thy turning.

  Bring my true love to me.

  The one who holds my passion's key.

  As the flame consumes the candle bright

  I call to love with all my might

  Come to me, within these hours three

  As I desire it, so mote it be."

  I passed the stone and crystal through the smoke and flame three times. Then I put them in front of the candle and burned the piece of parchment with the spell.

  When the flame crept all the way down the page to my fingers, I dropped it in an ashtray, to finish the burn. Then I tried to forget about it as I waited for the candle to burn out. Spells were best left not picked at.

  Three sex-obsessed hours later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Paul Raines.

  "Hi." He cleared his throat. "Mind if I come in?"

  Paul. I almost started laughing. The one who holds my passion's key. As far true love went, I could do worse. Now if I could only get him on board. "Hello, stranger. Right on time. I've been hoping you'd show up again." I opened the door all the way.

  "Well, listen to you," he smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Miss me?"

  "Don't let it go to your head. How was New York?"

  "Hectic." He said, walking in.

  Man, he looked good. Even in clothes, his body was well-defined and luscious. His jeans were tight and his shirt was the perfect shade of blue to bring out his eyes. Although, all I could think of was stripping his clothes off him. I wondered if I'd get the chance.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm a lobster in a restaurant tank?"

  Hmmm. How to answer that? If I said "I was just wondering if it was okay for me to jump on you now, or do we need to do dinner and a movie first?" would that make him run for the hills? Or for the bedroom?

  Yeah, honesty was probably a bad idea. So I covered. Well, I tried. What I meant to say was "Don't flatter yourself, Shakespeare. I was just wondering if you want anything to drink."

  But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Just wondering how you'd look naked."

  I clapped my hands over my mouth and hurriedly spun away, so he wouldn't see the mortified look on my face. Damn it. The older I get, the less control I had over what came out of my mouth. I could feel my face flushing from my chin to the roots of my hair.

  "Want a drink?" I squeaked, keeping my back to him and edging towards the kitchen.

  "I can email you a photo if you promise not to put it on your Facebook page," he laughed. Then..."Are you blushing?"

  "No! I'm just... Wondering if you want tea or coffee?"

  "Really? 'Cause the back of your neck is beet red," he teased, still amused.

  I escaped into the kitchen, where I doused my burning cheeks with cold water and put on a kettle for tea.

  A few hours later, we had drunk the tea, made (and eaten) a pizza, and were having a lively conversation over drinks. As I poured another round of Bourbon & Mexican Coke (made with cane sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup), I surreptitiously gave Paul a once-over. Way too sexy for the middle of nowhere. He wasn't as ferociously sexy as Lucien, but at least he was a living, breathing man. So he automatically had the advantage.

  He was solid and just at that age when muscles are starting to get a little soft. Rugged, but comfortable looking. With full lips and piercing blue eyes beneath his glasses. And intelligent to boot. He'd have to be, right? Since he was a teacher and a writer?

  "So, what's your book about?"

  "Haunted houses of the Midwest. There's some interest in turning it into a reality series, so they want me to get footage for a sizzle reel. Whatever that is. My grandfather tells me I'm an idiot for not taking a closer look at your cottage."

  "Daniel knows more than I do about the history of this house -- he wrote the original book on it."

  "As he's never let me forget. And then I stopped in at the Trading Post and J.J. Told me you're living in a 'ghost house with 'tude'. So I was hoping I could spent a few days here. Bring in camera equipment, infrared, that sort of thing."

  "Are you crazy? You can't stay here. You're way too hot." Shit! I clapped my hands over my mouth again. I hadn't meant to say that out loud! Damn alcohol. Jeez!

  "I mean, this place is way too small." The state of Wisconsin was too small. Okay, now my face was absolutely burning. And I knew he could see it, because he was laughing at me.

  "Y'know, last time I tried to flirt with you, I got my hand slapped. And the time before that, you accused me of being gay."

  "Well..." I couldn't really argue with him. But what was I supposed to say? I'm being visited by an evil spirit who makes me horny? That if I don't have sex with a live man soon, I'm going to go stark raving mad? "A woman's allowed to change her mind. And you're pretty damn cute in that shirt."

  "Don't get my hopes up if you don't mean it."

  "Oh, I mean it. More than you know."

  He blushed. Ah-hah! Finally. I made him blush. Score one for me.

  "I think you're kinda hot, yourself."

  I perked up. "Really?" That was promising. "Here's to mutual hotness."

  We clinked glasses, his eyes lingering on mine. "But there's more to a relationship than just heat," he continued. "Heat, I can get anywhere. But I'm at the age now where I want the whole enchilada. So don't play this game if you can't handle the consequences."

  A tingle ran up and down my body, as I contemplated Paul becoming a part of my life, not just my bed.

  Chapter Forty

  Half a bottle of bourbon later, we were getting pretty friendly. We both liked the same things, (funny movies of all genres, classic black & whites and anything with Harrison Ford or Cary Grant), hated the same things, (hack-and-slash films), and were turned on by the same things (honesty, intelligence, integrity, humor). Over the course of the evening, I found myself moving closer and closer to him. Before I knew it, one of my hands was on his thigh, while the other hand stroked his arm, working its way up to his broad shoulders...

  I yanked my hands back and sat on them. "Sorry. Sometimes they have a mind of their own."

  "That's okay. I never mind an attractive woman manhandling me."

  "But if a chick's doing it, wouldn't it be womanhandling?"

  "Don't tell me you're one of those w-o-m-y-n feminists?"

  I laughed. "No. I think I'm more of a gay man trapped in a woman's body," I said, as my hand found its way back to his thigh.

  When he didn't stop me, I tossed all sense of decency to the winds and straddled his lap, kissing him. I kept expecting him to pull away, but instead, he undid my shirt, unhooking my bra with an expert twist of the wrist.

  Soon, the floor was littered with clothes, as we explored each other's bodies. Now this was much better than any dream could be. It made me wonder why I had been in a self-imposed celibacy for so long. But that was back in L.A., and the men there were totally different from the man who was currently doing such lusciously wicked things to my body.

  I briefly thought about moving venues, but Tillie had been quiet for so long, I was pretty sure she wasn't watching me. Hopefully, she had fallen asleep. If ghosts even slept. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was interrupt the flow.

  Afterward, we lay in each other's arms, decompressing. But I was still insatiable. I couldn't keep my hands off him. And the more I stroked his body, the more aroused he became. Before I knew it, we were in the throes of ecstasy once again.

  "I have something for you." Paul lay on the couch, glistening with sweat.

  "Again? What are you? Superman?" I leaned over and kissed him.

  "Give me a few hours to catch my breath, woman." He kissed me back. "No, I mean, from Daniel. A present. I dropped one off at the library before I came here. And the other one's for you. It's in my satchel."

  I pulled my clothes on and opened up his satchel. It was Daniel's book, the soft leathe
r binding supple to the touch.

  "He said you'd know what to do with it."

  "Do I ever." I put it on display, on the mantle, next to the portrait of Lisette. By the time I finished adjusting the placement, Paul was dressed and making a pot of coffee.

  "You're domestic, too?" I teased, walking into the kitchen. "How did I get so lucky?"

  "Just moved to the right town."

  "I guess I did." I said, smiling to myself as I set two mugs on the table.

  Later, after the coffee had percolated...

  "So, about this ghost thing," he said, sipping his coffee.

  I dragged my mind back to the conversation we had been having, before we became so pleasantly distracted.

  "I want to see if I can catch your ghost in action," he continued. "Temperature dips, whispers. You'd be amazed what an infrared digital camera and recorder can pick up."

  I laughed. "You're not going to need all those fancy gizmos. As far as ghosts go, mine completely lack any subtlety." Kinda like me.

  "I have to be honest. I've never seen any sign of a ghost here. I mean, it was before I got all the cool equipment, but still. When I was a boy, my family used to have tea with Tillie every now and again, and I've never picked up on any type of spirit emanations."

  "Did she take you on a tour of all the rooms?" I asked.

  "Yeah. What with my grandfather's book and all, she was determined to prove to my family that her cottage was ghost free."

  Somehow I seriously doubted she'd shown him the entire house. "So you know about the secret room in the cellar?"

  "What secret room?"

  I grabbed a flashlight. "Get your camera and get ready for the big time. This is going to rock your sizzle."

  Paul got his gear from the car and we were soon descending into the dark cellar.

  "I replaced the cellar lights. I can turn them on so we can see."

  "Don't. It'll blow out the night-vision screen."

  As we got further down the stairs...