“The roads are a mess,” Thistle said, locking eyes with Aunt Tillie. “We almost died getting here. I hope you’re happy.”
“Thistle,” Twila chided, cuffing the back of her daughter’s head. “Your great-aunt is injured. She could’ve died … or been in a coma or something. Treat her with some respect.”
Thistle had the grace to look abashed.
“Don’t you dare treat me any other way than you normally would,” Aunt Tillie ordered. “I’m fine. A little head bump isn’t going to slow me down.”
“What did the doctor say?” Marnie asked, glancing at me. “She doesn’t have brain damage, does she?”
Thistle opened her mouth to say something snotty but Twila silenced her with a murderous look.
“You can let some of them go, Thistle,” Twila said.
“The doctor hasn’t said anything yet,” I offered, choosing my words carefully as I glanced at Aunt Tillie. “I … what time is it?”
“It’s a little after seven,” Mom said, sending me an odd look. “We just saw you an hour and a half ago. How can you have lost track of time?”
“It seems longer to me,” I said.
“Those two fell asleep,” Aunt Tillie volunteered. “Bay curled up in Landon’s lap like a teenager, and then they proceeded to snore for a half hour. It was extremely annoying, especially when you have a head wound.”
“Why would you do that?” Mom asked, slapping my arm. “You were supposed to be taking care of her.”
“She did take care of me,” Aunt Tillie said, winking. “Only she did it with Landon’s hand on her butt.”
“I’m going to throw a bucket of ice water on you two if you don’t stop doing things like that in public,” Mom warned, shaking her head.
I locked gazes with Landon, a myriad of questions fighting for supremacy.
“Let it go, Bay,” Landon whispered. “Now isn’t the time. If you tell them what happened now they’ll all freak out. Just … let it go.”
I reluctantly nodded and leaned into him, forcing a smile when Dr. Walter Lucken stepped into the room. He was already shaking his head.
“There are far too many people in here for my patient to get the rest she needs,” Lucken said.
“We won’t stay long,” Mom said. “We have dinner waiting at the inn.”
“Pot roast,” Landon said, pumping his fist and causing me to giggle.
“We’re going to take shifts staying with Aunt Tillie,” Twila said. “I have the first one.”
Aunt Tillie groaned. “Goddess, help me!”
“Very funny,” Twila said, fussing over Aunt Tillie’s blanket.
“How is she?” Clove asked, barreling into the room with her boyfriend Sam at her heels. “I didn’t get your message about Aunt Tillie’s accident until we got to the inn because of the spotty coverage due to the storm. Is she okay?”
“I’m fine,” Aunt Tillie said as Clove released a relieved sigh. “Don’t go being a kvetch. I can’t take it in my delicate condition.”
“You can’t have it both ways,” Mom chided. “Either you’re fine or you’re delicate. Which is it?”
“It depends on what I want at any given time,” Aunt Tillie replied. “You’ll live with my whims.”
“We always do,” Marnie said, grinning.
“The good news is that Tillie’s head wound doesn’t appear to be too serious,” Lucken said. “We need to keep her overnight for observation, but you should be able to take her home tomorrow.”
“That’s a relief,” Twila said.
“Says who?” Thistle challenged. “Doctor, don’t you think you could keep her for a couple of days? You know, just to make sure and all.”
Lucken laughed. “I think she’ll do better at home under the watchful eye of her family,” he said. “For now, though, only one of you can stay. I guess that’s Twila, so everyone else say their goodbyes.”
I silently watched as my family moved to the bed and hugged Aunt Tillie. Even Thistle offered her a stiff embrace, and a few choice words.
“I’m going to make you pay for scaring me like this, old woman,” Thistle promised. “You have three days until war is declared.”
“I look forward to it,” Aunt Tillie said, locking gazes with me as I moved forward.
I leaned over her bed and gave her hug, staying close long enough to whisper something only she could hear. “We’re going to have a talk when you get home.”
“I’m not looking forward to that,” Aunt Tillie grumbled.
Landon waited in the hallway until I was done, staring at something pink in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Landon handed it to me. “It’s a ribbon.”
I wrinkled my nose. “A ribbon? Where did that come from?”
“It’s little Bay’s hair ribbon,” Landon replied. “I shoved it in my pocket when we got interrupted. I found it there a second ago.”
“But … you’re wearing scrubs,” I pointed out.
“I know.”
“We weren’t physically there.”
“I know that, too.”
“But that’s not possible,” I said, running the ribbon through my fingers. It was real. It was the same color as the one little Bay tied in Landon’s hair. There was no doubt it was the same ribbon, yet it couldn’t be.
“Turn it over, Bay,” Landon instructed.
I did as he wanted and sucked in a breath when I saw the writing on the back. The lettering was careful and deliberate, and I recognized it from a box of cards Mom kept in her closet. I read the message out loud. “I’ll see you in your dreams, sweet girl.”
“Love grandma,” Landon added.
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah,” Landon said, grabbing my hand. “Come on. Pot roast is waiting, and then we’re going to bed for the rest of the weekend. I can’t wrap my head around this without sleep.”
I WAS awake long after Landon fell asleep. I was sure I would never drift off, but his soft snores finally lulled me, and I slept with him wrapped around me.
I woke to him rubbing his nose against my cheek.
“What are you doing?” I asked, instinctively pushing his face away. “That is not the way I like to wake up.”
“I’m sorry,” Landon said, a mischievous grin on his face. “We’re out of whipped cream.”
“You are so sick,” I said, although I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. He looks handsome in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, he always looks handsome. In the mornings, though, his hair is tousled and he has that seductive stubble that makes me weak in the knees. What? I never claimed to be a feminist … or immune to his charms.
“Bay, we need to talk,” Landon said.
Usually those words would cause fear to well up in my chest, but surprisingly that fear was nowhere to be found this morning. “Do you want to talk about how little Bay’s ribbon got in your pocket and how Grandma Ginger managed to write on it even though she wasn’t really there? If so, I still don’t have any answers. We’re going to have to go to Aunt Tillie for those.”
“Oh, no,” Landon said, shaking his head. “I’m over that. I don’t understand half the things that happen in this family. I’m chalking it up to magic. Now you have a personal message from your grandmother and we have a ton of memories to sift through. Some of them are even ours.”
I knit my eyebrows, confused. I’m often muddled in the morning, but now I was especially befuddled. “What do you want to talk about?”
“It’s my happy day today, Bay,” Landon announced. “All of my dreams have come true.”
“Because you woke up with me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re so sweet,” I said, cuddling closer. “I can’t believe how sweet you are. In fact, you’re so sweet I’m going to give you a special gift this morning.”
“You’re definitely going to do that,” Landon said, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re going to do it this afternoon, too. And tonight. In fact, yo
u should just get naked now and prepare to go without clothing for the entire day.”
“I see you’re feeling ambitious,” I said, giggling as his whiskers rubbed against my neck. “What put you in this mood, if I might ask? Not that I mind. I love it when you’re cuddly. I … Hey! Did you just lick my neck?”
Landon’s grin was sheepish when he met my gaze. “Maybe.”
“Why would you … ? Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes, sweetie,” Landon crowed. “Aunt Tillie got her revenge from her hospital bed overnight and it’s my favorite curse. Happy Landon Day!”
He beat his chest. No, really.
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered, lifting my arm in an attempt to smell myself. Yup. There it was. The unmistakable aroma of sizzling bacon wafted off of me. How did I miss that? “Why?”
“Because the universe – in the form of Aunt Tillie – wanted to pay me back for the hours upon hours of misery and abject distress she put me through yesterday,” Landon replied. “Get naked, woman. I’m not messing around.”
He pulled at my top, but I wasn’t ready to give in to his demands and rolled away from him. “I’m going to cry. I swear … I’m going to cry.”
“Get naked first.”
“You said you don’t like it when I cry,” I protested. “Was that a lie?”
Landon blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Sweetie, I hate it when you cry,” he said. “I love it when you smell and taste like bacon, though. I promise your tears will be brief.”
“But … .”
He shook his head to cut me off. “Strip!”
“I’m going to kill Aunt Tillie,” I muttered, reaching for the back edge of my tank top so I could pull it over my head. “This is … unbelievable.”
Landon was not to be deterred. “Happy Landon Day, one and all!”
Oh, well. There are worse ways to spend a weekend.
Make a Witch
A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy Book Three
I wish that woman would either fall in a really deep hole or forget I exist. I’m honestly not sure which would be better.
– Sam Cornell explaining why he’s hiding behind a bush while Aunt Tillie walks across the street.
One
“Aunt Tillie?”
My mother, Winnie Winchester, ambled into The Overlook’s library and spared a glance at my cousin Thistle and me. She appeared weary and distracted, which was unlike her. She was generally in full-on busybody mode where we were concerned, and the distracted nature of her countenance set my teeth on edge.
“Have you seen Aunt Tillie?”
Hmm. That was a loaded question. “Ever, or in the past few minutes?”
Instead of laughing, or dismissing the question with a half-hearted wave, Mom narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits and glared at me. “Are you trying to make me angry? If so, good job. If not, well, be quiet.”
“Yeah, Bay, don’t make her angry,” Thistle teased, her eyes sparking. “You wouldn’t like Aunt Winnie when she’s angry.”
“That’s right,” Mom sniffed, tugging her apron to smooth it. “You wouldn’t like me if I’m angry … so live in fear.”
Thistle, her expression impish, puffed out her chest and extended her arms as she energetically swiveled in her chair. “Aunt Hulk mad.”
I snorted out a laugh as Mom tilted her head to the side, realization dawning that Thistle was making fun of her rather than taking her side.
“Yeah, I think I’m done talking to both of you.” Mom made an annoyed face – one I remembered well from my childhood – and heaved out one of those long-suffering sighs only a mother with a snarky child can muster. “Have you seen Aunt Tillie?”
Instead of answering, Thistle dropped her arms and reached for the glass of wine she’d been sipping when Mom made her presence known. “You know she’s like Bloody Mary, right? If you say her name enough times she’ll pop up out of nowhere and start killing people.”
“I thought that was Candyman,” I countered.
“Where do you think the Candyman people got the idea?”
That was a good question. “We should have a horror movie night,” I suggested, opting to change the subject. Thistle wasn’t wrong about risking the wrath of Aunt Tillie. I figured the sooner we stopped saying her name, the better. “You’re going to be moving out of the guesthouse in about a month and that will be our last chance for a horror movie fest. We should get one in before we run out of time.”
Thistle arched an eyebrow as she considered the possibility. “That’s not a bad idea. We should call Clove to see if she wants to come over for a slumber party. We’ll pick a night and keep the guys away so it will be just us girls. We can do mud masks and chocolate martinis, too.”
“That sounds good.” In truth, it sounded really good. Things were changing fast in the Winchester household. Thistle would soon be living with her boyfriend Marcus, and my boyfriend, FBI Agent Landon Michaels, would be moving in with me. The entire concept was dumbfounding.
Yes, you heard that right. My name is Bay Winchester and I’m a witch in love. After a fight that almost tore us apart, my boyfriend announced he was finally ready to share a roof. As soon as construction was completed on Marcus’ new place, Thistle would move in with him, and Landon would move in with me. It was exciting … and altogether freaky to consider. Seriously? When did I become an adult? Only adults move in with their boyfriends. Wait … we were talking about something, weren’t we? I totally forgot about that.
“What were we saying?” I asked, turning my attention back to Mom.
Mom scorched me with a disgusted look. “Really? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d been in Aunt Tillie’s stash. That’s who I’m looking for, by the way – Aunt Tillie. She’s your great-aunt, in case you’ve forgotten and need a refresher. She’s about five feet tall and constantly in trouble.”
Aunt Tillie’s stash happened to be a huge pile of potent pot, which she’d just happened to harvest about a month ago. She then proceeded to hide it from everyone ... not that we were looking or anything, mind you. I’m moving in with an FBI agent, for crying out loud. I don’t care about my great-aunt’s marijuana harvest. Okay, I don’t care very much about the harvest. Supposedly – if word on the street is correct – it’s something to behold this year.
“I haven’t seen Aunt Tillie,” I answered. “She was around this morning before I left for work, but I haven’t seen her since.”
“Which is exactly how we like things,” Thistle added. “We like it when we don’t see that woman. There’s a reason we rejoice when she comes up with a project. Although, to be fair … .” Thistle broke off and tapped her bottom lip, staring out the library window, lost in thought.
“Where did your head just go?” Mom challenged, annoyed. “If you know where Aunt Tillie is I want to know right now.”
“I don’t know where Aunt Tillie is,” Thistle answered hurriedly, running a hand through her short-cropped orange hair. She decided to go festive for the fall holiday season and wouldn’t change things up until she decided on a Christmas color. I was fairly certain green would be the winning hue, and only partially because her mother complained when she dyed her hair shades of blue or green.
“You know something,” Mom challenged. “You must have some idea where she is, otherwise you wouldn’t have added the ‘although’ part.”
Thistle tugged on her bottom lip as she risked a glance at me. That’s when I realized she might actually know something. I had no idea what that was, but if she was keeping it to herself it must be good.
“We honestly haven’t seen her,” I added. If Mom found out Thistle was lying and knew what Aunt Tillie was up to I could still get away with minimal punishment because I honestly didn’t have a clue what was going on. “If we see her, though, we’ll send her your way.”
Mom narrowed her eyes, suspicious. She pretends she knows when we’re lying – she even goes so far as to announce it at odd times – but she rarely does.
I’ve been accused of making things up when I’m telling the truth so many times I’ve lost count.
Mom finally exhaled heavily and turned on her heel. “Fine. When you see Aunt Tillie, tell her I’m looking for her.”
“Yes, and I’m sure that will make her come running,” Thistle whispered, amused.
“I heard that, Thistle,” Mom barked. “You send her to us right away. Don’t bother trying to entice her to play games or anything. She has to help us first.”
Thistle rolled her eyes so hard I worried she would rock the chair she perched in. “Yes, because we often try to entice Aunt Tillie to play games with us. Except we never do that.”
Mom ignored Thistle’s brewing diatribe. “You might not believe it, but that’s what you’re doing every single time you pick a fight with her. It simply makes you feel better to believe she’s to blame for everything and you’re some innocent angel.”
Thistle stared blankly in my direction until she was sure Mom was out of hearing distance. “You don’t think that’s true, do you?”
“That Aunt Tillie will hide rather than help Mom with whatever she has going in the kitchen? I think Aunt Tillie hates working in the kitchen.”
“Not that,” Thistle scoffed, waving her hand. “The part about me picking fights with Aunt Tillie because it’s part of a game. That’s not true, right?”
“Oh, well, hmm.” I had no idea how to answer so I shifted my eyes to an oil painting on the wall. “That thing is dusty. We should clean it or something.”
“You suck,” Thistle muttered, her tone low and dangerous. “I’ll make you eat dirt for that one.”
I opened my mouth to plead my case to the contrary – even though I was certain I wouldn’t be able to put much effort behind it – but I was cut short when the front door opened and let in a blast of chilly air.
There he was: Landon Michaels, FBI agent extraordinaire and my soon-to-be roommate. Wait, that sounds way too Three’s Company. I don’t want to use the L-word (that would be “lover,” in this instance) because that’s too cheesy. Hmm. I’m going to have to come up with something to call him, because “boyfriend” is too middle school and “soul mate” is too romance novel. Decisions, decisions.
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