Once Upon a Witch: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy Books 1-3

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Hi, sweetie.” Landon pasted a bright smile on his face when he saw me, breezed into the room and dropped a kiss on my forehead as he removed his leather gloves. He glanced at Thistle, found her pouting, and accepted her dark expression as if it were normal. “Hey, evil one. How are you?”

  Thistle dragged her eyes from me and focused on Landon for the first time since he came through the door. “Did you say something?”

  “I greeted you with charm and humility,” Landon teased, amused. “What were you just thinking about? I have a feeling it’s not good. Maybe we should skip dinner and hop into bed early for the weekend, Bay, because Thistle looks as if she has mayhem on her mind and I’m too tired for mayhem. How does that sound?”

  I shrugged. I’d heard worse offers. Heck, I was fairly certain my mother would offer something outright terrible if she didn’t find Aunt Tillie in the next few minutes. “Mom made pot roast.”

  “Oh.” Landon’s smile slipped. “Okay, scratch that. I can’t live without the pot roast.”

  “And here I thought you couldn’t live without me.” I smirked, laughing as he slid into the spot next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I was worried you might not make it until later because of the weather.”

  “It’s not terrible out,” Landon said, shifting to tug off his jacket. “The wind is blowing hard and the rain is going to turn into freezing drizzle before the night is out. I left early enough to make sure I’d arrive before it got too bad.”

  “That’s good.” I rested my hand on his chest, earning an odd look. “I just mean that no matter how much I’d miss you if you couldn’t make it back for the weekend I wouldn’t want you to risk your life on icy roads.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet, Bay.” Landon gripped my hand and lifted my fingers to press a kiss to them. “I would’ve figured out a way to make it here no matter what, though. I don’t care if I would’ve had to rent a snowmobile.”

  I widened my eyes, surprised. “You would’ve rented a snowmobile?”

  “I can’t go without my Bay fix.” Landon pulled me close, shooting a challenging look in Thistle’s direction when she rolled her eyes and mimed barfing. “Do you have a problem?”

  “You guys are so gross you make me want to toss whatever cookies Mom and the aunts are baking,” Thistle replied. “I didn’t realize we were in for an all-schmaltz weekend.”

  “Next time I’ll provide you with a schedule when I have a schmaltz weekend on my agenda.” Landon’s tone was even despite Thistle’s expression. He was used to Thistle’s attitude and remained largely unflappable when she threatened to derail the Winchester express train to weekend relaxation and bliss.

  “That would be great,” Thistle deadpanned. “Then I can plan to be out of the guesthouse so I don’t have to witness the schmaltz volcano.”

  Landon remained stoic. “Well, this will probably be the last schmaltz extravaganza before we shift living arrangements. You’ll be moving in about a month – right after Christmas, if I remember correctly – and I’ve already started transporting things from my apartment.”

  We hadn’t taken the decision to move in together lightly. However, as soon as we both agreed (and made up after a huge fight), Landon wasted no time when it came to packing his things. The first weekend after agreeing to move in together he arrived with a vehicle full of boxes. He was excited, which made me even more excited, and … huh. Thistle was right about this turning into a schmaltz extravaganza.

  “Yeah, we were just talking about that,” I admitted, resting my hand on Landon’s knee. “Would you be upset if we had one more horror movie night before the big move? We want to invite Clove over and everything.”

  “I’m fine with that.” Landon studied me for a moment, his eyes conflicted. “You know you can do that when we live together, right? I can lock myself in the bedroom and you guys can do whatever it is you do when you have slumber parties.”

  “I can guarantee we don’t get in sexy lingerie and have pillow fights,” Thistle offered.

  Landon extended a warning finger. “Don’t ruin it for me. Do you have to be such a kvetch?”

  Thistle narrowed her eyes, annoyed. That was Aunt Tillie’s favorite word for our cousin Clove. Thistle hated when anyone used it to refer to her. “I am not a kvetch.”

  Landon didn’t appear bothered by the shift in her demeanor. “If the kvetch fits … .”

  “Don’t do that,” I warned, wagging a finger when Landon launched a lazy smile and Thistle shifted in her chair, giving the impression that she was ready to pounce. “There’s no reason to start a fight when it’s completely unnecessary.”

  “Oh, I thought that was the Winchester way,” Landon teased, flashing me a wink as he relaxed. “Fine. Thistle, I apologize for calling you a kvetch.”

  “Thank you, Landon,” Thistle shot back primly. “I accept your kind apology.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at their serious expressions. “Oh, whatever. You guys aren’t fooling anyone. It’s not like it really matters anyway.” I turned my full attention to Landon as he snagged my wine glass and took an exaggerated drink. “Do you have any work to do this weekend or is it all fun, games and pajamas?”

  Landon arched an eyebrow, amused. “You want to go through the entire weekend wearing nothing but our pajamas?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I would prefer to do it naked, but that will have to wait until this one moves out.” Landon jerked a thumb in Thistle’s direction. “That reminds me, I’ve got to schedule a locksmith to change the locks once I officially move in. I don’t want to risk anyone but you seeing me naked.”

  “Is that because you think it will traumatize us?” Thistle challenged.

  “That’s because I don’t want to ruin everyone else for all other men when I can clearly only handle Bay,” Landon replied. “Of course, there are times when I can’t handle Bay, so … what was I saying?”

  “You were telling me if you have any work for this weekend,” I prodded.

  “Oh, right. I don’t have any work other than reading through a few files, but I can do that in bed after you fall asleep … or in front of the fire tomorrow. It’s supposed to be cold all weekend, so we should gear up with snacks or something.”

  “You’re a very food-oriented person,” Thistle interjected. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Why do you think I fell for Bay?” Landon replied, unruffled. “She’s the only person I know who smells like bacon on a regular basis. She’s practically the perfect woman.”

  I balked. “Because I smell like bacon?”

  “Because you’re you and you occasionally smell like bacon on top of that,” Landon clarified. “I can guarantee that no woman has ever been more perfect than you because of a multitude of qualities, not just one thing.”

  “Nice save,” Thistle drawled.

  “I do my best.” Landon’s tone was dry as he leaned back on the couch, the corners of his mouth tipping up when the front door opened and Aunt Tillie crept inside.

  She didn’t immediately look at us. Her short cap of grayish-black curls were tucked under a knit cap, giving her a youthful vibrancy that lightened my heart. She wore gloves and carried a backpack over her right shoulder, treading lightly as she shut the door and kicked off her boots.

  It took her a few moments to notice us, and when she did her expression was unreadable. “You never saw me.”

  And with those words she disappeared into the inn.

  “I’m almost afraid to know what’s in the bag,” Landon admitted. He didn’t appear keen to follow Aunt Tillie, and instead remained on the couch. “It’s probably something illegal.”

  “At least it’s not a dead body,” Thistle offered. “The bag was too small to hold a dead body.”

  “There is that,” Landon conceded, tipping back his glass of wine to drain it. “Thank that goddess you guys are always dancing naked to for small favors, right? So … who wants
to get drunk?”

  I considered fighting the effort, but ultimately could not come up with a reason to do so. “I do, but I want to switch to mixed drinks so it will happen faster.”

  “Now you’re thinking.” Landon smacked a loud kiss against my lips. “I’ll get the bourbon. You get the sour mix.”

  “And people say we don’t know how to celebrate the holiday season in style,” Thistle teased. “We know exactly how to enjoy the spirits of the season.”

  “I think those are different spirits,” Landon pointed out.

  Thistle scowled. “Don’t ruin things.”

  “Right. Bourbon it is.”

  I wish I had more than one spot on the top of my list, because there are times I want to put all of you there together … and then drop a bomb and see which one of you comes out alive. I think it sounds like a fun social experiment.

  – Aunt Tillie explaining her philosophy on family

  Two

  “So, what’s going on around these parts this weekend?” Landon asked, holding out my chair until I sat and then claiming the open seat next to me. He nodded in turn to the guests – the inn was full this weekend – before focusing on Aunt Tillie and lowering his voice. “What did you have in that bag?”

  Aunt Tillie was the picture of serenity. She sipped her glass of wine while feigning confusion. “What bag?”

  “The bag you snuck in with while we were in the library.”

  “I recall no such bag. Perhaps you were mistaken.”

  Landon pursed his lips. Aunt Tillie was a master of lying when the occasion called for it. Like my suspicious boyfriend, I couldn’t help but wonder what was in the bag. I’d lived with Aunt Tillie long enough to realize that sometimes not knowing is better, though. Landon hadn’t quite learned that life lesson yet. He always wanted to know – even when he loathed the answer to the question.

  “I saw you,” Landon pressed. “You snuck in with a big bag and then disappeared upstairs. Did you have something illegal in there?”

  “What were you doing outside?” Mom asked, suspicion ratcheting up a notch. I had no idea if she found Aunt Tillie after her search an hour earlier but she didn’t look to be in a very good mood. That didn’t bode well for Aunt Tillie. She’s not afraid of anyone … except my mother when she puts on her stern face. “It’s cold out there, and you said you were going to be reading in your room.”

  Aunt Tillie shot Landon a death glare before turning a sweet smile to Mom. “I was in my room.”

  “Were you reading?” Thistle asked. She should know better than to interject herself between Mom and Aunt Tillie, but much like Landon, she never learns. “Is that what was in the bag? Was it books?”

  “There was no bag, mouth,” Aunt Tillie shot back, annoyed. Then, without missing a beat, she turned around Mom’s suspicion and went on the offensive. “Why do you always assume that I’m up to something nefarious? Did it ever occur to you that I was actually doing what I said I was doing?”

  “Not for a second,” Mom replied without hesitation. “I went up to your room looking for you because we’re out of taro root and I need it for a recipe this weekend. You weren’t there.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t see me.” Aunt Tillie was all faux innocence and light. “I’m a very small woman. I seem to be shrinking with age. Perhaps you merely looked past me without realizing it.”

  I snorted into my bourbon, averting her glare when Aunt Tillie scorched me with a dark look. The last thing I wanted to do on a cold weekend was get involved in any of Aunt Tillie’s shenanigans. Whatever she was up to, she was on her own.

  “Really? That’s your story?” Mom reached for the bottle of wine. Instead of pouring it into the smaller wine glass, she completely filled her large water glass. “You make me tired.”

  “That should be the family motto,” Thistle suggested. “We should have T-shirts made up and everything.”

  “Shut up, Thistle,” Mom barked.

  Wow. She really was in a bad mood. “Do you have a headache or something?”

  Mom didn’t bother meeting my gaze. “Just her.” She jerked her thumb at Aunt Tillie. “She said she was going to be upstairs reading, and now I hear she was outside and returned with a huge bag. We all know this won’t end well.”

  “Oh, good, the dinner theater is starting right on time,” one of the guests whispered, exchanging an excited look with another inn occupant. “I hope it’s an entertaining show like the Zagat review promised.”

  The Winchester family, despite our best efforts to the contrary, was rather famous for our determination to hash out our differences over family meals. Word spread fast and far, former guests referring to it as “dinner theater.” We’d earned quite the reputation in bed-and-breakfast circles.

  “You’re such a worrier,” Aunt Tillie complained. “I’ll have you know that I was out Christmas shopping. There! Are you happy? You ruined my surprise. That’s what I was doing, and you horrific busybodies couldn’t just let me have my holiday fun.”

  “You’re so full of crap the toilet just went on strike,” Thistle said, earning snickers from the guests. Sadly, even as Thistle preened, I knew that wasn’t a good thing. She likes playing to her audience and forgets that the referee is cantankerous and often all-powerful when she sets her mind to it. Thistle would only make things worse if left to her own devices when warring with Aunt Tillie.

  “You were Christmas shopping?” Mom was understandably dubious as she cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not even December. Since when do you do your shopping in November?”

  “Since when do you actually shop?” Thistle added. “Last year you pulled a pair of old socks out of your dresser and told me you bought them at a vintage store.”

  “Maybe that’s because all you earned was old socks,” Aunt Tillie challenged.

  “Okay, let’s not argue.” Landon rubbed his forehead and I worried the overdose of bourbon and snark would lead to a hangover and derail our weekend fun. “As long as she’s not doing anything illegal, I don’t really care what was in the bag.”

  “Oh, well, thank you,” Aunt Tillie deadpanned. “I love how you swoop in to tell us we’re being unreasonable after you started the entire mess.”

  “I did not,” Landon protested.

  “You did so … and you’re on my list!” Aunt Tillie extended a craggy finger. “I would put you at the top, but that position is reserved for Thistle until the new year.”

  “Oh, man.” Thistle made an exaggerated face. “I wish Marcus was here. He always puts Aunt Tillie in a good mood.”

  “Speaking of Marcus, where is he?” I asked, hoping to guide the conversation in a safer direction. “I thought he would be here tonight.”

  “They’re putting drywall in the upstairs apartment for us at the new barn and he felt the need to watch them,” Thistle replied. “Apparently he thinks they’ll do it wrong if he’s not watching.”

  “If I knew he was down there I would’ve stopped and seen him when I hit town,” Landon said. “Instead I visited Chief Terry to make sure I wouldn’t be called away unless it was absolutely necessary this weekend.”

  “So our pajama weekend is on?” I asked hopefully.

  Landon smirked. “It’s on.”

  “I don’t even want to know what you two are talking about,” Mom sighed.

  “They’re talking about sex,” Aunt Tillie announced. “That’s all they talk about.” She slid a triumphant smirk in Landon’s direction when he narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you get for tattling.”

  Landon rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s supposed to be a cold and rainy weekend. Bay and I want to spend some time alone. I was simply checking with Chief Terry to see if that would be an option.”

  “Yes, he’s a good boy,” Thistle teased.

  Landon ignored her. “Chief Terry says it’s been quiet all week. He’s expecting something terrible to happen, because Hemlock Cove is never quiet for long. I plan to turn off my phone in case he’s
right.”

  I knew he would do nothing of the sort – he’s far too diligent, after all – but it was a nice thought. “I heard a few odd stories when I was at the newspaper office,” I admitted as I dunked a roll into the pot roast gravy. “Franklin Kish claims that he saw a naked woman dancing in the field by his house. Of course, he was drunk at the time, so he probably imagined it … or wished for it, because he’s kind of a dirty old man.”

  Thistle giggled, amused. “That’s funny, because that would be his dream scenario. That old codger is a total pervert. He once asked me if I was wearing a bra. Then, when I said I was, he asked me if I would show it to him to prove it.”

  I snorted at the visual. “Yeah, he once told me that he missed the days of women wearing regular panties because thongs made his head go to a dirty place and he never wanted to leave that dirty place so he would sleep for twelve hours a day if he had the option.”

  “He sounds like a real winner,” Landon said dryly.

  “Oh, you have nothing to worry about,” I teased, patting his knee under the table. “He has a crush on Aunt Tillie. He always has.”

  “You should wear those leggings you bought a few weeks ago out to his place,” Landon suggested. “I’m guessing that he’s your target audience.”

  “Don’t bring up those leggings again,” Mom warned, waving a finger. “It took us forever to track them all down and confiscate them.”

  “I still maintain you’re overreacting about that,” Aunt Tillie argued. “They’re not indecent. They sell them over the internet. You can’t sell indecent things over the internet. Everyone knows that.”

  Landon’s mouth swished as he fought to contain his smile. “Yes, well, right you are.” He moved his hand to the back of my neck and gave it an idle rub. “Chief Terry said that other than a few complaints that make no sense, things are quiet. I hope they stay that way.”

  “Did he say what complaints he got that made no sense?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I might be able to turn them into a fun story.”