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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “He’s right there.” Thistle pointed to a spot close to a tall pine tree. “He’s trying to hide because he knows we’re ticked off.” She raised her voice so it carried across the chilly night air. “He should be afraid, because I’m totally going to put my boot in his behind.”

  “You sounded like Aunt Tillie when you said that,” Clove offered.

  “And you sound like a kvetch whenever you open your mouth,” Thistle shot back. “Just … march.”

  We walked in a row, not stopping until we reached the pine tree in question. The boy hovered close to the top, dipping his head low as he tried to pretend he was part of the scenic tableau rather than the freak flying above it.

  “Is that Jimmy Nelson?” Thistle asked, narrowing her eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “I have no idea who this Jimmy Nelson you speak of is,” the boy replied, unnaturally lowering his voice to a guttural level as he glanced around. “I am simply a misplaced soul looking for comfort in a strange land.”

  “You’re wearing a hoodie,” I pointed out.

  “You’re wearing a Hemlock Cove High School hoodie,” Clove added.

  “One of the nice people from that school loaned it to me,” the boy intoned. “My people are not used to cold like this.”

  “So you’re a superhero who is afraid of the cold?” Thistle challenged. “That doesn’t make you very super, does it?”

  “Or duper,” Clove added.

  “That add-on was completely unnecessary,” Thistle groused. “Good grief. Do we have to drag this out longer than necessary?”

  I planted my hands on my hips as I stared at the boy. Now that Thistle had mentioned a name I was pretty sure she was right. “Jimmy, you know it’s November, right?”

  “I’m not Jimmy!” The boy’s voice went unnaturally high. “Who is this Jimmy you speak of? It’s not me. I’ve met no Jimmy.”

  I ignored the diatribe. “Seriously, Jimmy, it’s November. We know why you’re out here. Now, we’re not going to admit the thing you’re searching for is here because … well … that would be illegal. We will say that if it were out here it would’ve been harvested long ago. Michigan’s growing season is over until spring.”

  “Yeah, come back in the spring,” Clove yelled out. “Is anyone else freezing? I’m totally cold. I blame Aunt Tillie for all of this.”

  “Join the club,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around my waist. “She caused this entire mess and she hasn’t done a thing to stop it.”

  “Tell me how you really feel, whiner,” Aunt Tillie said, stepping from the shadows and drawing our attention. She held a shotgun, a combat helmet on her head and a scowl on her face. I was only mildly terrified … although I think that was from the cold. “Are you done complaining?”

  “I’m nowhere near done complaining,” Thistle fired back. “I can’t believe you did this to us. It’s so unfair.”

  “And you’re not worried in the least,” Clove added.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” My irritation was evident as I flicked my gaze to her. “You don’t seem upset about any of this. The only thing you’re upset about is Mom keeping you on lockdown. I can’t help but find that strange, especially because someone died.”

  “Who died?” Jimmy asked, sliding away from the tree a bit. He was still a good twenty feet above us. There was no way we could snag him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aunt Tillie barked. “He’s not dead any longer. He came back from the dead, and everything is fine.”

  “Everything is not fine,” I challenged. “We just got smacked down with some really terrible headaches because Uncle Warren made a wish and apparently we fought it.”

  “Yeah, I felt as if I was dying,” Clove complained.

  “Oh, geez.” Aunt Tillie’s expression was murderous. “You guys wouldn’t make it through a war. You know that, right? In fact, you’re so whiny that I’m kicking you off my zombie apocalypse team.”

  “Go ahead,” Thistle shot back. “I’ll shoot you in the leg and leave you for a snack as I run away.”

  “This is not a productive conversation,” I interjected.

  “I don’t care. If she turns on me I’ll turn on her right back.” Thistle crossed her arms over her chest and stared down Aunt Tillie. “This is all on you, yet we’re doing all of the work. I’m sick of it.”

  “Oh, you’re sick of it?” Aunt Tillie was clearly happy to be out from under Mom’s watchful eye, because she didn’t hold back. “I’m the one who is sick of it. I’m sick to death of the whining … and the finger pointing … and the ‘woe is me’ looks you girls keep lobbing my way. I didn’t raise you to be this pathetic.”

  “We almost died from those headaches,” Clove complained.

  “Does everyone feel those headaches if they fight the wishes?” I asked, legitimately curious.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s what happened to you girls,” Aunt Tillie admitted. “You should’ve been immune from the spell. You’re witches. I engineered it so we’d be immune in case something bad happened.”

  “I wasn’t immune from Sam’s wish,” Clove pointed out.

  “Yeah, but how much of that was wish fulfillment because you’re a nester and get your self-worth from making him happy?” Aunt Tillie challenged.

  “I … you’re mean.” Clove jutted out her lower lip and averted her gaze.

  “We weren’t immune from Uncle Warren’s wish either,” I volunteered, drawing Aunt Tillie’s attention to me. “We said weird things – like we were kids again – and I used the word ‘daddy,’ and not in the way Landon likes me to use it when he’s feeling frisky.”

  “Oh, gross,” Thistle said, rolling her eyes. “You guys are so sick.”

  “I was joking … mostly.”

  “You weren’t joking and you are definitely sick.” Aunt Tillie fixed her unreadable gaze on Jimmy. “Get down from there.”

  “I’m an alien from another planet,” Jimmy said, defiant. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “You’re Jimmy Nelson and your grandmother still buys your underwear,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “I know because she showed me the ones she bought you at the store the other day. Aren’t you a little old for Pokémon?”

  “How do you even know what Pokémon is?” Thistle challenged.

  “I know things.” Aunt Tillie scowled. “Get down from there. The wish will turn on you. Clove will drive you back to town so you can reverse the wish before something bad happens.”

  “Why me?” Clove protested.

  “Because you have to drive through town to go home,” Aunt Tillie replied. “If you don’t want to run the late-night errands you should’ve stayed on the property. That’s on you.”

  “Ha, ha,” Thistle teased, her lips curling.

  “I’m not taking back this wish,” Jimmy argued. “It’s awesome.”

  “I thought you were an alien from another planet?” I didn’t want to embarrass the boy, but he was beginning to talk in circles. I had a feeling the cold was getting to him. “Jimmy, I wasn’t lying earlier. You can keep flying over the property, but there’s nothing here to find.”

  “That’s not true.” Jimmy adopted a whiny voice. “If I find the field I’ll be the most popular kid in school.”

  “It’s November, moron,” Aunt Tillie barked. “There is no field in November.”

  “I can wait.” Jimmy apparently had a stubborn streak. “When will there be a field again?”

  “Never, as far as you’re concerned,” Aunt Tillie replied. “Get down.”

  “No.”

  “Get down.”

  “Bite me.”

  “That did it.” Aunt Tillie lifted the shotgun and leveled it at the boy. His eyes widened when he realized she meant business. “You asked for it.”

  “Okay! Okay! Don’t shoot me!” Jimmy squealed the final bit as he slowly drifted to the ground. His face was unnaturally white when he lit in front of us, although he managed to hold on to a sliver of defia
nce. “You’re a mean woman. Everyone says that about you, but I didn’t believe it until now.”

  “Good. Spread the word.” Aunt Tillie clapped his shoulder. “Clove, take him to the wishing well and make sure he reverses the wish. If he doesn’t … shoot him.” Aunt Tillie slapped the shotgun in Clove’s hand, causing her to grip it awkwardly. I was fairly certain she hadn’t handled a gun since Aunt Tillie had taught us to shoot – ostensibly to protect our virtue from handsy teenagers back in the day – and she didn’t appear happy to have one in her hands now.

  “I … okay.”

  The sound of pounding feet in the darkness caused me to shift my attention toward an approaching Landon. He looked worried when he saw us all grouped together.

  “What happened?”

  “This is Jimmy Nelson and he’s an alien,” I replied, inclining my chin toward the scowling boy.

  “Not that,” Landon snapped. “I heard him beg not to be shot.” He stared at the shotgun in Clove’s hand. “No one is going to get shot.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Jimmy,” Aunt Tillie ordered. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Clove, take the boy back to town and make him reverse the wish. Everyone else … well … do whatever it is you want to do. I have a spell to finish.”

  “Now you’re suddenly keen to reverse the spell?” For some reason I had my doubts.

  “Now I’m suddenly keen to shut you all up,” Aunt Tillie clarified. “If I don’t, I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again. Do you people have any idea how much work you are?”

  “We know how much work you are,” Thistle answered.

  Aunt Tillie narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “You’re still on my list.”

  Thistle didn’t appear particularly perturbed by the admonishment. “Yeah, I think that’s listed as my second home these days in the White Pages. I’m fine with it.”

  A dream is a wish your heart desires – like when I dream I’m queen and Bay and Clove have to do all of the cleaning. A nightmare is the reality of dealing with this family.

  – Thistle Winchester’s version of dream interpretation

  Nineteen

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  I woke to find my head resting in the crook of Landon’s arm, his steady gaze on me. The clarity in his eyes made me realize he’d been up for quite some time.

  “Hi.” I rubbed the crusties from the corners of my eyes. “Why are you watching me sleep?”

  “Because you’re pretty and this is the only rest we’ve had in days,” Landon replied. “How do you feel? Does your head hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Does your eye hurt?”

  “It doesn’t feel like kittens are licking it, but it doesn’t ache or anything.”

  Landon snorted. “How about anything else? Does anything else hurt?”

  He was all over the place for the past twenty-four hours and it was starting to grate. “Landon, what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me.” Landon’s tone dipped as he moved to pull away. “I thought we could have a few minutes together before duty calls, but if that’s too much for you … well … I’ll hit the shower on my own.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that.” I grabbed his arm and rolled so I was straddling him, pinning his arms to his sides as he shot me a dirty look. “If you try to wrestle and push me around you’ll hurt me. We both know you’re stronger.”

  “Oh, well, that’s playing fair.”

  “Aunt Tillie says that playing fair is for suckers and whiners.”

  “Life lessons from Aunt Tillie? Where can I sign up?”

  “My butt, which you’re going to be kissing if you don’t knock it off.” I forced him to lock gazes with me. “What’s wrong? Is this still about the black eye? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand, Bay.” Landon was frustrated as he managed to dislodge one of his arms and run a hand through his unruly hair. He usually wakes up looking like he belongs on the pages of a fashion magazine – which is totally unfair, by the way, because I’m the queen of bedhead. I could tell he’d had a rough night. He’d slept, though. I was sure of that. How much was another matter entirely.

  “I would like you to try to let me understand,” I pressed. “Why does the black eye bother you so much?”

  “Because I don’t like seeing my girlfriend hurt.” His answer was automatic – and far too easy.

  “Why really?”

  Landon’s eyebrows rose. “Isn’t that enough, Bay? You could’ve been really hurt by those girls. I didn’t get to you fast enough.”

  “Is that what this is?” I rolled the idea through my head, unsure. “Are you blaming yourself because you didn’t get to me fast enough? You did what you had to do, Landon. Nelson was going for the wishing well and he had every intention of making another wish. That one might’ve been worse.”

  “You still got hurt.” Landon looked glum.

  “You’ve been hurt a few times while in my presence and I don’t beat myself up over it,” I pointed out.

  “Really? You still blame yourself for the time I got shot.”

  “Because you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been in the line of fire if I hadn’t tackled Nelson and left you,” Landon shot back, his voice taking on an edge.

  “Landon … .”

  “It’s not you, sweetie.” He jerked his other hand free and cupped my face. “I’m taking it out on you, and it’s not you. Don’t … just … put your head down.” Landon tugged me down, forcing me to lay flat on his chest as he sucked in a steadying breath. The position wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I’d survived worse – especially in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Landon … .”

  “My first solo case involved a murder-suicide,” Landon volunteered, cutting me off. “They gave it to me because it was fairly cut and dry, but they wanted me to work it from beginning to end. Hank and Debra Greyson had been married twenty years.

  “At first it seemed as if they were the perfect couple,” he continued. “That’s what the family said. They had no idea why Debra would crack and shoot her husband and then herself.”

  “Oh. I assumed he shot her first and then killed himself,” I admitted.

  “Most people do. That’s why this case was different. Anyway, I did more digging and found out that the family was lying. All of the neighbors told me that Hank beat Debra every chance he got. The neighbors could hear her screaming and they always called the police. There were twenty-three emergency calls from that house in three years. Twenty-three.”

  “That sounds rough.” I traced my finger over his muscled chest as he worked his fingers into the knots in my back. I don’t think he consciously decided to give me a massage as much as he needed something to do with his hands.

  “When I asked the family about the endless reports they said that it was never anything serious, Hank only slapped Debra around from time to time,” Landon said, his voice soft. “Debra’s family said it wasn’t a big deal either, which made me sick to my stomach. It was apparently a big deal to Debra, though, because at some point she decided to end both of their lives.

  “Every time the cops showed up they took a photograph of Debra’s injuries,” he continued. “She had black eyes … and broken bones … and even a burn on her arm from a cigarette once.”

  “Oh, sweetie … .”

  Landon quieted me with a finger on my lips. “I’m almost done. One of those photos was taken not long after Debra married Hank. She was young, in her twenties, and she had blond hair and blue eyes. That was long before he beat the will to live out of her.

  “In that photo – just the one – she reminded me of you,” he continued. “I didn’t realize until I saw your black eye. I thought I put it behind me a long time ago. It turns out I didn’t.”

  “Landon, that’s an awful story,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “That’s not what happened to me. Aunt
Tillie cursed a wishing well and I got jumped by a bunch of teenagers. I’m fine.”

  “I know. It’s just … this wishing well business has thrown me,” Landon offered. “I love you so much – and I know you love me – but the idea of free will being stripped away and something forcing you to feel something for someone else … well … it bothers me. I can’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I’ve already told you that it doesn’t work that way,” I reminded him. “The heart remembers even if the brain is clouded. My heart could never forget you.”

  “I hope not.” Landon kissed my temple. “I just feel out of my element. I want this entire thing done. I can’t take another moment of it.”

  “Then we’ll end it today.”

  “Thank you.” Landon pressed his eyes shut and rested his cheek against my forehead, both of us basking in the warmth and intimacy of a shared moment we both desperately needed. That feeling didn’t last long because the bedroom door flew open seconds later to allow Aunt Tillie entrance.

  “I have good news,” she announced. “I’ve written the reversal spell and we’re ready to go. You need to get dressed and be at the door in fifteen minutes. I’m not messing around here. I’m tired of being in the doghouse.”

  Landon groaned as he slapped his hand over his eyes. “Couldn’t you have given us five more minutes?”

  “If that’s all the time you need then you’ve been doing it wrong since joining our family. Bay deserves a lot more,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I’m not joking. You have fifteen minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

  “She makes me so tired,” Landon muttered.

  “Welcome to the Winchester family.”

  Landon grinned. “That comes with a lifetime supply of bacon, right?”

  “YOU’RE DOING it wrong.”

  Aunt Tillie grabbed the ladle from Thistle and gave her a dark look as she stirred the ingredients into the cauldron.

  “Have you ever considered you’re doing it wrong?” Thistle fired back, her hands landing on her hips. “This is my shop. Why are we mixing your potion in my shop?”

  Hypnotic was shut down for the morning – much to Clove’s chagrin and Thistle’s annoyance – but because tourists weren’t due to start arriving until later in the week it’s not as if they were missing out on a lot of business. The agitation was clearly aimed at Aunt Tillie, because … well … she was being Aunt Tillie.