Make A Witch

by Amanda M. Lee

  “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 defiance. “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.

  “We’re doing it here because I had to get away from your mothers,” Aunt Tillie replied, unruffled. “If I spend ten more seconds with those idiots I’ll kill all three of them.”

  “Oh, that’s rich talk from a woman who can’t cook,” I snarked. “If you kill them, who will cook for you?”

  “That’s what I have the three of you for.”

  “We can’t cook.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Landon offered, reclining on the sofa in the center of Thistle and Clove’s store. “I didn’t think that cauldron thing was real. I always thought it was a prop.”

  “Why would we have a cauldron that didn’t work?” Thistle challenged.

  “Why would you have a cauldron at all?” Landon fired back.

  Tempers were clearly sparking on all sides, so I stepped between Landon and Thistle before things could get out of hand. “Guys, I know everyone is tired, but this is not the time to melt down. We need to hold it together for another hour, and then this will all be over.”

  “Listen to Bay,” Aunt Tillie instructed. “She’s very wise.”

  I cocked a dubious eyebrow. “Since when?”

  “Since you’re currently my favorite Winchester,” Aunt Tillie replied. “Don’t let that go to your head, though. It’s not because I like you. It’s simply because I hate everyone else.”

  “Oh, but we love you so much,” Thistle drawled, sarcasm practically dripping from her tongue.

  “I love you, Aunt Tillie,” Clove offered. “I’m not just saying it either. Why aren’t I your favorite?”

  “Because you’re a kvetch and I sense tears coming on,” Aunt Tillie replied.

  “I am not a kvetch … and I’m not going to cry.” Despite her best efforts, Clove’s voice broke on the last word.

  “Oh, geez,” Aunt Tillie muttered. “Landon, make the kvetch stop crying.”

  “Yeah, I’m comfortable,” Landon said, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “I think I’ll stay here.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” I patted his knee and met his steady gaze. His earlier story touched me – and I knew it was hard for him to relate it. I could only hope he was holding it together. “I have a suggestion for when this is done, if you’re interested.”

  “Pajama Monday?”

  I smirked. “Yes, but I thought we could go to your apartment in Traverse City and do it up right,” I replied. “You’re almost out of there, and even though I haven’t spent a lot of time with you I thought we could spend a little time alone this week. I can work from there. We don’t have anything big happening in Hemlock Cove, and I can conduct any interviews I need over the phone.”

  Landon tilted his head to the side, surprised. “You want to go to Traverse City with me? Won’t you be bored while I’m at work?”

  I risked a glance at my bickering family members and immediately started shaking my head. “I think I could benefit from some alone time.”

  Landon snickered as he grabbed me around the waist and tugged me to his lap. “That sounds nice. I’ll take it.”

  “Good.”

  “I think it sounds like a great idea,” Aunt Tillie offered. “You’re both on edge. It’s not healthy to be agitated as much as you’ve been over the past few days. You should go to one of those day spas and get a couple’s massage.”

  “I don’t generally agree with Aunt Tillie, but a day spa visit does sound fun,” I said. “I’ll even pay because you’ve been put through the wringer this weekend.”

  “We’ll split the cost. And it hasn’t been that bad,” Landon countered. “I like the idea of this couple’s massage, though. As long as I don’t get a dude, I mean. I can’t handle a dude massaging me.”

  “The dude will be massaging me.”

  “Yeah, in my head I’m going to picture a woman.”

  “Duly noted.”

  We lapsed into comfortable silence and watched Aunt Tillie work. She seemed determined – and to know what she was doing – so I felt doubly blessed. If she could reverse the spell everything would be set right. Sure, a few people might have some funky memories of the last few days, but there was nothing we could do about that.

  When I glanced back at Landon I found him staring out the window. He seemed interested in something he saw on the street. I followed his gaze, frowning when I saw Mrs. Little heading in our direction.

  “Speaking of trouble … this can’t be good.”

  “What is it?” Thistle asked, lifting her head. She scowled when Mrs. Little pushed open the door and walked in without invitation. “I knew I should’ve locked that thing.”

  “Quick, someone get the priest and rosary, and I’ll start the exorcism,” Aunt Tillie deadpanned, her gaze locking with Mrs. Little.

  “Oh, you’re so very funny, Tillie,” Mrs. Little said, glaring at her nemesis. “May I ask what you’re doing in
here?”

  “We’re playing a game,” Clove replied. She was always the worst when it came to making up lies to cover our actions. “It’s called Ring Around the Cauldron.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mrs. Little wet her lips. “I saw you all come in here, and I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been forcing people to reverse wishes at the well. That’s not what the well was intended for.”

  “The well also wasn’t intended to grant real wishes,” I pointed out.

  “No one is talking to you, Bay,” Mrs. Little sniffed. “In fact, I’m pretty sure no one wants to talk to you. I’m here to talk to Tillie.”

  “I want to talk to you, Bay,” Landon offered when I turned my incredulous eyes to him. “In fact, I wish you and I were the only two people in the world right now.”

  “Ignore them,” Aunt Tillie suggested when Mrs. Little’s eyebrows winged up. “They have overactive hormones. What do you want to talk to me about, Margaret?”

  “This … thing … you’re doing here,” Mrs. Little replied, staring at the cauldron. “You’re not planning to make some sort of … potion … and throwing it in the cauldron, are you?”

  She obviously expected us to deny it, but Aunt Tillie was well past that point.

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do,” Aunt Tillie replied. “Everything will be back to normal in an hour. I hear you’re inexplicably popular – which is just baffling – so you might want to enjoy it while you can.”

  “I happen to be a lovely person,” Mrs. Little gritted out. “I’m popular because of my attitude.”

  I snorted so hard I almost choked. Landon patted my back to soothe me.

  “You’re meaner than Aunt Tillie when her combat helmet is too tight,” Thistle sputtered. “How can you possibly say that with a straight face?”

  “Because it’s true,” Mrs. Little answered, serene. “I’m a genuinely popular person.”

  “Not for long,” Aunt Tillie said. “In an hour you’ll be back to your true self.”

  Mrs. Little narrowed her eyes. “Don’t push me. I won’t allow you near that wishing well. I have … contingencies … in place if you try.”