wicked witches 07.6 - bewitched

by Amanda M. Lee

  “You scared me,” Clove said. “You had it coming.”

  “You can’t just walk around slapping people,” I said. “That’s mean. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Well … then you should announce your presence when you walk into someone’s … spot in the woods,” Clove said, her cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry I hit you. That wasn’t nice.”

  “Did you think I was Bigfoot?”

  Clove narrowed her eyes, screwing her face up into what I’m sure she considered a diabolical look. Unfortunately, it was too adorable to be considered anything other than entertaining. “I hope Bigfoot eats you for his next snack.”

  In her mind she probably thought that was a terrible thing to say. I waited a moment to see if the guilt would catch up to her. I wasn’t disappointed.

  “That was a really horrible thing to say,” Clove said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I accept your apology.”

  Clove covered her upper lip with her lower as she stared at the ground.

  “You don’t have to worry about my feelings being hurt,” I offered. “I didn’t really think you wanted Bigfoot to eat me.”

  “Still, it wasn’t a nice thing to say,” Clove said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I think Bay and Thistle are a bad influence on me sometimes. I was in a good mood until … .”

  “You saw me?” I prodded.

  “Actually, I was going to say I was in a good mood until you scared the life out of me,” Clove replied. “If you must know, seeing you doesn’t dampen my mood.”

  For some reason, the statement warmed me. “I see.”

  “Don’t let that go to your head,” Clove warned, extending a finger. “I didn’t say seeing you made me happy.”

  “Duly noted,” I said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing out here?”

  “Oh, well … .” Clove looked caught, and I was pretty sure I knew why.

  “Did you come out to see the Dandridge?”

  “Maybe,” Clove hedged.

  Realization washed over me. “I’m guessing you’re interested in seeing the Dandridge but you don’t want to see me.”

  “That’s not exactly it,” Clove said.

  “Clove, I had a really long night,” I said, tugging on my limited patience. “If you don’t want to tell me why you’re here, then … you can help me clean up.” I handed her the garbage bag. “Hold that open.”

  Clove wordlessly took the bag and watched as I picked my way around the clearing and gathered the trash. Her face was hard to read, and finally I couldn’t take the silence one second longer.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking that you’re a little old to be partying in the woods,” Clove replied, not missing a beat. “I’m not judging you, but once you hit twenty-five you’re officially too old to be drinking Milwaukee’s Best around a bonfire … especially when you have a perfectly good lighthouse to drink in.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Do you really think I drink Milwaukee’s Best?”

  Clove shrugged. “For all I know you could be drinking on a budget.”

  “Honey, I would rather give up drinking than imbibe this swill,” I said, dropping the final can into the bag. “You don’t have to worry about me being so poor I have to drink Milwaukee’s Best. I’m not rich, but I’m not destitute either.”

  Clove didn’t look convinced. “Then why were you partying in the woods?”

  “I wasn’t partying in the woods,” I protested. “There was a group of kids partying out here last night. I interrupted them and told them I was going to call the police. They left before cleaning up their mess.”

  “That’s disappointing.”

  “Teenagers,” I said. “They do what they do. I don’t know how disappointing it is. It was rude. Disappointing, though? Meh.”

  “I was talking about you,” Clove said, closing the bag and handing it to me. “Don’t throw those cans away. Michigan has a returnable law. You need to take the cans back to the store.”

  “I’ve lived in Michigan my entire life,” I shot back. “I know about the returnable law.”

  “I was just checking. I don’t want you to inadvertently break the law.”

  “Yes, the hard time I would be sentenced to for throwing away a beer can would haunt me for a very long time,” I deadpanned. “What did you mean when you said you were disappointed in me?”

  “It’s nothing bad,” Clove replied. “I just never pictured you as a snitch.”

  “I’ll have you know that Chief Terry stopped out here yesterday to warn me about kids partying in the woods,” I explained. “Some guy named Lionel has been complaining. He thinks they’re sacrificing chickens.”

  Clove giggled. “I love Lionel,” she said. “Last year he thought clowns were invading because someone’s tablecloth blew off their clothesline in the middle of a storm and he thought the clown from It was spying on him. He kept ordering people to lay siege to the sewage plant – even though we don’t have one.”

  “I came out here to see what they were doing,” I said. “One of the kids got mouthy, so I told him I was going to call Chief Terry. For the record, I didn’t. The threat was enough to make the kids scatter, though.”

  “Without picking up their mess,” Clove surmised. “I get it. I’m sorry for thinking you were partying in the woods. That’s probably worse than hitting you, huh?”

  “Probably,” I agreed, rolling my eyes.

  “Well, um, I guess I should be going,” Clove said, shifting her feet as she glanced around. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

  I considered letting her go, but a niggling voice inside wouldn’t let me. “Clove, do you want to see the Dandridge?”

  Clove’s face split with a wide grin. “Yes, please.”

  “Come on,” I said, heading back in the direction of the lighthouse. “By the way, do you like gardening?”

  “I love gardening. Why?”

  “I have a way you can pay me back for hitting me,” I said. “I think you’re going to really enjoy it.”

  “I CAN’T believe you’re making me do this,” Clove huffed an hour later, her hands covered by the gardening gloves as she yanked on the thistle plant. “Do you have any idea how much these prickly things hurt?”

  “Why do you think I gave up yanking it out yesterday?”

  “You’re a putz,” Clove muttered, giving the weed another tug and flying backward when the root system finally gave way. She landed with a grunt, causing me to chuckle.

  “Have you ever considered that you’re not great at insulting people?” I asked, opening the lawn and leaf bag so Clove could shove the huge thistle stalk inside.

  “I’ll have you know that I’m great at insulting people,” Clove countered. “I’m a Winchester. The ability to insult people comes with the genes.”

  “I’ve noticed how good your family is at it,” I conceded. “I don’t think you’re good at it, though. I think you want to be good at it because you think you should be able to equal Thistle and Bay when they get in a mood, but you’re too sweet.”

  “I’m not sweet,” Clove scoffed. “I’m … mean.”

  “Yes, you’re terrifying.”

  “No one needs the sarcasm,” Clove said. “Fine. You’re probably right. I am terrible at insulting people. That doesn’t mean I’m sweet.”

  “It wasn’t an insult, Clove,” I pointed out. “Being sweet isn’t a bad thing.”

  “It is in my family.”

  I tilted my head to the side as I looked her up and down. She sat on the ground, carefully folding the stalk so it fit in the bag. She had a smudge of dirt on her nose and she seemed intent on her task. It probably wasn’t the time for a deep conversation. I didn’t want to lose my chance to question her about her family, though.

  “What’s the deal with you guys?” I asked finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  That was a loaded question. “You fight l
ike cats and dogs, people in town swear up and down Aunt Tillie once shrank some guy’s … um … family jewels and then he accidentally popped it like a zit, and you all seem to turn on each other when the mood strikes.”

  “I think you’re only seeing what you want to see,” Clove argued. “You don’t want to like us because you’re upset about Bay kicking you out of the inn. She had a good reason for that, by the way. You know that. You just don’t want to admit it.

  “We do fight, though,” she continued. “I think most families fight. They might not be as loud as we are, but we always know where we stand with one another. Despite the fights, my family is loyal. No matter how angry Bay and Thistle get with me, I know they’ll always be there for me. That’s what a true family is all about.”

  “That was almost poetic,” I said, offering her a rueful smile. “I would be lying if I said your family didn’t fascinate me. And, for the record, I do understand why Bay is upset. I should’ve told her the truth from the beginning. That’s on me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Clove’s expression was so earnest she momentarily resembled a child.

  “I guess it was fear,” I explained. “I’ve always wanted to find someone else who shared my gift. I never considered how I would feel if someone was spying on me. I just … wanted to see what she could do.”

  “I understand the curiosity,” Clove said. “You went about this the wrong way, though.”

  “Do you think your family will ever forgive me?”

  “I have no idea,” Clove said. “I guess we’ll both have to wait to find out.”

  “Does that mean you’re leaving?”

  “I can’t leave,” Clove said, shooting me a small smile. “If I don’t stay, this thistle will destroy your entire garden. I know a thing or two about controlling … thistle.”

  “Very cute,” I said, taking the lawn and leaf bag from her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Now, tell me about the kid who popped a pimple and became a priest,” I instructed. “That sounds like a great story.”

  Four

  “So, wait … are you saying that Aunt Tillie curses you whenever she feels you’re being disrespectful?”

  Three hours later Clove and I remained in the garden, work was mostly forgotten. We sat on the small patio’s pavers, drinking from water bottles as she regaled me with a series of hilarious family stories that boggled the mind.

  “Aunt Tillie has cursed me so many times I’ve lost count,” Clove confirmed.

  “I need examples,” I said. “I can’t picture this. Are you saying she did it when you were little, too?”

  “Oh, she did it regularly when we were little,” Clove said. “She once cursed Bay so she could only make right turns. It took her forever to get where she was going for an entire week.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “And how did Bay react?”

  “She was furious.”

  “I can imagine.” I tried to picture the scene, but it was practically impossible. The Bay I knew was not someone I could envision walking in an endless series of circles to get to the newspaper office. “What’s the deal with Bay?”

  “What do you mean?” Clove asked, knitting her eyebrows together. “She’s my cousin. She’s a reporter. She’s dating an FBI agent. What else do you want to know?”

  “She seems … angry.”

  “Bay isn’t angry,” Clove replied, shaking her head. “She’s … cautious.”

  “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings,” I said. “I know Bay doesn’t like me. I understand why she doesn’t like me. I’ve probably earned it. You have to understand, when I came to town I was excited because I thought I was finally going to meet some actual witches.”

  I could tell my blunt explanation made Clove uncomfortable because she averted her gaze and focused on a nearby bush.

  “I know you guys are militant about keeping your secret,” I offered. “I get it. People react negatively to what they don’t understand. I understand, though. I’m different. You don’t have to hide from me.”

  “I’m not saying we’re witches,” Clove said, choosing her words carefully. “If we were, though, why would we hide it? Hemlock Cove is supposed to be full of witches and warlocks. We’re supposed to tell tourists that ghosts are running around … and maybe even some werewolves. Why would we hide what we are?”

  “If you’re really witches, right?” I was teasing, but she didn’t look amused, so I wiped the smirk off my face. “I think it’s one thing to pretend to be witches in a magically-branded town and even regale people with tales about Aunt Tillie’s notorious curses. I think it’s quite another thing to actually be witches in a magic town.

  “I think you guys are real witches pretending to be fake witches,” I continued. “It’s very … theatrical. It’s also completely unnecessary. Everyone in town knows what you are.”

  “Everyone in town thinks they know what we are,” Clove clarified. “Personally, I like to believe that I defy categorization.”

  She was definitely cute. There was no getting around that. She was also a member of the one family in town that hated me. Still, I was attracted to her. She felt the same way. I could tell by the way she kept tugging her hair behind her ear and casting quick looks in my direction out of the corner of her eye.

  Her family would never sit back and let us date, though. I inherently knew that without asking the question. It was like Romeo and Juliet … and we all know how that ended. “You’re a mystery,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Why did you admit Aunt Tillie cursed you five minutes ago and now you’re denying you’re a witch?”

  Clove’s cheeks colored. “I … didn’t think of that.”

  “It’s okay to admit you’re a witch,” I prodded. “Would it help if I told you my mother was a witch, too?”

  “Maybe a little,” Clove conceded. “What type of witch is she?”

  That was an odd question. “Um … the regular type.”

  Clove’s forehead wrinkled as she pondered my answer. “I don’t think you understand the question,” she said finally. “There are many different types of witches.”

  “What type are you?”

  “I’m an earth witch.” Clove’s response was simple and matter-of-fact. I couldn’t help but be surprised by her honesty.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I draw my power from natural elements,” Clove replied. “Our entire line consists of earth witches, although Aunt Tillie defies categorization, too, and Thistle is convinced she is part devil witch.”

  “Is that a real thing?”

  “No.”

  I chuckled as I considered what she was suggesting. “Are you saying you have actual powers other than seeing ghosts?”

  Clove stilled. “I don’t see ghosts.”

  Her answer was a dodge. I recognized that right away. “So Bay is the only one who can see ghosts,” I mused. “Why do you think that is?”

  “Aunt Tillie can see ghosts, too,” Clove responded. “She doesn’t like them, though, and she rarely acknowledges their existence. She says they’re needy … like a high school chick trying to date the quarterback even though she knows he’s really gay.”

  “I’m starting to think Brian might be right about her being crazy.”

  “Don’t ever say that unless you want Aunt Tillie to curse you,” Clove said, her tone serious. “If you thought that story about her turning that kid into a priest was a joke, it wasn’t.”

  “What about the pimple part?”

  Clove held her hands palms up and shrugged. “I have no firsthand knowledge of that situation.”

  “That’s probably a good thing,” I said. “So, what has Aunt Tillie cursed you with?”

  “Zits, ill-fitting pants … flatulence.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “I can see you’re struggling to hold it together,” Clove said. “That’s such a guy thing
to do, by the way. I was eight years old and Thistle decided to steal Aunt Tillie’s bra because she wanted to stuff it and pretend she had boobs.

  “She made me help her and we got caught,” she continued. “The next day we found that we made farting sounds whenever we walked. It was the worst day of my life – and I’ve almost died several times over the past year.”

  “You’re really cute.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about the intelligence associated with saying them. Clove’s smile was worth my embarrassment. “I … .” I didn’t get a chance to apologize … or make things worse … because the sound of a vehicle door closing in the parking lot drew my attention.

  “It’s Chief Terry,” Clove said, leaning forward. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

  “You’re not missing, right?” I asked, winking to let her know I was joking. “I would hate to get on Aunt Tillie’s bad side if she thinks I kidnapped you. I don’t want to make farting sounds for the rest of my life. That might seriously cut down on my business.”

  “Oh, if Aunt Tillie thought you kidnapped me, there’d be no need to worry about farting,” Clove said. “Dead people don’t fart.”

  “You sure know how to ruin a nice afternoon,” I said, pushing myself to a standing position so I could greet Chief Terry.

  “Hey,” Chief Terry said, furrowing his brow when he caught sight of Clove. “What are you doing here, Clove?”

  “I’m helping Sam garden,” Clove explained. “He doesn’t know how to yank out thistle without hurting himself.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” Clove sounded defensive. “I’m not doing anything.”

  Chief Terry glanced over his shoulder and studied the parking lot. “Where is your car?”

  “I parked downtown and walked out here,” Clove replied.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care?” I asked, my gaze bouncing between Clove and Chief Terry as I tried to figure out why Hemlock Cove’s top cop appeared to have his nose out of joint regarding a grown woman’s afternoon gardening activities.

  “I’ve known Clove her entire life,” Chief Terry replied, not missing a beat. “She’s not my daughter, but I’m extremely fond of her. I happen to know that her family isn’t keen on you, although no one will tell me the extended version of why they don’t like you. I keep getting an abbreviated version. I’m curious about how Clove ended up out here.”