“You know pregnant women are not supposed to go near litter boxes, right?”
“I do, now,” he said, sighing. “So much for asking you to help me.”
“And we have two Dobermans who have never seen cats. I have no idea what’s going to happen when they meet.”
“It’s temporary. They don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll keep them, and their allergens, and their litter box, in my room. You’ll never even know they’re here. Assuming you can stay out of my room.”
“What about boarding them?”
“Forrest tried. It didn’t work out.”
The yowls and growls coming out of the bag didn’t sound very kittenish. I tried to use my ‘sight’ to poke around, but all I could see were two, large spotted stomachs—one white, one bronze.
The cats screeched in protest at my intrusion, and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. “Those aren’t normal cats.”
Gus looked down at the bag, and thought about how to answer.
“You may as well tell me. I’ll find out, sooner or later.”
He sighed and looked past me, at some point down the hall. “They’re… kind of…”
“What? They’re kind of what?!”
“They’re… Asian leopards,” he said, looking guilty. “Forrest’s stepsister wants to start a breeding colony. They’re a little… feral.”
Was that what I was feeling?
“Are you fucking insane?!” I yelled at him. “You brought home two baby leopards? Are you crazy? What if they eat the Dobes? What if they eat us?”
He thought about it. “They probably won’t. They’re still young.”
“Have you ever even owned a normal cat before? Do you have any idea how to care for one?”
“I’m sure it’s not difficult. Witches have a natural affinity for cats. Besides, they’re only visiting. They’re not staying.” Gus said.
“They’ve already been here too long.” I sneezed.
“In case you forgot, we’re sharing this house, Miss Thing. You’re not the only one making decisions. Now, why don’t we get back to why you were in my room.”
I shuffled through one lie after another in my head—I was looking for the remote, I thought I’d do your laundry, the door flew open on its own—and discarded them all. The problem with talking to another witch, is that they can always tell when you’re lying. It gets annoying.
I sneezed again and finally said: “I was looking for the toad bones.”
“They’re not in my room.”
“I noticed. They’re not outside either.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
“None of your business, Ms. Nosy Parker.”
I tried to tune into the images in his head, to get the answer he wasn’t willing to tell me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you think I’m a neophyte?” He snapped, and blocked me from his thoughts before I saw much of anything.
Damn it. That was stupid of me.
“If I have to guard my thoughts from you, then maybe it’s time we re-think this arrangement. Because I will not live like that.”
“I’m sorry.” I said, my cheeks flushing red. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damned right it won’t.”
Gus pushed past me, then turned back around. “What’s with you, anyway? We both agreed that the Toad Bone Ritual was a fitting tribute to Grundleshanks, rather than just letting him rot. Besides, we don’t have a choice. That ritual needs to happen. So I don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on stopping me. And don’t tell me it’s your Aunt Tillie. She hasn’t been around since she crossed over. I would know.”
My mouth opened and closed a few times. What could I say? It totally was Aunt Tillie. She didn’t just push my fear buttons, she danced a jig on them.
But why couldn’t Gus see her? How could I convince him that his sight was on the blink? Unless he was right, and my imagination was on overdrive? I didn’t think I was imagining her though—or what had happened at the cemetery supper, or in Gus’s room.
“I’m afraid,” I finally said. “You saw how sick you got last night. What if this ritual actually is capable of destroying you? Even if you don’t think Aunt Tillie is really here, what if there’s a reason that thought keeps popping up in my head, dressed in Aunt Tillie’s skin? I like what we have. I don’t want anything to change.”
“Then you’d better take a snapshot, Miss Thing. The only thing the future is guaranteed to bring is change. The cauldron is always bubbling. Change is the very essence of life.”
And with that, he stomped into his room and slammed the door in my face.
Chapter 28
I stood there for a few minutes, shocked. I hated being at odds with Gus. I’d never seen that coldness in his eyes before, and it creeped me out.
Then I heard a screech and a yowl from Gus’s room, followed by a string of cuss words. So, I hustled my butt out of there. Last thing I needed was Gus thinking I had been standing there, eavesdropping on him and his feline monsters.
* * *
I grabbed my car keys and was about to leave to pick up my prenatal vitamins, when I got the oddest sensation from the cottage. It was wary about something.
I quieted my breathing and tried to sense what was causing the wards to get prickly. It was coming from the front yard.
I looked out the window and saw J.J., the stoner clerk from the Trading Post, walking up the front stairs, then back down and out to the street. Then he took a running start back up the stairs, his black Doc Marten boots thumping on the wood, only to stop before he hit the door, and run back down to the street.
I figured I’d better stop whatever he was doing, before the cottage decided he was a two-footed missile and turned him into a rhododendron.
I opened the door. “J.J., what in the world are you up to?”
He screeched to a halt and whirled around, whipping his stringy hair out of his eyes. “Oh, Dudette. You are here. I need you to do me a solid, but like, I’m scared shitless of your house.”
I could understand that. The cottage had turned J.J.’s great-great-grandfather into a rowan tree, when he tried to set fire to the place.
“Then stop poking the wards. Come in and act like a normal person.”
J.J. cautiously sidled up to the door, like he was worried the cottage would grow arms and grab him.
I yanked him inside. “Would you stop annoying my house,” I said. “Before it turns you into an end table?”
His eyes got big and the blood rushed from his face. “Maybe we could talk later. Like, maybe you can come by the Trading Post?”
“You’re here now,” I said. “The cottage has let you in. Talk to me before it changes its mind.”
He looked around, nervous, and edged closer to me. The smell of cigarettes, stale sweat and body odor was suddenly overwhelming. I ran for the bathroom.
* * *
When I came back out, J.J. looked like he was on the verge of passing out from fear.
“Sorry,” I said, pulling my hair back into a pony tail. “The perils of pregnancy. What can I help you with?”
“Nothing. I’m good. See you later.” He took off, running out the front door, down the stairs, down the walk and into the street.
I sighed. What a weird kid. I looked out the window, but he was long gone. So, I went out back to check on the puppies. They were ready to come in.
I lured them into my bedroom with puppy treats, and they promptly settled down on top of my bed. I petted them and left, locking the bedroom door behind me, to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally open. I wasn’t worried about Gus going in my room, I was worried about his baby leopards escaping and going on the prowl for a snack-sized canine.
Then I went down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. That’s when I noticed J.J. sneaking around in the back yard. It looked like he was trying to be stealthy. He had pulled his hood up over his head, to make himself les
s noticeable. But the huge KISS logo on the back, and the stained cargo pants with bulging pockets, gave him away.
I slipped on my gym shoes, then grabbed my shoulder bag and car keys. He was up to something, and I was going to find out what.
* * *
J.J. walked bent over, a magnifying glass to his eye, looking for something. He was so focused on what he was doing, he didn’t notice me standing on the back porch, watching him.
He wasn’t really going all that fast, mainly because he wasn’t moving in a straight line. He was meandering in a serpentine. More than a few times, he came dangerously close to walking into a tree. When he moseyed on down the path, I followed.
I was able to track him pretty easily. He was so totally immersed in whatever it was he was doing, he had no idea I was behind him.
When he cautiously entered the family cemetery, searching around the tombstones, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“Did you lose something?” I asked.
J.J. screamed and fell backwards over a tombstone, landing on top of my Great-Uncle Bertram’s grave. Then he screamed again.
“Would you stop that? It’s just me.”
J.J. kept screaming, until he was able to locate me, standing next to the angel statue at Lisette’s grave.
“Snap out of it before I slap you. I’m not a ghost. If you don’t believe me, I’ll be happy to kick you in your goonies.”
His hands crossed over his crotch and he sniffled. “Dudette. It really is you. I thought I was hallucinating. I hate this place. Who the hell has their own cemetery?”
“Then what are you doing here?” I asked, as I walked over and gave him a hand up. “I thought you were leaving.”
“Yeah… I thought I’d pay my respects to your Aunt Tillie before I go.” He said, brushing dirt off his pants and trying hard to look bashful and earnest.
“Did you think I buried her in the back yard?” I asked. “Is that why you were snooping there first? Or that I had chopped her into pieces and you needed a magnifying glass to find all of her?”
He looked at me blankly for a second, before he caught on. “Oh, right. Probably not so much.”
“So why don’t you knock it off and tell me what you’re looking for.”
“No disrespect, Dudette. But I would really rather not.” He shoved the magnifying glass into one of his pants pockets.
“Have you ever wondered why this place and I get along so well?” I asked. “It’s because we’re cut from the same cloth.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice a low whisper.
“It means the cottage isn’t the only one who can turn you into a tree.”
J.J.’s eyes widened.
You had to love J.J. He was so gullible and sweet. I figured it was due to random brain cells being atomized by his on-going love affair with all things marijuana. If he wasn’t human, he’d be a stuffed toy—albeit a dirty, slobbered-on, stinky one that was more than ready for the washing machine.
“So, cough it up. What are you looking for?”
He sighed, made a face and stared down at his dirt-covered sneakers. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
I looked at my watch. “Great. Then you can tell me in the car.”
Chapter 29
I grabbed his arm and dragged him with me—willing or not—over to Zed, my SUV. Zed had been Gus’s SUV, but I had traded him my red Mustang convertible when I moved out here, never expecting that Gus would soon be following me out.
“Dudette! Where are we going?!”
“I need to get to the pharmacy,” I said. “I can’t waste the day out here with you, while you debate whether or not to tell me the truth.”
* * *
Thankfully, it was warm enough that I could keep Zed’s windows rolled down as we drove into town. Because the smell from the kid was killing me.
“J.J., you know soap is supposed to be practical, not a decorative accent, right?”
“What are you getting at, Dudette?” He frowned at me. “I use soap.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “You shower every day with soap?”
“Well, no. It’s like bad for your skin. So I only use it once a week or so.”
“Seriously?” I glanced over at him, but he wasn’t laughing. “Not using soap is bad for your social life.”
“My buds don’t complain.”
“Between the cigarettes and the joints, your buds no longer have a sense of smell.” I turned the radio on, but the only station I could tune in was playing country, so I turned it off.
“You know what your problem is? You are a smell snob.”
“Just because I have a functioning nose, doesn’t make me a snob.” I tried to cast my mind out to J.J.’s apartment. The image I saw was dark. I could barely make out a rank-looking maroon-colored towel hanging on a bar by the shower.
“How often do you wash your towel?” I asked, then amended, “With detergent.”
He looked at me blankly. “I don’t know. Like… every month or two, I think. I mean, it’s not like I wear my towel.”
“That’s the problem. You’re taking a shower and then rubbing the stink back on when you dry off. You know what’s a good rule of thumb? When you wash your clothes, wash your towels. Pick one day a week and make it laundry day.”
“Seriously? Doing laundry that often would suck. I’ll just buy more towels.” He reached forward to turn the radio on, and the movement along with his sudden nearness, made me cringe.
I tried not to breathe as I turned the radio back off. “And if you forget the laundry in the wash, for like, a day or two—”
“—How’d you know that?” he asked. “Do you do that too?”
The smell was starting to make sense. “You need to re-wash it.”
“Why should I? I washed it once already. I just toss it in the dryer.”
I rolled my eyes, wondering how he ever got to his early twenties without learning the basics of hygiene.
“Besides, too much detergent is bad for you and the environment,” he said. “I try to be green and limit my use of chemicals.”
“But you smoke cigarettes? That’s worse than all the detergent boxes put together.”
“Nah, Dudette. I got righteous. I quit those ciggies from The Man. I don’t need to make some fat, old, white men rich by ingesting their toxic chemicals. I roll my own. Pure, homegrown tobacco leaf. The Marlboro Man can suck my—.”
“—Hey! What about soap nuts?” I interrupted. “They’re actually berries, so they’re totally natural, and they work on laundry. I think MyLife has them.” MyLife was the local organic store.
“Seriously? The Crunchy Granola Store has berries that can wash clothes? Berries?! That’s so totally fucked up. Do they work? What if you get wasted and try to eat them? Does your mouth soap up? Or do they kill you?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t we stop there and you can ask them. I’ll bet they even have some natural, gentle-to-the-earth organic soap for your showers, too. Maybe even some organic toothpaste.”
“Nah, I’m good for that. I use baking soda. If you’ve got baking soda, apple cider vinegar, tomato juice, coconut oil, aloe and mayonnaise, you can pretty much make everything you need. I make a killer hair conditioner with mayonnaise and coconut oil.”
“How long are you leaving that in, before you rinse it? Minutes? Or hours?”
“I get distracted sometimes,” he admitted.
That explained the stringy hair.
“J.J.!” I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever want to get laid?”
“Dudette! Are you propositioning me? I’d be totally into that.”
“No!” I said, laughing. “I’m just trying to point out to you, I’m all for being green, but you have to do it right. You can’t just slop food on your head and hope for the best.”
“The Jayster doesn’t believe in rules and recipes. I am all about experimentation.”
“The ‘Jayster’ seriously needs to decide what’s worse. Givi
ng in to personal hygiene? Or dying a virgin?”
“Ouch. Harsh.” He scratched his head, reminding me of the puppies when they had fleas. “Let me mull it over.”
* * *
I pulled up to the green loading zone, by the old-fashioned soda fountain/pharmacy on the corner of Main. It was a busy shopping day for the little town. Even the beauty salon was full for a change. All the parking spots, which were usually plentiful, were taken. But I figured J.J. could sit in the car for me, while I ran inside.
I turned the ignition off.
“Thanks for the lift.” He put his hand on the door.
I hit the lock button. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you were doing in my yard.”
He sighed. “It’s really stupid, Dudette.”
“Stupid is fine. I can use the diversion.”
“Okay, well, just remember you asked for it.”
“You are absolved. Lay it on me.”
He sighed. “You know how me and my buds have our stash growing out in the woods by Highway Two?”
I nodded.
“Since we’ve been having so many warm days in a row, we wanted to throw a ‘summer is back’ party. So we went out there to weed our garden, if you know what I’m sayin’. But it was all freaking gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Pulled up. By the roots. All that was left was some scattered buds and cuttings.”
“So what did you do?”
He looked around, nervously, and scratched his head again. “We took what we could find and went home. Buddy and Moe wanted to cure it and smoke a spliff, but it was a righteous plant, so me and Rafe wanted to clone it.”
“Clone it?”
“Yeah, it’s when you plant the cuttings. So we leg-wrestled for it and me and Rafe won. Buddy and Moe have like, no appreciation of delayed gratification.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“We decided we were gonna plant the cuttings where no one was ever gonna mess with them. And we knew you had a really cool—and private—piece of land.”
I laughed. “You planted your pot at my house?” Gus was going to love that.
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) Page 12