Witchdependence Day: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 8) (5 page)

“Come on,” she prodded. “The storm is still pretty active. We should get some sleep.”

“I’m coming,” I said, pushing the door shut and latching the lock. “I’m right behind you.”

I
didn’t think
I would fall asleep, but the rain drove me under minutes after my head hit the pallet. I didn’t stir again until my cell phone rang the next morning.

“I’m going to make you eat that phone if you don’t answer it,” Thistle grumbled, jerking the blanket over her head.

Her sweetness factor decreases the earlier the morning hour.

I fumbled around the top of the blanket until I found my phone. “Hello.”

“It’s the end of the world!”

I recognized the voice without checking the number. “Good morning, Aunt Tillie,” I said, swallowing my weary sigh. “How are you?”

“Did you hear me?” Aunt Tillie barked. “It’s the end of the world!”

I was used to her histrionic fits so I didn’t put a lot of stock in her early morning meltdown. “Zombies or aliens?”

The silence on the other end of the call told me my joke landed on the wrong side of Aunt Tillie’s funny bone. “You get more and more like Thistle and Bay the more time you spend with them,” Aunt Tillie said.

“I think that’s a compliment,” I said, patting Thistle’s head under the blanket as she growled.

“I’m going to kill that old woman,” she threatened. “I’m going to hit her over the head with a shovel and bury her where no one can find her.”

“Tell Thistle I heard that,” Aunt Tillie said.

There was no way I was risking Thistle’s wrath before she had her first jolt of coffee. “What can I do for you, Aunt Tillie? It’s not even seven yet.”

“Which means it’s the middle of the night and she wants to die,” Thistle hissed.

“I heard that, too,” Aunt Tillie said. “Tell Thistle I’m going to curse her to smell like rotten potatoes if she’s not careful.”

“I will … relay that message at some point during the day,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

Thistle pulled the blanket down and glared at me. “What did she just say?”

“She said she loves you and can’t wait to see you today,” I lied.

Thistle and Aunt Tillie snorted in unison, and not for the first time I wondered whether Thistle would evolve into the cantankerous matriarch as she aged. That was a sobering thought. “What were we talking about?”

“We were talking about the end of the world,” Aunt Tillie said. “I need you out at my special garden right away. Civilization is breaking down. We have to prepare ourselves for Armageddon.”

Most people would ask questions, or at least feign worry. I was fairly certain Aunt Tillie was spouting nonsense for dramatic purposes. I knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t let it go until I agreed to ride to her rescue. “Give me thirty minutes.”

“Did you not hear me about the end the world?”

“I did hear you, but I can’t get out there right this second,” I replied. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

“No one cares about that,” Aunt Tillie barked. “I don’t want to kiss you, just bend your ear and utilize your investigative talents. Swallow some mouthwash and move your butt. The world is about to end and I need a big stick to fight off evil.”

Well, good. I love it when she carries around a big stick. She often whistles while she does it and makes growling noises at birds. The visual is hilarious.

“I’m on my way.” I ended the call and glanced at Thistle, smiling at her mussed hair and murderous expression. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Ha, ha,” Thistle intoned. “What does that crazy old bat want now?”

“She mentioned something about the end of the world.”

“Zombies or aliens?”

I chuckled. Thistle got my sense of humor and it was only one of the things I loved about her. “She says I have to meet her at her field.”

“Oh, great,” Thistle muttered. “Someone probably tripped the wards last night. Teenagers are always out there looking for pot. Aunt Tillie’s field is the worst kept secret in Hemlock Cove.”

“No one can find it, though.”

“You can,” Thistle pointed out. “She must’ve rigged the spell so you can see it. The only other people who can readily see it share Winchester blood … and, well, Annie. She’s a kid, though. She has no idea what she’s looking at.”

“I never asked why I’m able to see it,” I said. “What do you have on your schedule today?”

“We’re running a booth at the festival.”

“Well, I’ll run out to the inn and see what she’s all worked up about and then meet you at the festival for lunch. How does that sound?”

“That sounds perfect,” Thistle said, rolling over to rest her chin on my chest. “I’ll make it worth your while if you stand that old lady up.”

It was a tempting offer, but the idea of Thistle smelling like rotten potatoes for a week didn’t exactly fill me with delight. “I’ll take a rain check,” I said, kissing the tip of Thistle’s nose. “She’ll take it out on you if I’m late.”

“Good point,” Thistle said. “Hit her over the head with a shovel while you’re out there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You’re a funny girl, Thistle Winchester.”

“I should have my own comedy show,” she agreed. “I’m not joking about this, though. Aunt Tillie is up to something. I can feel it.”

Sadly, I could feel it, too.

I
PARKED
in front of The Overlook and skirted the inn instead of entering through the front door. I didn’t want to explain my presence – or Thistle’s absence – so I thought it better to avoid probing questions from Winnie, Marnie and Twila, and head straight to the source of my morning wake-up call.

I knew the Winchester property as well as my own by this point, and I was lost in thought as I walked the path that led to the pot field. I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings, and I was almost to my destination when Landon appeared in front of me.

I pulled up short, surprised by his sudden appearance. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Um … good morning?”

“It is a lovely morning,” Landon agreed, his hair freshly washed and still wet as it brushed against his shoulders. “How are you this lovely morning?”

Uh-oh. Something was off here. “I’m great,” I replied, tilting my head to the side as I considered Landon’s stance. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he blocked my way to the pot field. That had to be on purpose. “How are you?”

“I slept great,” Landon replied, feigning brightness. “The guesthouse was quiet because Thistle wasn’t there to get Bay going about that stupid craft room. The storm was loud and it knocked us right out.”

“It was pretty much the same for us,” I said. “Although … we did have a slight incident.”

Landon arched an eyebrow and remained silent.

“I woke up in the middle of the night because someone was screaming and Thistle was gone,” I supplied, racking my brain for ways to get Landon out of my path without explaining where I was heading. I was fairly certain he would never arrest me, but I didn’t want to give him a reason to try. “I ran outside, but it was two teenagers playing chase games.”

“Where was Thistle?”

“In the bathroom.”

“So that’s really a non-story, isn’t it?” Landon narrowed his eyes as he looked me up and down. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Crud. You’re never supposed to answer a question with a question. Bay taught me that. It was too late now. “I mean, why aren’t you up at the inn having breakfast?”

“Bay is still getting ready and had to handle something on her computer for the newspaper,” Landon replied. “I came out to check out the storm damage and I saw the funniest thing.”

Double crud. “What did you see?”

“I saw Aunt Tillie,” Landon said. “She was wearing pajama bottoms and a sleeping cap. I didn’t even know they still made sleeping caps. She had one on, though. She was whistling and swinging a big stick.”

“Oh … um … maybe she was sleepwalking.”

Landon rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “There’s only one reason she would be out here, and we both know what it is.”

“I have no idea,” I said, hoping my expression reflected confusion instead of subterfuge. “You have that keen investigative mind, though. You’re probably one step ahead of me. Heck, you’re probably ten steps in front of me.”

“Knock it off,” Landon said. “What’s going on at Aunt Tillie’s pot field? Why are you here?”

“I’m here because I love a good walk in the morning.”

“Liar.”

“I do,” I said, committing to my story though it didn’t make a lick of sense. “I find the best way to start a day is with a brisk walk.”

Landon wasn’t going to let it go. “Why didn’t you walk around the stables?”

“The storm made it really muddy.”

“It’s muddy here.”

“Not as muddy as the stables,” I said.

Landon knit his eyebrows. “Just tell me what Aunt Tillie is up to,” he said. “If something bad is about to happen, I need to know.”

I got his worry. Something bad always seemed to happen. Trying to stay ahead of it was never going to work, though. Trying to stay ahead of Aunt Tillie was something akin to running through a vat of superglue. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You suck,” Landon muttered, lifting his head when he heard Bay yell his name. “I guess it’s time for breakfast. Would you like to walk up to the inn with us?”

“I should finish my walk.”

“Right.” Landon blew out a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on. I hope you know that.”

“Good luck with that.” I clapped his shoulder, remaining rooted to my spot until I saw him join with Bay on the path leading back to the inn. She was giggly when she found him, her smile bright. They clearly had had a good night.

“They’re gross, right?”

I jumped when I heard Aunt Tillie’s voice behind me. She was near enough to crawl inside of me if she deemed it necessary. “You should wear a bell or something,” I said, turning to face her. “By the way, Bay and Landon are very cute.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t cute. I said they were gross.”

“I don’t think something can be gross and cute at the same time,” I argued.

“How about bats?” Aunt Tillie never met an argument she was willing to lose.

“I stand corrected,” I said, hoping to move things along. “What’s the big crisis?”

“Someone tried to break into the field last night,” Aunt Tillie said, leading me toward her private garden. “The wards held, but whoever it was meant business.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, genuinely curious. I shivered as we crossed the magical barrier that shielded her field. I couldn’t see it, but I always felt it.

“I put a spell on the field,” Aunt Tillie answered, shooting me a “well, duh” look. “I already told you that.”

“I understand that,” I said, tugging on my limited patience. “I want to know how you’re aware someone tried to cross the barrier. I mean … do you have an alarm?”

“Kind of,” Aunt Tillie said. “It’s more of a feeling than anything else. You can set an alarm, but it gets annoying if you forget to change the ringtone. There’s only so many times you can hear Eminem talk about losing himself before you want to lose your mind.”

Aunt Tillie’s taste in music was as eclectic as her wardrobe. I took the opportunity to look over her lavender pajamas and matching sleep hat, marveling at her audacity to walk around in the outfit. She didn’t care what anyone thought about her. It was an admirable – if sometimes annoying – trait. “So you just know they tried to cross the barrier multiple times last night?”

“Basically,” Aunt Tillie replied, gesturing toward the far side of the field. “They came in from that direction and crossed the barrier at least four different times. The wards held, so they didn’t find what they were looking for. They couldn’t see what was right in front of them.”

I followed her finger with my eyes. “Why would someone come on the property from that direction?” I asked. “There’s nothing in that direction for miles.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t an animal?” I asked. “People claim wolves have been sighted in this area, although I’ve yet to see one. A wolf might be big enough to trip the wards.”

“The wards don’t work on animals,” Aunt Tillie said, shaking her head. “The trespasser has to be human.”

“So … what do you think is going on?”

“Well, I’ve given it some thought and I figured that we’re either dealing with Bigfoot or zombies,” Aunt Tillie said.

“I knew zombies would play into this,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “What are your other options?”

“Teenagers out to steal pot – or something more nefarious.”

“Like what?”

Aunt Tillie shrugged. “That’s why I called you here,” she said. “I can’t figure out everything on my own. I need help occasionally.”

“How am I supposed to figure out who is trying to cross your wards?” I asked, confused.

“I figured you could camp out here tonight and catch whoever is doing it,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I would do it myself but … I don’t want to.”

Yeah, Thistle would just love that. “How do you know they will come back?”

“I have a feeling.”

“Kind of like the feeling you had that led you to believe someone tried to cross the wards last night?”

Aunt Tillie shook her head. “It’s a different feeling. I can’t explain it.”

That’s part of the problem with her. She always tells me she has “feelings” and then expects me to blindly follow her orders. I wasn’t in the mood to play games today. “Can’t we come up with a different solution?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “Maybe you should have Landon stake this place out. He would love to catch someone doing something. In fact, I think that’s about the only thing that’s going to relax him right now.”

“Yeah, he’s wound a little tight this weekend, isn’t he?” Aunt Tillie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to involve the Fed. He’ll start asking questions and threatening to arrest me if I don’t burn the field. He’s a real killjoy sometimes.”

“I thought you liked him,” I countered. “You even said it yourself.”

“I like him just fine,” Aunt Tillie said. “That doesn’t mean I want to take him into my confidence. You’re special. You get special treatment. Landon isn’t ready for the treatment.”

How did I get so lucky? “I can’t stake out the pot field tonight,” I said. “I have plans with Thistle and a bunch of stuff to do for the festival. Can’t you set a different spell to track the person trying to cross over?”