wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch (8 page)

“You’ll never know unless you let us prove ourselves to you,” Clove added.

She had a point. Still, I didn’t want a dog. “You’re going to have to get used to the fact that you are not getting a dog for Christmas.”

“Bah humbug,” Thistle muttered.

“And don’t you forget it.”

“WELL,
he came downtown after he left his house,” I said, wrinkling my nose as I studied the path. Luckily for us, only witches could see the magical line. Downtown bustled with activity, and explaining a glowing trail that popped up out of nowhere wasn’t something I looked forward to tackling.

“What was he doing?” Clove asked.

“Do I look omnipotent?”

“I have no idea what that means, but some people think you look like a hobbit,” Clove replied, not missing a beat.

I scowled. “You really are turning into a pain like your cousins.”

“Thank you.”

After parking my car behind the library, I led the girls downtown so I could study the spell. People waved as they passed, ridiculous smiles on their faces as they wished me “merry Christmas” and “happy holidays.” It would be easier if they bought a clue and didn’t’ talk to me.

“The trail leads out of town,” Bay said. “That means he ran away and isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, right?”

“Probably,” I conceded. “We don’t technically know that he ran away, though. Maybe he had a family emergency or something.”

“Just because he ran away out of town, that doesn’t mean he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere,” Thistle said.

“Stop with the ditch!”

The face Thistle made was comical enough to make me smirk. The girl has star quality sometimes.

“Wherever Bernard is, he’s not here,” I said.

“Are we going to go after him?” Bay asked.

I knew what she was really asking. She wanted to know if laziness would stop me from keeping my promise. “We’re going to follow the trail for as long as we can,” I hedged. “If it goes too far, though … .”

“We have to turn around because our moms will have a fit and you’ll be in big trouble,” Bay finished. “I get it.”

“Bay, I’m doing the best I can,” I said. “I … .”

“Uh-oh.” Clove’s singsong warning drew my attention to the other side of the town square, where Poppy Stevens – Lila’s hand clasped tightly in hers as she dragged her along – was heading in my direction. She appeared to have something on her mind. The closer she got, I realized she appeared to still have something on her lip, too – and it was growing.

“Well, girls, today is your lucky day,” I said, straightening. “I think you’re going to get another Christmas present.”

“Are you going to make her strip naked and dance in the town square?” Thistle asked. “That’s what you promised.”

It was an interesting suggestion. Unfortunately, there were too many people hanging around for me to pull it off and slink away without anyone noticing. “We’re saving that one for the summer, when it’s warmer,” I replied. “We want to make her pay, but we don’t want to kill her with frostbite. That’s an important distinction.”

“Hurting bad,” Thistle said, her tone mocking.

“Revenge pretty,” Bay finished, giggling.

I was starting to like them more and more as their evil inclinations got a foothold. By the time Poppy stopped in front of me, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, I was ready for just about anything.

“Mrs. Winchester, it has come to my attention that you threatened my daughter the other day,” Poppy said, her face murderous. “I’m here to tell you that things like that won’t be tolerated.”

Lila was smug as she crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t nearly as adorable on her as it was on me.

“Really? What are you going to do to me if I threaten little Licorice again?”

“Her name is Lila,” Poppy snapped. “If you threaten her again I’ll report you to the police. How do you like that?”

“My word against a ten-year-old terror who has been suspended from school three different times for sticking gum in other kids’ hair? I’m fine with that.”

My response must have thrown Poppy, because it took her a few moments to collect herself. “Mrs. Winchester, I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation. My daughter has been plagued by nightmares – she actually thinks you’re going to curse her with a … beauty mark … above her lip – and I don’t think it’s funny to purposely scare children.”

“I didn’t threaten her with a beauty mark,” I shot back. “I threatened her with herpes … like you have.”

“From the mailman,” Thistle added.

“I do not have herpes,” Poppy hissed. “It’s a beauty mark.”

“Whatever,” I said. I don’t have time for this. “We need to be somewhere. Unless you want me to give you a … beauty mark … to match on your bottom lip, you’re going to want to get out of my face.”

“Oh, don’t be crass,” Poppy said. “We all know you’re all talk. You might have everyone in this town fooled into thinking you’re some powerful witch, but I know the truth. You’re nothing but a bitter old woman, and you’re teaching these little … hellions … to be just as obnoxious as you are.”

Well, that did it. You can call me a lot of things, but bitter isn’t one of them. Bitchy? Sure. Bitter? This woman is asking for it. And hellions? Okay, yeah, that fits. I didn’t hesitate, instead gathering a limited supply of power and flinging it in her direction. I didn’t have the ingredients necessary to handle the herpes threat, but I made a mental note to tackle that before bed. It isn’t going to be a merry Christmas in the Stevens household. I can practically guarantee that.

Poppy’s haughty countenance faltered when she felt something breezy whip past her nether regions. She frowned and glanced down, horrified to find a rip in the crotch of her pants and her over-sized cotton underwear on display.

“What the … ?”

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Lila asked, faux concern washing over her features. “I thought you were going to have Mrs. Winchester arrested. That’s what you told me. Do it.”

“Shut up, Lila,” Poppy snapped, dropping Lila’s hand and covering the spot where her thighs met. “I … what just happened here?”

“I have no idea,” I replied. “Perhaps your ego got so big it ripped your pants.”

“These are brand new pants!”

“Maybe you’re fat,” Thistle suggested.

Poppy’s eyes were dangerous slits when they landed on Thistle. “I am not fat!”

“Your head is,” Bay said. She tugged on my arm, drawing my attention to her. “We need to go. We don’t have a lot of time before dinner.”

She was right. I cast one final smile in Poppy’s direction and then gestured for the girls to head toward the car. “Have a very merry Christmas, Poppy. You, too, Lapdog.”

“Mommy! What is going on? You said you were going to make Mrs. Winchester cry.”

“I think she’s the one who wants to cry now,” I said, leaving Poppy to haphazardly attempt to cover herself – and her unfortunate granny panties – while I led my great-nieces from the spectacle.

“It would’ve been better if she was naked,” Thistle said.

“And crying,” Clove added.

“Next time.”

Eight

“Where are we?” Thistle asked, peering out the car window. She was in the back seat with Clove. Bernard’s magical trail took us farther away from Walkerville than I would have liked.

“Traverse City,” I replied, my eyes scanning the frozen Grand Traverse Bay. “We’re in Traverse City.”

“Why would he come here?” Bay asked from the passenger seat. “You can’t even swim now.”

That was a very good question. “I don’t know,” I said, following the trail as it led me around the bay and toward Traverse City’s hospital district. The moment I saw Munson Medical Center pop into view, my heart sank.

“Is he in the hospital?” Clove asked, recognizing the building. “Maybe he is dead after all.”

“I told you,” Thistle said.

“You told us he would be in a ditch,” I shot back. “He’s clearly not in a ditch.”

“He’s probably dead in the hospital,” Thistle argued. “I was half right.”

When I realized the magical line extended past the hospital, I stuck my tongue out so Thistle could see it in the rearview mirror. “Ha, ha, little missy, you were wrong,” I said. “He’s not even at the hospital.”

I didn’t miss the relieved sigh when it escaped Bay’s mouth.

“Where is he?” Clove asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Wherever it is, I think it’s right here.” I followed the trail and pulled into the small parking lot belonging to a brick building about four lots from the hospital, frowning when I read the sign over the door.

“What does it say?” Thistle asked.

“I … .”

“Bay Breeze Wellness,” Bay replied, reading the sign. “Is this a mental hospital?”

Thistle may be the diabolical one, but Bay’s reasoning skills are second to none. “That’s what it kind of looks like, doesn’t it?”

“Holy crap! Are you saying Santa is crazy?” Clove can turn nothing into something in the blink of an eye. In this case, I hoped she was being overly dramatic, as was her nature. If Bernard really had gone round the bend … well … we would be one Santa short at the town party while he was probably eight eggs short of a dozen in his mind.

“We don’t know why he’s here yet,” I cautioned. “For all we know, he could be visiting someone.”

“Yeah, maybe his sister went crazy or something,” Thistle suggested.

That was a heart-warming thought.

“What happens now?” Bay asked.

“Now we go inside and find out what’s going on.”

“Are they even going to let us wander around a mental hospital?” Thistle asked.

“I … have no idea,” I admitted. “We won’t know until we ask.” I killed the engine and shoved the keys into my purse. “When we get in there, you guys let me do all the talking.”

“That’s a horrible idea,” Thistle said.

“Why?”

“Because if you do all the talking they’ll try to keep you, and then what happens to us? We’ll be stuck here and miss Christmas. I don’t like this idea one bit.”

I narrowed my eyes. Thistle’s attitude is funny only when she directs it at other people. “They’re not going to try to keep me.” I’m almost positive that’s true. “Stop worrying about things that can’t possibly happen.”

“Just so I know, if they do try to keep you, will I get to make a phone call so Mom can come and get us?” Bay asked. “It’s like jail, right? We get one phone call so we won’t be trapped here.”

“They’re not going to keep me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Clove said, her expression serious. “I would miss you … even if you are mean to me sometimes.”

“Shut up and get out of the car,” I ordered. “Make sure you don’t talk unless I tell you to. Oh, and Clove, be ready to cry if things go bad. You know what I mean, right?”

Clove smiled. “I won’t let them take you without a fight.”

THE
woman sitting behind the front desk looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. I didn’t blame her. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She probably watched the clock, counting down to when she could start her holiday break. Hopefully that would work to my advantage.

The receptionist shifted her head in my direction when she heard the door shut, wrinkling her nose as she looked me up and down. She was obviously thrown by the appearance of children.

“Are you lost?”

I bit my tongue in an effort to hold in the nasty retort I wanted to lob in her direction. “I don’t think so,” I replied, forcing a pleasant smile. “We’re … looking for a friend.”

“I see,” the woman said. The nameplate on her desk read “Evelyn,” although her platinum blond hair made her look more like a Tiffany. I probably shouldn’t judge her before I talk to her more. Oh, fudge on a stick, who cares about that? I’ll bet she’s as dumb as she looks. “And who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for my son,” I said, the lie easily rolling off of my tongue. “His name is Bernard Hill. I was told he was here. That’s a relief, because I’ve been looking for him for days. I have a weak heart, so it could give out at any time. Knowing where my son is before Christmas will help calm me.”

Bay cast me a sidelong look. I couldn’t tell whether she was impressed with the lie, but she wisely kept her mouth shut.

“You’re Bernard Hill’s mother?” Evelyn wrinkled her nose again as she checked her intake records. “He looks too old to be your son.”

“It’s the crazy,” I said. “It makes him appear older.”

“The crazy?”

What? I’m sure that’s a real thing. “Can I see my son?”

Evelyn glanced at the girls, her expression unreadable. “You want to take them into the back to see Mr. Hill? May I ask why?”

I wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but I wisely kept that sentence to myself. “He’s their … uncle.” Wait … did the math add up for that?

“He’s our godfather,” Bay corrected, catching me off guard. “The only thing we want for Christmas is to see him, and our grandmother agreed to bring us because she doesn’t want our Christmas to be ruined.”

I wanted to smack her, but because hers was a better lie than the one I came up with, I let it slide. “Yeah, what she said.”

“Bernard is your godfather?” Evelyn brightened. “That’s so nice. Are you guys close?”

“We’re closer than close,” Bay replied. “That’s why our Christmas will be ruined if we don’t get to see him.”

“We’ve been crying for days,” Clove interjected. “We had no idea where he was. He wanted all of this to be a secret.”

“We want him to know that it’s okay that he’s … sick,” Thistle added. “We don’t want him to be sad or afraid to tell us.”

“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Evelyn said, her hand landing in the spot above her heart. “This is the time of year for all things good to happen. You girls are angels.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling us,” Bay said, shooting me a look. “Can we see him?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn hedged. “He’s … kind of in a rough spot right now.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We’re used to crazy. We like it.”

“We don’t really use that word here,” Evelyn chided.

“Oh, I’m hip,” I said. “I’m cool calling him insane.”

Evelyn frowned.