To Love a Witch

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Okay. I guess I can survive a few more days.”

  I hoped she was right.

  Twenty-One

  We waited until cover of darkness to set out in the canoe. We were halfway across the lake — Aunt Tillie opted for a more leisurely pace this time because we were trying to avoid discovery — when my phone dinged.

  “Hey!” Aunt Tillie twisted from her spot in the bow of the canoe. I could make out her features thanks to the moon — it wasn’t joy she was emitting. “You need to turn off your phone on an op. Everybody knows that.” She turned to Thistle for confirmation. “Tell her. Your phone is off, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Thistle nodded solemnly.

  I made a face when Aunt Tillie turned back to me. “I forgot. Give me a break.” Landon’s number was on the screen when I pulled out the phone. I had to avert my eyes from Aunt Tillie before I could answer. That didn’t stop me from noticing Thistle had her phone out and was only now silencing it. Typical.

  “Hi.” I whispered the greeting as I hunched in my seat and tried to pretend Aunt Tillie wasn’t glaring at me.”

  “How’s my favorite witch?” he asked.

  “Well, right now Aunt Tillie is glaring at me because I forgot to shut off my phone, so I guess it depends on which of us is your favorite.”

  “That’s not even a contest. I’m picking up takeout so you’ll have something to eat when you get back to the guesthouse tonight. Do you want a hot beef sandwich or spaghetti? It looks like they have that sauce you like.”

  “I’ll have the spaghetti.” Aunt Tillie growled, which made me shrink even further. “I don’t know that I can talk on the phone right now. We’re heading across the lake.”

  “Okay. I just want to remind you that it would be best for everybody if you didn’t get caught.”

  The admonishment made me smile. “We won’t get caught. I promise.”

  “I also want to remind you that I smell like doughnuts and I will have your favorite spaghetti waiting for you. I might even be naked.”

  That only made me grin wider. “I’ll keep that in mind. Hopefully we won’t be out here too long.”

  “That would be nice,” he agreed.

  “Hang up that phone before I throw it in the lake,” Aunt Tillie warned.

  “I have to go,” I said ruefully. “Aunt Tillie is going to start melting down.”

  “Okay. Just ... keep looking over your shoulder, Bay. Follow your instincts.”

  “I will.” This was hard for him. Before, he might’ve tried to come with us. He realized this was something we needed to do on our own ... and for more reasons than one. “I won’t be too late.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Landon.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “I love you, Bay.”

  Aunt Tillie was still scowling when I disconnected. “You guys are officially disgusting,” she lamented, shaking her head as she turned back to the approaching shore. “I mean officially disgusting.”

  “They’re totally disgusting,” Thistle agreed, shooting me a knowing look. “I think Bay should be punished for having her cell phone on when we left for a spying mission. Instead of doughnuts, you should make Landon smell like liver and onions.”

  I glared at her. “Don’t even ... .”

  “Liver and onions, eh?” Aunt Tillie turned haughty. “Maybe that’s what I’ll make Marcus smell like because you lied about having your phone off earlier. That might be justice.”

  Thistle’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

  “I have invisible eyes in my head.”

  “I think you mean eyes in the back of your head,” I countered.

  “I have invisible eyes everywhere,” Aunt Tillie said. “Now, shut your holes. We need to be quiet. We’ll never catch evil people if you two don’t stop yammering.”

  I wasn’t convinced we were going to catch evil people at all. She had a point, though, so I snapped my mouth shut.

  WE LEFT THE CANOE UNDER THE WILLOW again. The drooping branches provided natural cover, and it was a safe place to climb in and out of the canoe without tipping. If we needed to escape in a hurry, we would be able to do so unseen from here.

  Once on land, Aunt Tillie took the lead. She conjured magical sentries — balls of enthusiastic light — to illuminate our way. I wasn’t surprised when she led us right back to the spot where she’d wanted to throw the dynamite.

  “We’ll wait here,” she announced.

  “Great.” Thistle exchanged a quick look with me and then frowned at the ground. “I guess we’ll be sitting on the ground. We should’ve brought over some of those canvas chairs so we’d be comfortable.”

  “Shush!” Aunt Tillie pressed her finger to her lips.

  One look at her determined face told me it was going to be a long night.

  We got comfortable, Aunt Tillie positioned between us. It was still early, but I told myself that anyone coming out here to dig wouldn’t want to be out all night. If someone was going to risk coming out tonight, they’d probably do so fairly early.

  We sat in relative silence for the first hour. Aunt Tillie was intent on listening to every sound the forest had to offer. Thistle was busy filing her fingernails. I had nothing to do but stare at the moon. I was about to suggest we walk around — my backside was killing me because the ground was so hard — when I heard a sound.

  At first, I thought I’d imagined it. There was a slight breeze and the water was on the other side of us. It could’ve been the waves lapping the shore ... or even an animal.

  I heard it again.

  I glanced to Thistle to see if she was picking it up, and her eyes were keen.

  “Evil has arrived,” Aunt Tillie whispered, immediately hunkering lower to the ground and rolling to her stomach. She reminded me of a ninja, ready to do her business. She was dressed all in black — the inappropriate seashell leggings nothing but a distant memory — and she was intent on the direction of the noise.

  Because it was expected of us, Thistle and I followed suit. I’d tucked my blond hair up in a knit cap to hide it. Thistle’s hair was dark enough that it didn’t stand out in the limited light. I tensed, cocking my head, and then held my breath when I heard a voice.

  “We’ve already checked this area,” a female voice snapped, impatience practically flooding the crisp night air. “Why would we come back here?”

  “Mrs. Little,” Thistle mouthed when I risked a glance at her.

  I nodded. It was definitely Mrs. Little. It seemed Aunt Tillie had been right. Evil was most definitely here ... and Mrs. Little was at the center of all of this. We were never going to hear the end of it.

  “We’re out here because I’ve read the map,” a male voice shot back. “You’ve read it too. I know you have. Arlen Topper buried his treasure out here.”

  I stilled, surprised. Were they really looking for pirate treasure? Sure, I’d said as much to Landon, but I’d always thought it had to be a joke. I figured there was something simpler at the heart of this. Apparently I’d been mistaken.

  “No, I don’t know that,” Mrs. Little huffed, planting her hands on her hips as she stopped in the middle of the small clearing. She obviously thought they were alone, because she didn’t as much as glance around to see if anybody was watching. Of course, what were the odds anyone would sneak out to the property and hide in the bushes just to catch people trying to dig holes on a murder victim’s land? Yeah, I don’t want to do the math either.

  “How can you not know that?” The male voice was familiar, but I was having trouble making out his features given the way he positioned himself with his back to the moon. “I came to you when I found that map in the first place. You agreed the map indicated there was money to be found here.”

  “Out here, yes. Out here.” Mrs. Little used her “you’re being a moron” voice and gestured toward the expansive property. “It’s not as if they had tools to make this an exact science back then. If you ask me, the X on that ma
p could be just about anywhere.”

  “That shows what you know.” The man sounded frustrated, and the sarcasm he displayed was familiar. “I’ve studied that map over and over. I’m certain that the treasure is here.”

  Mrs. Little’s tone was withering. “Well, if you’re certain it must be true. You’re a man, so you can’t possibly be wrong.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. I’m just saying that I spent all this time studying the map.”

  “You also suggested I buy the campground so we’d have an easier time searching,” Mrs. Little fired back. “Look how that turned out.”

  “How was I supposed to know that an FBI agent was going to swoop in at the last second — with the help of an outside real estate agent for that matter — and buy the place out from under us? I would have to be a mind reader to know that.”

  “It seems we should’ve known.” Mrs. Little sounded bitter. “Tillie has made it her life’s mission to make me miserable. She knew I wanted that campground. Bay knew it too. I bet she used some sexual magic or something to get Landon to buy it for her. That seems right up her alley.”

  I frowned. I didn’t have sexual magic. Also, suggesting Landon could be duped by something like that was ... well, insulting was too kind a word. Of course, if I really did dress in a bacon costume and roll around in bacon grease for an hour he would most likely do whatever I asked. Scratch that. He could be duped.

  “Hey, I saw that chick up close and personal when she was in my office asking questions yesterday. I would let her manipulate me with sex.”

  Wayne. That’s why his voice sounded familiar. It now made sense that he was conspiring with Mrs. Little. They were essentially the same person, just wrapped in different costumes. Mrs. Little employed Wayne the first go-around when she wanted to buy the property, so it made sense that she would use him this time to finally complete the deal. They had another chance to get their grubby hands on the land — but why go through with the purchase if they could find what they were looking for and walk away without emptying their bank accounts?

  “Don’t be crass,” Mrs. Little admonished.

  “You just said you didn’t like her,” Wayne protested.

  “That doesn’t matter. You’re still crass.”

  “You also said she used her feminine wiles to convince that FBI agent to buy the campground for her.”

  “I’m sure she did. That doesn’t mean you can badmouth her. I don’t like it.”

  Mrs. Little had an interesting set of morals. The fact that she was standing up for my virtue now — well, kind of — fit her persnickety personality. The woman was often a mystery, one I rarely cared to unravel.

  I opened my mouth to whisper a suggestion to Aunt Tillie when another noise, this one from the west, drew my attention. I couldn’t be sure, but I was almost positive another figure was emerging from the darkness. My heart seized. I was convinced it was Valerie’s ghost coming to kill the trespassers. Instead, it was another familiar face — and he didn’t sound happy.

  “I knew you were out here. There’s no point in trying to hide.”

  It was only then that I realized Mrs. Little was trying to obscure herself behind a large tree. Her hips were too wide for it to be effective.

  “Nobody is trying to hide,” Mrs. Little snapped, stepping to the forefront and planting her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m doing the same thing you are. I’m looking for the treasure. Don’t be an idiot. I knew you would be out here — especially now that Heather is dead and you think you can steal this property. I have no intention of allowing you to make the discovery.”

  I shook my head. How could this be happening?

  “What makes you think we would possibly include you in this little outing, Eric?” Mrs. Little challenged, using a sickeningly sweet voice that turned my stomach. “After you screwed us, I told you it was the last time. We’re not working with you.”

  Eric Savage. This just kept getting weirder. Were they all working together?

  “Hey, it’s not my fault that the FBI agent used an outside representative to buy the campground,” he snapped. “We all thought that we were going to luck out when that property came on the market. He swooped in out of nowhere and stole it from us.”

  I smirked. The news that Landon had screwed up their plans made me happy, even as I tried to wrap my head around what sort of devil’s bargain this oddball trio had struck.

  “I’m not talking about the campground,” Mrs. Little fired back. “I’m talking about the Lakin house.” She gestured toward the dark house in the distance. “You knew we wanted it, but you sold it to an outsider.”

  “Hey, I’m a real estate agent,” Eric argued. “I didn’t seek her out. She came here looking for that specific house. It’s not as if I can just turn up my nose at a commission that big. I tried to fix things.”

  “Yes, by dating her,” Wayne noted. “That was so smart ... for you. The rest of us, however, didn’t have easy access to the property.”

  “I was going to figure out a way to get you guys out here,” Eric argued. I could tell he was lying. He wasn’t very good at it. “I didn’t have enough time. Things happened so fast. First Valerie ... and then Heather. It’s a mess.”

  That was a nice way of putting it.

  “Yes, speaking of Valerie and Heather, why did you kill them?” Mrs. Little challenged, causing me to tense. “Don’t you think it would’ve been smarter to cut ties without murder?”

  Eric balked. “I didn’t murder them. How could you think that?”

  “Look, both of the women you were dating died within the last week. You make the most sense as a suspect.”

  “Except I have no motive,” Eric fired back. “I was having no problem sneaking out of the house and searching the property after Heather passed out every night. She had a drinking problem, for crying out loud. She had three bottles of wine and Ambien with dinner every night. I didn’t need to kill her.”

  “Then why is she dead?” Mrs. Little demanded, her frustration obvious. “It seems impossible that both of them wound up dead like that unless you had something to do with it.”

  “I didn’t.” Eric’s voice squeaked. “I can’t believe you think I’m a murderer. I want the treasure, but I wouldn’t murder to get it.”

  Even though I didn’t trust him — he had a certain smarmy quality that turned my stomach — I believed him. Killing Valerie and Heather worked against him, so it made no sense that he killed them unless he was a sociopath. He was a user, no doubt, but he wasn’t killing for the thrill of it.

  “We need to stop this,” Wayne ordered, taking control. “We’re trespassing on land where a murder occurred two nights ago. We don’t have time to stand here and argue. We need to work together, even if we don’t like each other.”

  “Or trust each other,” Mrs. Little grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. We’ll work together. How do you want to do it?”

  “Well, for starters, I think we should head in this direction.” He gestured directly toward our hiding spot, which made my heart skip. “We haven’t spent much time over there yet.”

  I shifted a bit, prepared to grab Aunt Tillie’s arm and draw her away, when a faint keening filled the night. I stilled, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, and when I looked to the north I could just make out an ethereal figure flitting between the trees — barreling directly toward us.

  “Oh, crap.” I blurted out the words as I scrambled to my feet.

  Mrs. Little, Eric, and Wayne were so surprised at the sight of me climbing out of the ditch they let loose gasps.

  “What are you doing out here?” Mrs. Little screeched.

  “We’re hunting evil,” Aunt Tillie replied, appearing at my side. “It looks like we found some.”

  “You’re trespassing,” Eric hissed.

  “That’s ballsy,” Thistle shot back, joining the fray. “You’re trespassing.”

  The argument would�
��ve been entertaining under different circumstances. “We have to run,” I insisted, grabbing Mrs. Little’s arm and giving her a vicious push. “We have to get out of here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Little argued, fury lining her face. “We’re not leaving. We just got here. If you think you’re stealing the treasure from us, you have another thing coming.”

  “I don’t care about the treasure.” I looked to the sky and cringed as the screeching became more pronounced. Other than Aunt Tillie, I was the only one who could hear it. “We have to run right now.”

  “Why?” Wayne asked dubiously.

  “Because the ghost is about to hit the fan,” Aunt Tillie replied. Unlike me, she was braced for battle. She’d already come to the realization that running was out of the question. “Things are about to get real.”

  Valerie’s ghost was upon us.

  Twenty-Two

  My instincts kicked in and I moved directly into Valerie’s path.

  “No,” I ordered, my voice booming.

  “What is going on?” Mrs. Little demanded as the leaves began to flap, a wicked wind whistling through the small clearing. “What is ... this?” Her eyes widened as she looked at the nearest tree. It began bending, as if giving way to an unseen force. She didn’t understand that Valerie’s ghost was that force — and she was ticked.

  “Go!” I roared, focusing my full attention on Valerie. Her eyes glowed red again, hot embers of hate.

  “You don’t belong here,” the ghost intoned. “This isn’t your place. This is my place.” There was something odd about her cadence, as if she wasn’t choosing the words. There was almost an overlap to the statement, as if two people were speaking.

  “Valerie ... .” I hesitated, unsure what to say.

  “Valerie?” Mrs. Little’s voice was a shriek now, so she could be heard over the wind. “Valerie is dead.”

  Here’s the thing about Mrs. Little: She knows. Deep down, somewhere inside, she’s well aware of what we are. She’s been present for far too many weird occurrences to believe otherwise. Between enchanted wishing wells, Floyd’s poltergeist, magical opponents who defied explanation, she knows ... and yet she refuses to acknowledge it. The realization is too much for her.