A Breath of Witchy Air

by Amanda M. Lee

  That was true. “It’s going to be a full house tonight,” I noted, glancing around. “Where will everyone sleep?”

  “Clove and Sam will be in my office,” Landon replied, referring to my cousin and her fiancé. Clove was the first to leave the nest and now resided in a converted lighthouse. “I have an air mattress for them. Marcus and I took apart Thistle’s bed before you got here, but left the mattress on the floor. Everyone will be okay.”

  It sounded as if they’d planned this out long ago. “When did you decide to do this?”

  Landon shrugged. “We’ve been talking about it a bit. I knew you wanted a final night with your cousins. I wasn’t going to let it slip through our fingers without marking the occasion.”

  “It’s not a final night,” Clove scoffed, making a face as she tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “It’s just a final night with all of us here in the guesthouse.” Her certainty slipped a bit when she tilted her head to the side. “Wait … this isn’t the last night we’ll ever hang out, is it?”

  Clove was something of an alarmist, so I should’ve seen this coming. “Of course not.”

  “It could be,” Clove prodded. “I mean … this is how people grow apart. This is how it starts.”

  “And here we go.” Thistle threw herself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “How can you possibly think that we’ll grow apart? I mean, there have been times when I’ve thought it might be a good thing if we weren’t so co-dependent, but I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with us for life … whether we think it’s a good thing or not.”

  I chuckled at Clove’s hangdog expression.

  “You don’t know,” Clove persisted. “I’m sure everyone who was ever close with anyone and thought those relationships would continue despite a change believed the same thing. At first we’ll say that we will see each other five times a week. Then that will drop to three times a week. Then once a week.”

  Clove became more animated as she barreled forward, her cheeks flushing with color. “Before you know it, you’ll be those people I used to know and I’ll barely lift my hand to wave when I see you on the street,” she continued. “We’ll forget each other’s names and stop having lunch and dinner together.” Her eyes turned glassy. “I’m really going to miss knowing you guys.”

  Thistle snagged gazes with me, a forceful chuckle bursting forth as she bent over at the waist and rested her hands on her knees. Clove’s eyes fired with fury when she saw our snarky cousin’s reaction.

  “It’s not funny,” Clove snapped, furious. “That could really happen.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it could.” I patted her arm in a sympathetic manner. “I’m sure that we’ll go weeks without seeing each other and forget we used to know one another. That’s completely plausible.”

  “They’re so mean,” Clove whined, turning to Sam. “I mean … so mean. I hate it when they’re mean to me.”

  “And yet you somehow manage to survive.” Sam gave Clove a quick kiss and smoothed her hair. “You wouldn’t like them nearly as much if they were nice. You’d be bored inside of five minutes.”

  Clove didn’t look convinced. “I think we should try it for a day to see if I really do feel that way.”

  “Take it up with them,” Sam suggested, reaching for his coat and nodding at Landon. “We’re heading out, so it’ll just be you guys for a few hours.”

  I furrowed my brow, confused. “Who’s heading out?”

  “The men,” Sam replied, handing Thistle’s boyfriend Marcus his coat as the handsome blond man approached. “We’re separating for a few hours.”

  That was news to me. I turned a set of quizzical eyes to Landon. “What’s going on?”

  “We thought it would be a good idea to let you ladies spend some time together without us,” Landon replied, tugging on his own coat. “We’re going to the bar to shoot pool for a few hours. Don’t worry. We’ll be back.” He kissed my forehead. “We’re going to drink with you in a few hours … after you’ve gotten all the mushy stuff out of the way.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes. “I am never mushy.”

  “You’re mushy sometimes,” Landon argued. “You just like to pretend you’re tough and stern. I’ve got your number.”

  “Whatever.” Thistle’s annoyance with Landon was obvious. The last few weeks had been hard on everyone sharing the guesthouse – that’s four bodies, for those counting – thanks to close quarters and big personalities. “I’m not going to miss you at all. In fact, I’m going to adopt that waving and pretending I don’t know you thing starting tomorrow.”

  Landon refused to rise to the bait. “I think that sounds like a fabulous idea. Maybe we don’t even have to wave to one another.”

  Thistle narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine with that.”

  “Great.” Landon wasn’t the type to feed into Thistle’s power games unless he was in the mood to bang his head against a metaphorical wall, which happened rarely these days. Instead, he focused on me. “We will be gone for a few hours. I expect you’ll be drunk when I get back. You can look forward to me taking advantage of that situation, because you get really flirty when you drink.”

  I smirked. “It’s nice that you guys thought to give us some time alone. Whose idea was that?”

  Landon shrugged, noncommittal. “Who can say?”

  “It was mine,” Marcus answered, smoothly moving to Landon’s side and giving him a pointed look. “We didn’t want to be present for the schmaltz.”

  “I kind of wanted to be present for the schmaltz, but they said I would have to turn in my man card if I tried to stay,” Sam lamented. “I like it when you guys are schmaltzy.”

  Landon made a face. “We talked about this. You’re going to be strong and head out with us so the girls can have some private time. Don’t be a baby about it.”

  Sam balked. “I’m not being a baby.”

  “You’re totally being a baby,” Marcus grumbled under his breath. “Leave them to their last night together.”

  “Oh, our last night,” Clove intoned, dramatically exhaling on a whine. “I can’t believe it’s our last night!”

  Landon’s lips curved. “I’m almost sorry we’re going to miss some of this.” He shook his head to dislodge the melancholy and gave me a quick kiss. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Try not to get so drunk that you’ll wish you were dead in the morning.”

  I grabbed his hand before he could walk away. “Thanks for this.” I meant it. “Not everyone would think of something like this.”

  Landon’s expression softened. “Starting tomorrow it’s just you and me. That doesn’t mean I’m going to forget that it was just you and them for a very long time.”

  “Our entire lives,” Thistle corrected. “It was us against Aunt Tillie for more than twenty years. There’s no way we can forget that.”

  “Unless we do,” Clove whispered.

  It took everything I had not to burst out laughing at Clove. She always was the dramatic corner of our little triangle. Instead I turned back to Landon. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “You definitely will.” Landon gave me one more kiss before moving toward the door. “Try not to burn the place down if you guys decide to do magic.”

  Thistle was affronted. “That happened, like, one time.”

  “Twice,” Clove corrected. “We burned down two sheds when we were kids. We got grounded and everything.”

  Thistle scowled. “There’s a reason I’m only going to wave at you in the future. You have a big freaking mouth.”

  Clove was understandably offended. “Look who’s talking.”

  TWO HOURS LATER we were tipsy. Okay, truth be told, Clove was already drunk and I was two martinis away from joining her. Thistle, always hard to read, seemed perfectly fine … except for the random moments when she started spouting inanities, like commenting on the fact that we should outlaw socks or plot to take down Aunt Tillie in a barrage of errant magic and murderous leggings.

  Okay, there was a v
ery good chance she was drunk, too.

  We sat in the living room, drinks clutched in hand, and reminisced about the good times (and bad) we’d shared in the guesthouse. We were full of nostalgia, but no one had broken down in tears, even Clove, which I considered a good thing.

  “Do you remember when we were teenagers and we tried to convince our moms to let us live here?” Clove asked, her face lighting with mirth. “We decided we didn’t need parental involvement any longer and we pitched that as a way to get freedom.”

  “I remember.” I smiled at the memory. “The guesthouse wasn’t very old at the time. Only about a year. I can’t remember why they built this place.” I glanced around and furrowed my brow. “Do you remember why they built this place?”

  “They never said it, but I know why,” Thistle offered.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m smart.” Thistle tried to tap the side of her head with her index finger but missed, instead poking herself in the eye. “Ow!”

  “Yes, you’re a regular Albert Einstein,” I drawled. “I can’t believe you haven’t been snapped up by some think tank somewhere and exploited for your brain.”

  “Oh, stuff it.” Thistle made a face. “I’m being serious. I know why this place was built.”

  I was always up for a good conspiracy theory, so I asked the obvious question. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why was it built?”

  “Because there was a time when we were kids when Aunt Tillie didn’t want to live with us any longer and she decided she needed a place of her own,” Thistle replied without hesitation. “She was sick of us and didn’t want to make our mothers move, so they built the guesthouse.”

  I stilled, surprised. “But … the house was always hers. Why would she move from her house?”

  Thistle shrugged. “I don’t know. They spent a lot to build this place and then it sat empty until we were old enough to move in. I can’t believe you never questioned why they did it.”

  “I always assumed it was so they would have a place to shove relatives no one liked when they dropped in for a visit.”

  “Why do that when they could make them stay at hotels?”

  “But … .” I ran the scenario through my head, dumbfounded. “I guess I never considered it.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe that Aunt Tillie would ever want to move away from us,” Clove argued. “She loved us.”

  “Just because she loved us – and I’m not convinced that’s always true – doesn’t mean she didn’t get sick of us for a time.” Thistle drained the last of her martini. “I think it was because she knew I was growing stronger and was afraid to share a roof with me.”

  Clove and I snorted in unison, causing Thistle to frown.

  “What? It’s totally true. When we were younger – I was about twelve or so – I overheard Aunt Tillie telling Mom that I was going to be the strongest witch in the house,” Thistle said. “Aunt Tillie was afraid, and instead of taking me on she decided to run.”

  That was absolutely ludicrous. “Except she never left,” I pointed out. “She stayed.”

  “And she beats you whenever you go up against her,” Clove added. “You always claim you’re going to take her down, but she ends up winning and we end up crying. That’s the way of the world.”

  Thistle balked. “I don’t cry … and that old lady is totally afraid of me.”

  I blew a raspberry wet enough to dampen my face. “She’s not afraid of anyone.” I wiped my face and wrinkled my nose. “She took on Brian today and didn’t even care that he looked angry enough to throttle her. For a second I was legitimately worried he might attack.”

  Thistle shifted so she could face me. “He’s still there? I thought he was long gone by now.”

  “He comes every day.” I didn’t want to be the resident downer, but chocolate martinis made me moody and I couldn’t seem to help myself. “He seems … bitter.”

  “He is bitter,” Clove supplied. “He thought he’d be able to muscle you out, but he found out you were a lot more important to the operation than he was. It was a blow to his ego.”

  “I don’t think it was that I was more important. I think it was that Chief Terry rallied the town behind him. He was the one ultimately more important.”

  “Oh, don’t sell yourself short.” Thistle made an exaggerated face as she mournfully stared into the bottom of her empty martini glass. “People in this town like you. They know that you did all the work. The Whistler is important to the town. The business owners weren’t stupid enough to believe Brian Kelly could give them something you couldn’t. In fact, they realized they might lose an asset if he got his way.”

  “Not everyone in town likes me,” I argued. “Mrs. Little doesn’t.”

  “Mrs. Little is our version of Mrs. Oleson,” Clove complained. “No matter what happens, she’s never going to be happy.”

  Thistle dragged her attention away from the glass and focused on Clove. “Who is Mrs. Oleson?”

  “You know.” Clove gestured with her fingers. “Mr. Oleson’s wife.”

  “Oh, well, I never would’ve figured that out myself,” Thistle muttered. “I’m going to need more information than that.”

  “She was the woman who always made things difficult for Pa Ingalls,” Clove explained. “She was mean to Caroline and Laura, and raised Nellie and Willie.”

  It took my brain longer than it should have to kick in. “You mean from Little House on the Prairie?”

  Clove snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s exactly who I mean.”

  “So you’re saying that Mrs. Little is like Mrs. Oleson and we’re living in Walnut Grove,” I mused. “I’m a little sad that I’m old enough to get that reference.”

  “Only because Aunt Tillie made us watch that show all the time when we got home from school,” Thistle complained. “She said we were missing out and life would be better if we went back in time.”

  I raised my hand, although I had no idea why. “As someone who has traveled through time, I can honestly say that she’s full of crap.”

  Thistle snorted. “You didn’t travel through time. You traveled through Aunt Tillie’s brain. That’s vastly different.”

  It didn’t feel different. “What were we talking about again?”

  “We were talking about how Aunt Tillie didn’t want to live with us when we were teenagers and then we started talking about Little House on the Prairie,” Clove offered. “I prefer talking about Little House on the Prairie. It’s from a simpler time when shows weren’t gory, and the entire run was awesome.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes. “You’re a total kvetch. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “You do – every single day of my life.”

  “Then I’m doing my job.” Thistle unsteadily tried to roll to her feet, but plopped back down. “Who wants more martinis?”

  I knew I should stop, but I was beyond caring about the hangover I absolutely understood I would suffer the next day. “Me! And when you get back we can talk about all the times Aunt Tillie bested you in this guesthouse.”

  Thistle narrowed her eyes. “Keep it up and you’ll be dead to me. We really will turn into people who just wave at each other from across town.”

  “I’m not looking forward to that.” Clove was pitiable as she slouched in her chair. “I think I’m going to cry.”

  “Ugh.” I flicked her ear. “No crying. This is a happy night. We’re all moving forward.”

  “We are,” Clove agreed. “But I like looking back, too.”

  Strangely enough, so did I. “We’re going to need martinis for that.”

  “I’m on it.” Thistle almost tipped over when she finally managed to get to her feet. “We’re going to feel like death tomorrow.”

  That was something we all could agree on.

  Five

  “Ugh.”

  My head felt as if a jackhammer was trying to slam its way out when I woke the next morning. My mouth was dry, my muscles hurt and my neck made me wonder if I s
lept at an odd angle. It took me two full minutes to open my eyes, and when I finally did I found Landon next to me on the bed. His smile was enough to make me want to punch him.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little before eight, sunshine.” Landon’s voice was unnaturally loud. “Wakey, wakey! You have a big day before you.”

  “Do you have to talk so loud?” I pressed my pillow to my face as I rolled away from him. “I’ve decided I’m not getting up today. It’s a sick day.”

  “You can’t take today off.”

  “I can. I’m the boss now. I can do whatever I want.”

  “You’ll be the boss in a few hours,” Landon corrected. “You have to close on the newspaper today.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” As if on cue, my phone dinged with an incoming text message. It took me a moment to focus on the screen, and when I did I couldn’t refrain from scowling. “Actually, I’m not closing on the newspaper today after all. It’s been pushed off until tomorrow.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Landon stiffened as he grabbed my phone and read the message. “This is from your real estate agent?”

  I nodded. “She says there was an error in the paperwork that has to be corrected.”

  “It doesn’t say what error.” Landon adopted his suspicious face. “I don’t like it. Call her and find out what the error was.”

  He was far too proactive for this early in the morning. “Does it matter? She obviously caught whatever it was. We’ll close tomorrow. It’s only an extra twenty-four hours.”

  “I don’t like it,” he repeated. “I think you should check.”

  I sighed. “Fine. I’ll check. I’m only doing it because I want you to shut up – and I’m not calling her. I’m texting her.” I snagged back the phone and did just that, noting that the text came almost two hours earlier and had probably been dinging for that entire time. I was so out of it I didn’t even hear the noise. “Who gets up and starts working at six in the morning?”

  “A diligent worker,” Landon replied, watching as I hit “send.” “Are you seriously saying this doesn’t worry you?”