4 Witching On A Star

by Amanda M. Lee

  “We were created in the image of God,” Edith said. “God wasn’t black.”

  “How do you know?” I challenged. “Have you met God?”

  “No,” Edith shook her head. “Everyone knows, though.”

  “I don’t know that,” I shot back.

  “Well, you’re a witch,” Edith said simply. “You’re not going to Heaven anyway.”

  “Oh, really? Why aren’t you in Heaven, Edith?”

  Edith looked shocked by the question. “Well, obviously I have unfinished business. When I finish it, I’ll go to Heaven. God has a plan for me.”

  “What is your unfinished business? What is God’s plan?”

  “I don’t know,” Edith sniffed. “Why are you being so aggressive?”

  “Because what you’re saying is just so wrong,” I replied.

  “It’s wrong to you,” Edith said pointedly. “A lot of people think the way I do.”

  “Backwards people,” I grumbled.

  “A lot of people would think that being a witch is backwards,” Edith pointed out. “That you’re inherently evil.”

  “You want to know what, Edith? I can actually see that. People react out of fear to what they don’t know. The difference is that people are not bad – or different – just because they have a different color of skin.”

  “It’s the way they’re raised, too,” Edith said. “They’re more prone to get addicted to drugs and sell them. How can you think that’s good?”

  “That’s just ignorant,” I argued.

  “I don’t think I like the way you’re talking to me,” Edith said.

  “Well, I don’t think I like this whole conversation,” I replied. “Maybe you should just go.”

  “Fine,” Edith said. “Just remember, though, your way of thinking isn’t the only way of thinking.”

  “I can’t even look at you right now, Edith,” I said. “You make me sick.”

  Maybe it was the anger talking. Maybe it was the fatigue, I don’t know. All I did know is that I needed Edith out of my sight. Edith acquiesced to my request, but not before she shot me one more hard frown and a parting verbal shot.

  “Just forget about her, Bay,” she said. “She’s not worth your worry.”

  “Maybe you’re not either,” I replied harshly.

  Edith was gone by then, though. I have no idea if she heard me. I focused on my laptop – or at least I tried. My frustration with Edith – and everything else – was blocking my workflow, though. Finally, I slammed my laptop shut in aggravation.

  “Bad morning?”

  I jumped when I heard the voice, turning to see Sam standing in the open doorway of my office. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to have a meeting with Brian, but he postponed it,” Sam said easily. “He had something else come up. I saw your car here, though, and I thought I would ask you to lunch.”

  That was the last thing I wanted to do. “I’m busy,” I said. “Maybe some other time.”

  “You don’t look busy.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “What’s the harm in lunch?” Sam prodded. “I think we need to clear the air between us and I think, if food is involved, it can only help.”

  He was trying to be charming. Still, he had a point.

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to lunch.”

  “Great.”

  I could think of a few words I would use to describe this prospect and “great” wasn’t one of them.

  Twenty-Four

  I let Sam pick the spot for lunch. I wasn’t surprised when he chose Miss Sally’s Sandwiches, a small deli on the corner of Main Street – about two blocks east of Hypnotic. The deli was small enough to be quaint, but big enough for us to get a corner table out of earshot from everyone else.

  Once we placed our orders, Sam fixed me with a friendly smile. “So, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Did he want me to tell him about the sad little ghost that was haunting my days or the racist white one that was haunting the paper? Or that I was worried that Landon had left town and didn’t plan on returning? Those didn’t sound like viable options, so I decided to lie.

  “I’m just tired,” I said. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Trouble with your boyfriend?”

  “No,” I said evasively. “Just a bad night of sleep. Everyone gets them.”

  “Sure,” Sam said easily, biting into the pickle on the side of his plate. “You seem especially agitated, though.”

  “How would you know? I could be like this on a daily basis. You don’t even know me.”

  “Point taken,” Sam said. “So, how about I try to get to know you?”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you seem to dislike me.”

  “Maybe I just dislike the fact that you’re stringing Brian along even though you know that this isn’t going to work,” I suggested. “Maybe I just don’t like the fact that you’re soaking him for money on an endeavor that was never going to work?”

  “Fair enough,” Sam said. “I’m not going to lie, the odds of being able to expand The Whistler to three days of publication a week are slim. My job is to make sure that we’ve explored every avenue and that’s what I plan to do.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “Bully for you.”

  “I think something else is going on with you,” Sam said pointedly.

  “Really? What?”

  “I think that maybe you’re having some family problems,” Sam said, prodding me to open up.

  “I’m always having family problems,” I replied honestly.

  “How so?” Sam leaned forward, intrigued.

  “Whenever you deal with family, there’s going to be drama,” I replied simply. “Family knows all your secrets. They know all your weak points. They know how to exploit both.”

  “So, your family is exploiting you?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “That’s kind of what you said.”

  “Not even in the slightest,” I countered. “I just said that every family has problems.”

  “And what are your family’s problems?”

  He was digging.

  “Well, for starters, we’re having some construction done out at the inn and my Aunt Tillie is obsessing about every little detail,” I said. “I’ve been put in charge of helping her. That’s just a series of headaches – the next one worse than the previous one. She’s constantly out there getting them all riled up.”

  “Oh,” Sam looked disappointed. “Well, have you tried talking to her?”

  “Have you tried talking to a granite statue? Have you tried telling a rock what to do? Because my Aunt Tillie is about as movable as a granite statue.”

  “She’s definitely . . . persnickety.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Still,” Sam pressed. “It seems to me that there’s more going on than that.”

  “Well, Thistle and Clove are doing their spring ordering, too,” I said pleasantly, starting to warm up to the game I was playing. “That always makes Thistle cranky. It’s a hard job, because if you order too much, it’s just like throwing money out the window. And, on the flip side, if you order too little, then you miss out on strong profits. It’s always a stressful time of year for them. Since I live with them, it’s stressful for me, too.”

  Sam didn’t seem thrilled with the banality of my answers. He couldn’t argue with them either, though.

  “Well, maybe they should hire an assistant or something,” he offered lamely.

  “It’s a small business,” I replied. “That wouldn’t be fiscally responsible.”

  “I guess not.”

  I kept my face frozen with faux familial worry, while internally I was practically guffawing. This was more fun than I realized.

  “Still, there must be a lot more going on,” Sam said finally.

  “Oh, there is,” I said. I was pretending that I was enjoying unburdening myself but, in reality, I was t
rying to make Sam lose interest in the Winchester witches. “My father and uncles, who have been gone for years, are suddenly back and they’re opening a competing inn. That has my Aunt Tillie in a right snit and, even though they won’t admit it, my mom and aunts are off their game, too.”

  “That must be difficult,” Sam said wanly.

  “Oh, it is,” I said. “I mean, I’m glad my dad is in town. We’ve kept in touch over the years, more than Thistle and Clove have with their fathers, that’s for sure. Still, it’s like I’m being disloyal to my mom if I spend time with him and it’s like I’m being mean to my dad if I try to avoid him.”

  “And what do you want?” Sam asked resignedly.

  “I want everyone to get along,” I said simply. “That’s not an option, though, so we’re all just feeling it out. It’s really hard, especially with my Uncle Warren getting engaged. Clove has barely seen her father and now he’s getting married. She’s going to have a new stepmother. That’s got her all freaked out.”

  “Yeah, I can see how that would happen,” Sam agreed.

  “It’s just one thing after another with my family,” I said. “Aunt Tillie will start planting her pot field soon – and that’s always a constant fight. She claims she has glaucoma, but she really just likes it.”

  Okay, maybe I was going too far now.

  “Well, the police don’t seem to mind,” Sam interjected. “As long as she’s not selling it, it’s probably not a big problem.”

  “No, she doesn’t sell the pot,” I said. “She just grows it and uses it. She sells the wine, though.”

  “Wine isn’t illegal.”

  “As long as you have a permit.”

  “And she doesn’t have a permit?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Well, that’s . . .”

  “A big pain, I know,” I said. “She just doesn’t seem to understand – or maybe she just pretends, I don’t know – why we’re all so worried about it. They could take her away.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing? She seems to cause your family a lot of pain.”

  “Not pain,” I countered. “And, yes, it would be a bad thing.”

  “You don’t even seem to like her,” Sam pointed out.

  “She’s my aunt, I love her,” I said. “I don’t always like what she does, but she’s family.”

  “Oh, sure,” Sam said, warding off the sudden fury that I was turning on him. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “She’s family,” I repeated. “She’s trouble but she’s still family. You don’t turn your back on family.”

  “I know,” Sam said in a placating manner. “Your family is just a lot of drama.”

  “Isn’t every family?”

  “I guess.”

  I took a big bite of my sandwich, pausing to regroup. I didn’t have a lot more to complain about that wouldn’t tip off Sam to the big family secret. A sudden presence a few feet to the right of me caught my attention. I shifted in my chair, expecting to see the waitress standing there – but finding Landon instead. I swallowed hard, my mouth going dry at the sight of him.

  “This is the third restaurant I’ve checked for you,” Landon said, grabbing an empty chair from a nearby table and pulling it up next to me. “I didn’t realize you were having a lunch date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Sam said hurriedly. Landon’s sudden appearance had thrown him for a loop. “I was just trying to get her out of her bad mood.”

  “Really?” Landon fixed Sam with an icy glare. “And why were you in a bad mood?” Landon turned to me, grabbing a handful of potato chips off my plate and popping one in his mouth.

  “She didn’t sleep well last night,” Sam answered for me. His nerves were clearly getting the best of him.

  Landon kept his gaze fixed on me. His ice blue eyes were mesmerizing. “That makes two of us.”

  “I should probably let the two of you do . . . whatever it is you do,” Sam said, getting up from his chair, tossing some money on the table to cover the bill. “I’ll see you later, Bay.”

  “Bye.”

  We both watched Sam leave the restaurant. Once he was gone, Landon turned back to me. “Having lunch with the enemy?”

  “He wanted to know about the family,” I murmured.

  “And what did you tell him?”

  I smiled to myself. “I told him every banal thing I could think of. Ordering at Hypnotic. Aunt Tillie bothering the contractors. My mom and aunts having trouble with the Dragonfly.”

  “So you tried to bore him into submission,” Landon mused. “That was probably a smart move.”

  “Yeah, he was getting really bothered by what I was telling him,” I agreed. “You came at the perfect time, though. I was running out of things to tell him.”

  “So you’re glad to see me?” Landon asked curiously.

  “Always.”

  Landon smiled despite himself. “I wasn’t sure – after yesterday. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to yell at you either.”

  “I know.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” I broke off. “I wasn’t sure when you didn’t come over last night if you would ever . . .”

  “What? Come back?” Landon looked surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bay, you’ve got to stop doing this,” Landon sighed wearily. “I’m not just going to take off and run. I thought we could both use a night apart for things to cool down. It was a bad idea. All I thought about was you all night. I’m not just going to pick up and leave. You’ve got to believe that. I don’t know why you’re so ready to believe that I’ll just walk away – but I’m not going to. It’s going to be easier, for both of us, if you just get that into your thick head.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  Landon reached over and took the other half of my sandwich off my plate and bit into it. “So, what else is going on?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Edith is a racist.”

  “Edith? The ghost at The Whistler?”

  “Yeah. I told her about Erika and she told me that she basically got what was coming to her because she ran from slavers.”

  “You can’t fix ignorance,” Landon shrugged. “Ignore her. She sounds like a real piece of work anyway.”

  “Yeah, she is,” I blew out a sigh.

  “Anything else?”

  “No. What about you?”

  “We asked the Coast Guard to run some extra sweeps,” Landon said carefully. “They didn’t find anything.”

  “No boat?”

  “No boat.”

  “I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted helplessly.

  Landon placed his hand over mine soothingly. “Well, we’ll figure it out.”

  “We will?” I asked dubiously.

  “Yeah, we will,” Landon said, rubbing his thumb over my hand as he continued to munch on the sandwich. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  “Okay,” I said relief washing over me.

  “You still smell like bacon.”

  “I know.”

  “I still like it.”

  “I know.”

  “Want to go take a nap?”

  I doubted he had a nap on his mind, but that sounded exactly like what I needed right about now.

  Twenty-Five

  Landon and I spent the afternoon in bed – and only part of it was spent sleeping. After the bacon smell energized him – again – I finally managed to drift off into a sound sleep. I had no idea if it was the feeling of his arms wrapped around me – or the way our heartbeats slipped into the same rhythm when they were close – but I was finally relaxed enough to just let go so sleep could claim me.

  When we woke up, the light filtering in through the window was starting to wane.

  “What time is it?” Landon mumbled.

  I glanced at the clock. “Time to get up.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to go up to the inn for dinner.”

  “Why?” Landon sounded a li
ttle whiny this time.

  “They’re cooking a special dinner. The contractor and his family are going to be there. I invited them, so I have to be there.” I glanced over at him, his hair spread out on the pillow – kind of like a halo – and sighed. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  Landon made a lazy trail with his hand down my bare back. “No, I’m coming.”

  “Are you sure?” I cocked an eyebrow as I looked down at him. “You could stay here naked and I could just climb back in bed with you in a couple of hours?”

  Landon looked intrigued by the suggestion but shook his head. “I need sustenance. That half of a sandwich I ate earlier isn’t keeping my energy level up. And, as long as you smell like bacon, I’m going to want to keep my energy level up.”

  “I’m starting to get a complex about the bacon,” I admitted.

  “Let’s just hope they’re not serving pork, huh?”

  Isn’t that the truth?

  An hour later we had both showered and dressed. Landon had balked at the shower until I told him that my mother would know we had spent the afternoon having sex if he didn’t.

  “Won’t she know anyway?” He asked as we walked up to the inn.

  “Probably,” I said. “We don’t need to give her reasons to know, though.”

  “I guess,” Landon shrugged. “They always seem to know, though.”

  “They’re weird that way,” I agreed.

  “Weird being the optimum word,” Landon said, linking his fingers with mine and pulling me close. “Still, it was a good afternoon, so I don’t care if they find out or not.”

  “Are you staying all weekend?” I asked hopefully.

  “Are you going to smell like bacon all weekend?” Landon winked at me.

  “I have no idea,” I replied honestly. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. It could go away at any time.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that I like you for more than the bacon then, isn’t it?” Landon smiled widely before dropping a kiss on my forehead.

  We let ourselves in the back door, taking care not to be too loud in case Aunt Tillie was watching Jeopardy – which she was. She didn’t bother to look up when we entered. “I see you two made up.”

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “I told you, I know . . .”