She didn’t immediately look at us. Her short cap of grayish-black curls were tucked under a knit cap, giving her a youthful vibrancy that lightened my heart. She wore gloves and carried a backpack over her right shoulder, treading lightly as she shut the door and kicked off her boots.
It took her a few moments to notice us, and when she did her expression was unreadable. “You never saw me.”
And with those words she disappeared into the inn.
“I’m almost afraid to know what’s in the bag,” Landon admitted. He didn’t appear keen to follow Aunt Tillie, and instead remained on the couch. “It’s probably something illegal.”
“At least it’s not a dead body,” Thistle offered. “The bag was too small to hold a dead body.”
“There is that,” Landon conceded, tipping back his glass of wine to drain it. “Thank that goddess you guys are always dancing naked to for small favors, right? So … who wants to get drunk?”
I considered fighting the effort, but ultimately could not come up with a reason to do so. “I do, but I want to switch to mixed drinks so it will happen faster.”
“Now you’re thinking.” Landon smacked a loud kiss against my lips. “I’ll get the bourbon. You get the sour mix.”
“And people say we don’t know how to celebrate the holiday season in style,” Thistle teased. “We know exactly how to enjoy the spirits of the season.”
“I think those are different spirits,” Landon pointed out.
Thistle scowled. “Don’t ruin things.”
“Right. Bourbon it is.”
I wish I had more than one spot on the top of my list, because there are times I want to put all of you there together … and then drop a bomb and see which one of you comes out alive. I think it sounds like a fun social experiment.
– Aunt Tillie explaining her philosophy on family
Two
“So, what’s going on around these parts this weekend?” Landon asked, holding out my chair until I sat and then claiming the open seat next to me. He nodded in turn to the guests – the inn was full this weekend – before focusing on Aunt Tillie and lowering his voice. “What did you have in that bag?”
Aunt Tillie was the picture of serenity. She sipped her glass of wine while feigning confusion. “What bag?”
“The bag you snuck in with while we were in the library.”
“I recall no such bag. Perhaps you were mistaken.”
Landon pursed his lips. Aunt Tillie was a master of lying when the occasion called for it. Like my suspicious boyfriend, I couldn’t help but wonder what was in the bag. I’d lived with Aunt Tillie long enough to realize that sometimes not knowing is better, though. Landon hadn’t quite learned that life lesson yet. He always wanted to know – even when he loathed the answer to the question.
“I saw you,” Landon pressed. “You snuck in with a big bag and then disappeared upstairs. Did you have something illegal in there?”
“What were you doing outside?” Mom asked, suspicion ratcheting up a notch. I had no idea if she found Aunt Tillie after her search an hour earlier but she didn’t look to be in a very good mood. That didn’t bode well for Aunt Tillie. She’s not afraid of anyone … except my mother when she puts on her stern face. “It’s cold out there, and you said you were going to be reading in your room.”
Aunt Tillie shot Landon a death glare before turning a sweet smile to Mom. “I was in my room.”
“Were you reading?” Thistle asked. She should know better than to interject herself between Mom and Aunt Tillie, but much like Landon, she never learns. “Is that what was in the bag? Was it books?”
“There was no bag, mouth,” Aunt Tillie shot back, annoyed. Then, without missing a beat, she turned around Mom’s suspicion and went on the offensive. “Why do you always assume that I’m up to something nefarious? Did it ever occur to you that I was actually doing what I said I was doing?”
“Not for a second,” Mom replied without hesitation. “I went up to your room looking for you because we’re out of taro root and I need it for a recipe this weekend. You weren’t there.”
“Perhaps you didn’t see me.” Aunt Tillie was all faux innocence and light. “I’m a very small woman. I seem to be shrinking with age. Perhaps you merely looked past me without realizing it.”
I snorted into my bourbon, averting her glare when Aunt Tillie scorched me with a dark look. The last thing I wanted to do on a cold weekend was get involved in any of Aunt Tillie’s shenanigans. Whatever she was up to, she was on her own.
“Really? That’s your story?” Mom reached for the bottle of wine. Instead of pouring it into the smaller wine glass, she completely filled her large water glass. “You make me tired.”
“That should be the family motto,” Thistle suggested. “We should have T-shirts made up and everything.”
“Shut up, Thistle,” Mom barked.
Wow. She really was in a bad mood. “Do you have a headache or something?”
Mom didn’t bother meeting my gaze. “Just her.” She jerked her thumb at Aunt Tillie. “She said she was going to be upstairs reading, and now I hear she was outside and returned with a huge bag. We all know this won’t end well.”
“Oh, good, the dinner theater is starting right on time,” one of the guests whispered, exchanging an excited look with another inn occupant. “I hope it’s an entertaining show like the Zagat review promised.”
The Winchester family, despite our best efforts to the contrary, was rather famous for our determination to hash out our differences over family meals. Word spread fast and far, former guests referring to it as “dinner theater.” We’d earned quite the reputation in bed-and-breakfast circles.
“You’re such a worrier,” Aunt Tillie complained. “I’ll have you know that I was out Christmas shopping. There! Are you happy? You ruined my surprise. That’s what I was doing, and you horrific busybodies couldn’t just let me have my holiday fun.”
“You’re so full of crap the toilet just went on strike,” Thistle said, earning snickers from the guests. Sadly, even as Thistle preened, I knew that wasn’t a good thing. She likes playing to her audience and forgets that the referee is cantankerous and often all-powerful when she sets her mind to it. Thistle would only make things worse if left to her own devices when warring with Aunt Tillie.
“You were Christmas shopping?” Mom was understandably dubious as she cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not even December. Since when do you do your shopping in November?”
“Since when do you actually shop?” Thistle added. “Last year you pulled a pair of old socks out of your dresser and told me you bought them at a vintage store.”
“Maybe that’s because all you earned was old socks,” Aunt Tillie challenged.
“Okay, let’s not argue.” Landon rubbed his forehead and I worried the overdose of bourbon and snark would lead to a hangover and derail our weekend fun. “As long as she’s not doing anything illegal, I don’t really care what was in the bag.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” Aunt Tillie deadpanned. “I love how you swoop in to tell us we’re being unreasonable after you started the entire mess.”
“I did not,” Landon protested.
“You did so … and you’re on my list!” Aunt Tillie extended a craggy finger. “I would put you at the top, but that position is reserved for Thistle until the new year.”
“Oh, man.” Thistle made an exaggerated face. “I wish Marcus was here. He always puts Aunt Tillie in a good mood.”
“Speaking of Marcus, where is he?” I asked, hoping to guide the conversation in a safer direction. “I thought he would be here tonight.”
“They’re putting drywall in the upstairs apartment for us at the new barn and he felt the need to watch them,” Thistle replied. “Apparently he thinks they’ll do it wrong if he’s not watching.”
“If I knew he was down there I would’ve stopped and seen him when I hit town,” Landon said. “Instead I visited Chief Terry to make sure I wouldn’t be ca
lled away unless it was absolutely necessary this weekend.”
“So our pajama weekend is on?” I asked hopefully.
Landon smirked. “It’s on.”
“I don’t even want to know what you two are talking about,” Mom sighed.
“They’re talking about sex,” Aunt Tillie announced. “That’s all they talk about.” She slid a triumphant smirk in Landon’s direction when he narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you get for tattling.”
Landon rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s supposed to be a cold and rainy weekend. Bay and I want to spend some time alone. I was simply checking with Chief Terry to see if that would be an option.”
“Yes, he’s a good boy,” Thistle teased.
Landon ignored her. “Chief Terry says it’s been quiet all week. He’s expecting something terrible to happen, because Hemlock Cove is never quiet for long. I plan to turn off my phone in case he’s right.”
I knew he would do nothing of the sort – he’s far too diligent, after all – but it was a nice thought. “I heard a few odd stories when I was at the newspaper office,” I admitted as I dunked a roll into the pot roast gravy. “Franklin Kish claims that he saw a naked woman dancing in the field by his house. Of course, he was drunk at the time, so he probably imagined it … or wished for it, because he’s kind of a dirty old man.”
Thistle giggled, amused. “That’s funny, because that would be his dream scenario. That old codger is a total pervert. He once asked me if I was wearing a bra. Then, when I said I was, he asked me if I would show it to him to prove it.”
I snorted at the visual. “Yeah, he once told me that he missed the days of women wearing regular panties because thongs made his head go to a dirty place and he never wanted to leave that dirty place so he would sleep for twelve hours a day if he had the option.”
“He sounds like a real winner,” Landon said dryly.
“Oh, you have nothing to worry about,” I teased, patting his knee under the table. “He has a crush on Aunt Tillie. He always has.”
“You should wear those leggings you bought a few weeks ago out to his place,” Landon suggested. “I’m guessing that he’s your target audience.”
“Don’t bring up those leggings again,” Mom warned, waving a finger. “It took us forever to track them all down and confiscate them.”
“I still maintain you’re overreacting about that,” Aunt Tillie argued. “They’re not indecent. They sell them over the internet. You can’t sell indecent things over the internet. Everyone knows that.”
Landon’s mouth swished as he fought to contain his smile. “Yes, well, right you are.” He moved his hand to the back of my neck and gave it an idle rub. “Chief Terry said that other than a few complaints that make no sense, things are quiet. I hope they stay that way.”
“Did he say what complaints he got that made no sense?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I might be able to turn them into a fun story.”
“Um, I wasn’t listening all that hard,” Landon admitted. “I wanted to hear that nothing big was going on, and when he admitted that I kind of tuned him out.”
“That’s ‘The Man’ for you,” Aunt Tillie complained, shaking her head. “He only cares about himself.”
“What was in that bag again?” Landon challenged, causing Aunt Tillie to scowl.
“You’re definitely bucking for the top spot on my list,” Aunt Tillie grumbled. “Maybe I need to make two lists so I can have two top spots. One for men and one for women.”
“Yes, well, as long as you punish me with a bacon-flavored girlfriend, I’m fine with that,” Landon said, averting his gaze when I scalded him with a dirty look. He was well aware of my disdain for the bacon curse. Aunt Tillie was a powerful witch and could punish us any way she saw fit. She often let embarrassment serve as her magical yardstick when it came to payback, and she was well aware of Landon’s adoration when it came to the bacon curse. “In fact, it would be a great weekend for you to punish me if you’re in a vengeful mood.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Aunt Tillie said dryly, her eyes contemplative as she pondered something. “What kinds of things did Chief Terry say were happening around town?”
“Why?” Landon was focused on his pot roast and didn’t bother looking up. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”
“No, but I’m curious. I like a good laugh at other people’s expense.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Thistle offered.
“You’ll vouch for it again this weekend if you’re not careful, mouth,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “You’re seriously on my last nerve.”
Thistle waved off the admonishment. “I’ve been standing on that nerve since I was five. It’s clearly not going anywhere. It’s like a cockroach. It will survive anything.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely at the top of the list,” Aunt Tillie spat.
I decided to wade into the snark bog before things could get out of hand. “I heard another one when I was grabbing coffee at the bakery,” I supplied. “Mrs. Gunderson said that Tatiana Pratt was walking around in a tiara and proclaiming herself a princess. That’s not dangerous or anything, but apparently she refused to take off the tiara and said that princesses don’t serve food at diners.”
“Who is Tatiana Pratt?” Landon asked.
“She’s a teenager who works at the diner,” Aunt Marnie answered. “She’s always had a princess fetish since she was a small kid. It’s beyond annoying.”
“Clove had a princess fetish, too,” Thistle pointed out, referring to our absent third cousin, who abstained from dinner for the evening. She was Marnie’s daughter. “You bought her a tiara for Christmas one year and she wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”
“Okay, Thistle, now you’re on my list,” Marnie muttered, shaking her head. “Why do you always have to be such a pain?”
“She was born that way,” Aunt Tillie replied, reaching for a roll. “Is that all? Have you heard any other weird stories?”
Something niggled the back of my brain as I turned my full attention to Aunt Tillie. “Why are you so interested in these stories?”
“Because they make me laugh.”
Aunt Tillie answered the question almost immediately, but there was something off about the way she avoided eye contact. I couldn’t help but be suspicious – she’s Aunt Tillie, after all – but I could hardly accuse her of something, especially when I wasn’t sure anything was actually going on.
“But … .”
Aunt Tillie cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Someone pass me more wine. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
She wasn’t the only one.
LANDON PASSED out fairly quickly once he stripped down to his boxer shorts and climbed into bed. He left his Explorer at the inn – proclaiming himself too drunk to drive – and we walked to the guesthouse despite the icy chill hanging over the night sky. We could claim the Explorer in the morning, so it wasn’t a big deal, other than the freezing walk, of course. I was mildly disappointed that he lost consciousness so quickly, but I didn’t begrudge him his rest. I was certain he would make it up to me in the morning.
I settled in bed next to him, smiling as he instinctively cuddled closer and rested a hand on my abdomen. He would sleep hard. I could tell by the even tone of his breathing. He’d been gone most of the week for work, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he dealt with something serious while away. We talked every night on the phone and he was jovial and pleasant, but suspicion stalked me when I recognized his exhaustion.
I traced the lines on his hand as he slept, staring at the ceiling as I willed sleep to claim me. Instead, a flickering shadow on the other side of the window caught my attention. I shrugged it off as the wind rustling a bush until it happened a second time.
I was careful not to wake Landon when I got out of bed, shuffling to the window and peering outside to see if I could catch sight of whatever was causing the movement. I scanned the ground and immediate foli
age first, coming up empty. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another flash of movement and jerked my eyes to the area over by Aunt Tillie’s special garden.
There, silhouetted against the moon, was a dark figure. It flew back and forth, too big to be a bird and too small to be an airplane. I squinted as I tried to make out identifying features, my heart dropping when I realized what I saw.
I turned immediately to wake Landon, but he ignored my hand when it landed on his shoulder.
“Landon, there’s someone outside.”
“The door is locked,” he murmured, his eyes screwed shut. “It’s probably Marcus.”
“No, I mean there’s someone outside … flying.” I swallowed hard as I gritted out the last word. It sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears.
“Maybe Aunt Tillie had a broom in her bag,” Landon said, his voice thick with sleep. “She’s probably pretending to be Harry Potter or something.”
“But … .” I darted a look out the window again, frowning at the now-empty sky above the field.
“Come to bed, Bay,” Landon prodded. “There’s nothing out there. You probably had a dream.”
I knew that wasn’t the case, but I did as he asked, rolling to rest my chin on his chest. “I swear someone was out there flying.”
“Hmm. I’ll send you flying in the morning.” He tightened his grip on me. “Sleep, sweetie. We’ll have bacon and talk about it in the morning.”
Sometimes I wish I could cook, because you’re a little obsessed with food. Then I realize that I get the best of both worlds when my mother cooks. You get the food and I reap the rewards of your digestive euphoria – and occasional food coma. There’s no going wrong in that scenario.
– Bay explaining to Landon why she never learned to cook
Three
“Morning.”
Landon watched me with heavy-lidded eyes as I woke. He was snuggly and in no hurry to leave the bed, his hand heavy on my hip. Despite my very busy dreams – a multitude of men flying over Aunt Tillie’s pot field, where she used marijuana as a form of Kryptonite to bring them down like hobbled birds – I’d slept fairly hard and wasn’t in a hurry to greet the day.
Make A Witch Page 2
