Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) (14 page)

“We could bind her magic,” Thistle suggested.

That was an interesting idea. “Are we strong enough to do that?”

“Probably not,” Thistle admitted. “She says we’re not strong witches because we never use our gifts. Maybe we could get our moms to help?”

“They won’t,” I interjected. “They’re scared of her – and if it doesn’t work they’ll worry she will come after them. Besides, they’re all about that whole respecting your elders crap.”

The next two hours crawled by. Finally, Clove instructed Thistle to go and wash the poultice off her face. When she came back out into the living room, we were all relieved that the marks had noticeably faded. They hadn’t entirely disappeared, though.

“You can probably cover them up with makeup,” Clove said helpfully.

“Until they go away, I guess any sleepovers with Marcus are out of the question,” I said.

“Why?” Thistle looked horrified. After seeing him without his shirt, I could understand why.

“He’ll see you in the mornings without your makeup,” I pointed out.

“That evil, evil old lady.”

Clove and I helped Thistle apply her makeup. Thankfully, Thistle was an aficionado of makeup – so she usually wore a decent amount of it. When we were done, you actually couldn’t see the marks on her face unless you were really close – and directly looking at them.

“You could apologize,” Clove suggested.

“I’d rather die,” Thistle swore.

I didn’t blame her. Aunt Tillie was getting more and more out of control. Something had to be done.

Instead of going to the inn for dinner – none of us wanted to be around Aunt Tillie – we had a simple meal of tomato soup and grilled cheese at the guesthouse. We spent the next few hours trying to distract ourselves with television and left to go to the clearing shortly before midnight.

The clearing is technically made by nature – and perfected by man, or witch, rather. It had been enhanced over the years, though, with bright gardens and herb beds. There are several rock formations built into the earth, though, that give the area an eerie feeling. That was actually good, because we didn’t want random people stumbling across it. Aunt Tillie had actually put a spell on the clearing that would make anyone who was not a witch inexplicably queasy. The spell had worked for thirty years.

What? Aunt Tillie is brilliant and evil all wrapped in a tiny and terrifying package.

We weren’t surprised to find that our mothers were already in the clearing preparing for the night’s séance by distributing candles in the shape of a circle on the ground. There was no sign of Aunt Tillie.

“Where’s the Wicked Witch of the Midwest?” Thistle barked out irritably.

“Who?” My mom asked.

“Aunt Tillie,” I supplied.

“She’ll be here in a minute. “She was watching Jay Leno.”

“Did she tell you what she did?” Thistle asked accusingly.

“What did she do?” My mom looked up in alarm.

“She cursed Thistle with some sort of pox on her face,” I said.

Twila and Marnie moved to Thistle’s side to see if they could see the traces of Aunt Tillie’s latest curse. It was hard under the dim light. “Did you make a poultice?” Marnie asked Clove.

“Yeah. It got rid of most of it. You can still see it underneath the makeup, though.”

“You did a good job,” Marnie said.

“That’s all you have to say?” Thistle asked incredulously.

“You can barely notice, dear,” my mom patted Thistle’s arm dismissively.

So not the point.

Thistle, Clove and I stood back and watched our mom’s ready the clearing. They were an efficient trio. None of them had to speak to each other; they all just mentally understood what had to be done. After a few minutes, I could hear Aunt Tillie making her way through the woods.

“Let’s get this over with,” she announced as she stepped into the clearing.

I put an arm on Thistle’s hand to stop her from jumping on Aunt Tillie and strangling her on the spot. There would be time for that later.

Aunt Tillie smiled in our direction, although I couldn’t see if the smile made it to her eyes since she was still wearing her sunglasses. “How did you make it out here in those?”

“I am at one with nature. I always have been.”

“You’re at one with evil,” Thistle grumbled.

“We’re ready,” Marnie broke in, trying to defuse the tension.

We all took our spots in the circle. I noticed that my mom and Marnie had wisely put Aunt Tillie between them, and away from Thistle. That was probably the smartest thing they could do at this point, I figured.

Whenever we found ourselves in the circle – especially with the power of the full moon bolstering us – things just happened naturally. Aunt Tillie took on her usual dramatic tone, calling to the earth, wind, water and fire as she wove a web of magic that settled over all of us in a glittery sheet that only we could see.

After a few minutes of chanting, Aunt Tillie started to call for Myron to come to us.  I waited expectantly, but nothing happened.

“Now what?”

“Shhh.”

I rolled my eyes in Thistle’s direction. The theatrics in this family got old pretty quick.

“We’re calling to you Myron. We’re ordering you to come.”

“Ordering?”

“We want to help you cross-over. Come to us. Let us set your soul free.”

Good grief.

The lit candles suddenly flickered and then the flames shot up nearly three feet into the air. I drew in a breath as I felt a frostiness encumber the air and descend on the circle. Myron was here – or someone was.

I opened my eyes to see Myron’s grizzled face in the circle. He didn’t look happy to see us.

“What do you want?”

“We want to talk to you,” I said simply.

“Is he there?” Clove asked, obviously confused. I had forgotten she couldn’t see ghosts – even if we called them.

“He’s here,” I said.

Thistle and Clove closed their eyes in concentration. In a few minutes, they should be able to hear him, if history held any bearing, that is.

“What the hell is going on?” Myron asked, looking around at the seven of us. “Are you guys witches or something? I can’t hang around witches. People will talk.”

“You’re dead. Who are they going to talk to?”

“I’m dead?” Myron looked shocked.

When he fainted a few seconds later, I think we were all shocked.

“What happened?” Thistle was looking between Aunt Tillie and me curiously.

“I think he fainted,” I answered.

“Can ghosts faint?”

I shrugged. I had no idea.

I watched as Aunt Tillie shuffled over to Myron’s prone form and stared down into his face. “He’s playing possum,” she said finally.

“What?”

“He’s pretending,” Aunt Tillie said.

“Why would he do that?”

“I can’t be seen talking to witches,” Myron said from his position on the ground. He still had his eyes screwed shut and was refraining from moving.

“Get up,” Aunt Tillie admonished him. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m embarrassing myself?” Myron opened one eye. “You’re chanting in a circle in the woods.”

He had a point, but no one had taken their clothes off yet, thankfully.

“Get off the ground,” Aunt Tillie ordered.

Myron sighed as he got to his feet – actually, it was more like I blinked and he was suddenly on his feet. It was a weird effect.

“Am I really dead?” He asked.

“Could you do that when you were alive?” I asked.

“What did he do?” Clove asked curiously.

“He kind of blinked into a standing position,” I explained.

“You’re dead,” Aunt Tillie told Myron. “We’re trying to figure out how you died.”

“He was stabbed,” Clove interjected again.

“I was stabbed?” Myron looked incredulous.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked him.

“I . . . I was at the Stirring Cauldron,” he said.

“The bar?”

“Yeah. I had a drink, I had a couple of drinks, and then I was going to go check out the bonfire and that’s it. I don’t remember anything else.”

“You were stabbed a few hundred feet from the bonfire,” Aunt Tillie supplied. “Right in front of the library.”

“Why are you wearing sunglasses in the dark?”

I was surprised at how well Myron was taking his death.

“I’m allergic to oxygen,” Aunt Tillie brushed off the question.

“Then how can you breathe?”

Such a good question.

“Only my eyes are allergic,” Aunt Tillie said irritably.

“I don’t think that’s really a thing,” Myron said. “Maybe it’s just the pollen in the air? It is allergy season.”

If Aunt Tillie could curse ghosts, I figured Myron would be in some real trouble. Instead, I decided to move the conversation along. “Myron, do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill you?”

“No, do you?”

“No,” I replied. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“What about the money?” Marnie asked.

Myron smiled in Marnie’s direction. It was too bad she couldn’t see him. “Hi Marnie. You look really nice.”

“Thank you, Myron,” Marnie said stiffly.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Um, no.”

“That’s good,” Myron said happily.

“It’s not like ghosts can date,” Clove said sharply. I think she was weirded out by Myron hitting on her mom – which she couldn’t see and could only hear.

“Who says?”

“I don’t know,” Clove said honestly. “I think it’s just a rule or something.”

“Who makes these rules?”

“There are no rules,” I interrupted. If Myron wanted to haunt Marnie, that was his business. We had to tackle the task at hand right now.

“Good,” Myron said, never taking his eyes off of Marnie. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she couldn’t see him. I would let her explain that later – and I was sure there was going to be a later.

“Myron, I don’t know any other way to ask this, so I’m just going to ask it,” I started. “Did you steal money while you were in Iraq during Desert Storm?”

“Who told you that?” Myron looked stunned.

“Edith told me.”

“Who is Edith?”

“She’s a ghost at The Whistler.”

“Edith Cooper? That lady that died at her desk like fifty years ago? How would she know?”

“I think William told her,” I said.  That isn’t technically a lie.

“He said he would never tell anyone,” Myron whined.

“I think she overheard,” I explained quickly.

“When she was a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Myron seemed lost in thought.

“Is it true?” Aunt Tillie asked brusquely.

“I didn’t mean to steal, I really didn’t,” Myron explained. “I found the bag of gold in a house we cleared and no one else was around, and no one lived there anymore, so I didn’t see the harm in taking it.”

Instead of interrupting him, I just let Myron tell the story in his own time.

“I figured I could reopen the restaurant when I got back,” he continued. “But when I got here, I realized that I couldn’t get over the guilt of stealing the money. I decided to hide it. I hoped I would get over the guilt and be able to use it. I just never did.”

“Is that why you told William about it? The guilt?”

“Yeah,” Myron admitted ruefully. “I figured William would know a way for me to get rid of the money, but in a good way.”

“Like giving it to charity?” My mom asked.

“Exactly,” Myron replied.

“Well, those were good intentions,” Marnie said. I couldn’t help but notice that Myron was basking under Marnie’s praise.

“So, why didn’t you do just that?”

“I couldn’t find it,” Myron said simply.

“What?”

“You lost it?” Thistle looked incredulous.

“I didn’t lose it,” Myron disagreed. “I just can’t remember exactly where I put it.”

“You mean you buried it and forgot where you buried it?” Thistle asked.

“No, I didn’t bury it. That would have been stupid. I put it in a cave,” Myron seemed proud of himself, like putting it in a cave and forgetting where the cave was located was somehow better than burying it and forgetting where.

“Do you remember where the cave was?” My mom asked.

“If I remembered where, I would have taken the money and given it to a charity,” Myron said pragmatically. I couldn’t help but marvel at how keen he was – that was when he wasn’t bombed on whiskey.

“Do you remember the general area?” I asked.

“Down by the Hollow Creek,” he said. “That’s all I remember.”