Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale
Read Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale Online
Authors: Amanda M. Lee
Witchy Tales
A Wicked Witches of the
Midwest Fairy Tale
Amanda M. Lee
Text copyright © 2015 Amanda M. Lee
All Rights Reserved
Once upon a time there were three little girls, and they annoyed their great-aunt very much.
– Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up
“What’s going on?”
I glanced up from the porch swing, my eyes landing on handsome perfection, and smiled by way of greeting as my boyfriend Landon Michaels climbed the steps of my family’s inn. He stooped low to give me a kiss and then lifted my feet and settled beside me.
“You’re early this weekend,” I said.
An agent working out of the FBI’s Traverse City field office in northern Lower Michigan, he generally split his time between his apartment there and the guesthouse I shared with my cousins here in Hemlock Cove. Although, truth be told, he was increasingly finding reasons to spend more nights with me as the weeks progressed. I’m not complaining, mind you. I’ve just noticed he’s around a lot more, which seems to make both of us happy.
“I got up at the crack of dawn so I could finish all of my paperwork and be here in time for dinner,” Landon said, pushing his longish black hair from his face and fixing his warm eyes on me. “I might have missed you a little.”
“You just saw me yesterday morning,” I reminded him.
“Yes, but you were still asleep when I left,” Landon said. “You made a weird growling sound and rolled over when I kissed you. I felt bereft without a proper goodbye.”
He likes to mess with me. “I still saw you.”
“But then I had to go all day yesterday without seeing you, and I had to spend the night in my sad little apartment all alone, and then I had to go through today without my daily Bay fix. It was something out of a nightmare.”
He was teasing me, but he was so cute it didn’t really matter. He does something weird to my heart. I can’t explain it. I just feel … lighter … when he’s around.
My name is Bay Winchester, and I’m a witch in love. Sure, the witch stuff is a pain to deal with, but the love stuff is getting easier to get a handle every day.
“I know you think you’re being a drama queen and that it’s somehow funny, but I’m choosing to take your words at face value,” I said, leaning forward and lightly pressing my lips against his strong chin. “I’ll now be able to spend the next few days picturing you curled up in a little ball crying because you had to sleep alone.”
Landon grinned, the expression lighting his already handsome face. “I only cried a little.”
“Did your mascara run?”
“You’re not funny.” Landon reached over and tickled my ribs, delighting when he heard me laugh until I gasped for relief.
“Stop that,” I ordered. “It’s starting to hurt.”
Landon narrowed his eyes as he tried to determine whether I was playing him or telling the truth. Finally, he opted to pull his hand away. “I think you’re making that up, but I would never hurt you, so I’m going to stop.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Why?”
“Then I can do this.” I launched myself on him, using my weight to push him back on the swing and force him down so I could return the tickling favor. Exertion clouded Landon’s angular face as he grappled to shift my body so he was back in control. I’m stronger than I look, though.
“Oh, good grief, do I have to get the hose?”
I glanced up, Landon’s hand tight on my hip as the wickedest witch in the Midwest sauntered onto the front porch of The Overlook – and yes, when my mother announced she and her sisters were naming the inn that, I tried to explain why it was a bad idea. They either didn’t get it, or didn’t care.
“Aunt Tillie,” Landon said, grimacing when I poked my finger into his ribs again. “How are you this fine summer evening?”
“Well, my arthritis is acting up, my glaucoma is taking over and my hemorrhoids have a mind of their own,” Aunt Tillie said. “Other than that, I’m just peachy.”
“You don’t have glaucoma,” I said. “You need to stop telling people that. That’s your excuse for planting a pot field, even though we all know you’re a senior citizen who likes to burn a big blunt from time to time.”
Landon arched an eyebrow. “Burn a big blunt? Where did you learn the lingo?”
“She’s been watching
The Wire
with me,” Aunt Tillie said. “On the nights you’re not here and Clove and Thistle are busy with Marcus and Sam, she has nothing better to do than hang out with me. It’s pitiful.”
I frowned while Landon fought to hide his smile. “I don’t think I’m the only one crying when we’re apart,” he teased. “You must be desperate to spend your nights with Netflix and Aunt Tillie.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a very popular person,” I said. “I could hang out with a lot of people.”
“Are any of them alive?”
Talking to ghosts was one of my witchy gifts. Landon wasn’t always happy with my abilities, but he was putting up a good effort to understand them these days. “I’m desirable,” I said. “I could have any number of male suitors the second I snap my fingers.”
Landon wrinkled his nose. “Why don’t we just agree that I’m the only one masochistic enough to put up with this family? And why don’t we go inside and get a drink?”
I poked him again, this time a little more viciously. “Tell me I’m desirable.”
“I desire you all the time,” Landon said, laughing. “I still think I’m a saint for putting up with this … nonsense.”
“You shouldn’t put up with that lip,” Aunt Tillie said. “If he was in my bed I’d glue his lips together just to get him to shut up.”
Landon shuddered, the mental image of sharing a bed with Aunt Tillie clearly throwing him for a loop. “Don’t ever say anything like that again.”
“Oh, please, you know very well you’ve had dreams about sharing a bed with me,” Aunt Tillie chided. “Don’t deny it. The Goddess knows when you’re lying … and she doesn’t like it.”
“I don’t know why I come back here weekend after weekend when all I get is abuse,” Landon said, pushing me up so we could both settle into a more comfortable sitting position. “It must be because I’m such a masochist.”
I pinched him one more time for good measure and then focused my attention on Aunt Tillie. “What’s up with you? Why are you out here? Isn’t
Jeopardy
set to start in five minutes?”
One thing you don’t want to do is get between Aunt Tillie and Alex Trebek. She takes it personally. She thinks she knows all of the answers, and then swears the television is lying when she’s wrong. Winchesters like to be right. All of us.
“I needed some fresh air,” Aunt Tillie said.
“Why?”
“Because … well … why does it matter? I love nature. Give it a rest.”
She was up to something. I can always tell. The first hint is the fact that she’s breathing. The second is her darting eyes when formulating a lie on the spot.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Landon asked.
“Because you’re suspicious by nature,” Aunt Tillie replied, nonplussed. “It’s your biggest personality flaw.”
“How many personality flaws do I have?” Landon asked.
“None,” I said, patting his hand reassuringly. “She’s making that up.”
“Six,” Aunt Tillie countered.
Landon lifted an eyebrow. “Six?”
“You have a big ego, you’re a bully when you want to be, you yell too much, you’re a glutton, and I think you might be a sexual deviant,” Aunt Tillie said.
“That’s on top of me being suspicious, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I can’t argue with any of that,” Landon said. “You know you have some of the same personality defects, right?”
“I don’t have any personality defects,” Aunt Tillie said, crossing her arms over her chest.
I tried to swallow the snort before it escaped and failed.
“I don’t,” Aunt Tillie said. “I’m one of those rare people who have no failings.”
“Good to know,” Landon said.
Something else was going on here. “Why are you really out here?”
“I told you, I want to enjoy nature,” Aunt Tillie said. “Summers are far too short in Michigan. I want to enjoy this one before winter returns.”
“I … .”
“Aunt Tillie!”
The three of us froze when we heard the bellow. By the time Landon and I shifted our eyes back to Aunt Tillie, she was already descending the porch steps.
“You never saw me,” she said.
The front door of The Overlook flew open and my mother stormed out, her sisters, Marnie and Twila, close on her heels. “You stop right there,” Mom ordered.
Aunt Tillie did as she was told, but instead of turning to face her family she focused on a nearby tree and pasted a puzzled look on her face. “I think we should hire someone to come in and prune some of these trees,” she said. “The ones over here are getting out of control.”
“You’re out here looking at the trees?” Mom asked, dubious. “Do you really expect us to believe that?”
“What’s going on?” Thistle asked, walking up to the front porch from the path on the west side of The Overlook. Her boyfriend Marcus was beside her, and our other cousin, Clove, trailed several feet behind with her boyfriend Sam.
“I have no idea,” I said. “We were hanging out when she came outside and said she was hankering for some nature.”
“And you believed her?” Marnie asked.
“Of course not.”
“You’re on my list,” Aunt Tillie said, shooting me a dark look and extending a gnarled finger in my direction. “You’re at the top of it.”
Thistle clapped her hands excitedly. “I’m so glad. I’ve been at the top of the list for weeks.”
“You’ve been at the top of the list since you were born,” Aunt Tillie said. “It’s in your nature to be at the top of the list. You want to excel in everything.”
“Let’s get back on topic,” Mom suggested.
“Let’s,” Aunt Tillie agreed. “I think these trees need to be pruned.”
“That’s not the topic I was talking about,” Mom said.
Aunt Tillie ignored her. “Marcus, I don’t suppose you would be willing to help me prune these trees, would you?”
“Sure,” Marcus said, his face impassive. “I like pruning trees.”
“You’re multifaceted weird,” Thistle said.
Marcus leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “That’s why we get along so well.”
“Well, that was annoying enough to put you right back at the top of my list,” Aunt Tillie said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, Marcus, I wasn’t talking about you.”
The only adult Aunt Tillie never seems to lose her temper with is Marcus. She’s also particularly fond of Annie, the daughter of a woman who works at the inn, but Marcus has a special place in her heart. They have an interesting relationship.
“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?” Landon asked. “I have a feeling you guys came out here for a reason.”
“We have a very big reason,” Mom said. “Do you know who was on the phone, Aunt Tillie? I think you do. That’s why you scampered out of the house like you did.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Aunt Tillie said.
“Who was on the phone?” I asked. Knowing Aunt Tillie, she could be up to almost anything.
“It was a sales representative from Manchester Printing in Traverse City,” Mom said. “He told me that her order of a thousand labels – the ones for her new wine business, mind you – were on their way and they would be here tomorrow.”
Uh-oh. Aunt Tillie’s wine business was a sore spot. Everyone, including Landon, knew she made it illegally. He’d been trying to shut her down for months, but he kept running into brick walls. Most of those walls were short and Aunt Tillie-shaped.
“Why would you need a thousand wine labels?” Thistle asked, confused. “You generally only make twenty bottles at a time.”
“How do you know that?” Landon asked, his eyes narrowing. “Have you been helping her?”
“Don’t get all huffy with me,” Thistle said. “She’s been making wine for decades. She used to make us help when we were teenagers.”
“Yeah, we were in charge of the sugar and yeast,” Clove said.
“And the manual labor of filling the bottles and waxing the corks,” I added.
Landon scowled. “I can’t listen to this,” he said. “She’s illegally making wine and now you’re telling me she used underage kids to do her dirty work? What do you expect me to do with that?”
“Ignore it,” Mom said.
“What’s in the past is in the past,” Marnie said. “You know very well you can’t arrest her for things she did more than a decade ago.”
One look at Landon’s face told me he might have known it in his head but his heart was putting up a fight.
“Why do you need a thousand bottles of wine?” I asked.
“I’m … expanding my business,” Aunt Tillie said. “I’m taking them to a consignment fair tomorrow afternoon.”
“You are not,” Landon said. “That’s illegal. You cannot sell that wine. It’s one thing to illegally make it and drink it yourself. It’s another to sell it. I can’t sit by and watch you sell it.”
I put my hand on his arm to still him. “What consignment fair sells wine?”
“It’s a special one over in Kingston,” Aunt Tillie said, studying her fingernails.
“She’s talking about the Renaissance fair,” Thistle said. “I saw it advertised on a billboard. I was going to suggest that we all go, but then I got distracted by … this.”