Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

Damn it.

By now, my hands were buzzing with power.

“Gus, you son of a bitch, you get your ass back in this body now, or I’m dropping the toad in the lake and you’ll never get that bone.”

 I clapped one hand on his forehead and the other one I slammed down on his chest, as hard as I could.

Gus’s body rocked from the shock, as electrical currents sparked and coursed through him.

What the hell?!

I let go of him and looked at my hands.

That
had never happened before.

I looked back at Gus.

His nostrils fluttered.

He was breathing.

He was
finally
breathing.

“Thank you, Lady,” I said to the heavens, feeling a huge wave of relief wash through me.

I touched Gus’s face. It was still cool, but that was a huge improvement over
covered in icy frost
.

And this time, I was able to detect a slow pulse.

I bent forward, warming his cheeks and nose with my breath and hands.

Finally, he stirred and groaned.

“What did you have for dinner? Garlic sardines with a side of sauerkraut?” He said, turning his face away from mine.

I laughed, relieved, and sat back.

Gus had returned.

“No, but that sounds weirdly good. I might have it for a midnight snack. What the hell happened to you?”

“Why did you stop me?” He asked, frowning.

“You were unconscious. No, wait, unconscious doesn’t even begin to describe it. You were beyond that. You weren’t freaking breathing. Your heart wasn’t beating. I thought you were a goner.”

“I beg to differ. I had momentarily vacated the body, is all. I’m sure my systems slowed down to protect my organs.”

“You were covered in
ice
.”

“I was
working
.”

I smacked his arm, irritated. “You say working. I say, three seconds away from calling an undertaker. You’re lucky you didn’t wake up in a body bag.”

“If you ever think I’m dead again, get that verified by a doctor before you do anything irreversible. Like with a stethoscope and an EKG machine.”

“You’d better not ever do this again, okay? My heart can’t take it.” And then I smacked him some more.

“Owww. Stop beating me, woman. I had to go there. It was the only way I could negotiate with the Winter Queen. Besides, you got me back.”

“Barely. You scared about three years off of my life span.” Finally, curiosity got the better of me. “So, what was it like?”

Gus grinned and sat up. “A lot like outside, but without roads or houses. Just acres of land, covered in snow and ice. Massive forests, but it’s perpetual winter, so the only green comes from pine trees. All the rest of the trees are bare, their limbs covered in snow. And her castle… is this glorious monument to winter, made entirely of ice. But it’s like a living thing. Even in the moonlight, it sparkles like you wouldn’t believe. It’s gorgeous.”

“Let me guess—you got handsy with it, didn’t you? That’s why it started converting you into an ice sculpture?”

Gus looked so guilty, I knew I was right. That’s the nature of the Otherworld. When you reach out and touch it, it can reach out and touch you right back. Although, usually not quite so dramatically. But it has its moments.

“I have to say, since we moved out here, the magick has been—in general—off the charts. Color me impressed. The weather may suck, but the leylines are buzzing with power. We’re both evolving to something that’s way beyond normal.
It’s an owl, it’s a broom, it’s SuperWitch!
”

“It’s not us. It’s Themselves.” I said, pointing at the sky. For witches, the term ‘themselves’ covered a lot of territory, from deities to faeries to fallen angels. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the Veil between worlds seems to be pretty non-existent out here.”

“It’s this place,” Gus agreed. “I love this place. If we could pick it up and move it to Los Angeles, it would be absolutely perfect.”

“Preaching to the choir. I was thinking that this morning.”

“Do you think you could talk to the Goddess of the Crossroads about that? You seem to have a good relationship.”

“Are you kidding? I’m sure She’s racking up some kind of scoreboard, every time I have to call on Her to help. It’s not going to be so good when She calls in those chips.”

The lights flickered and came back on. Gus stretched and sat up. “Do we have any whiskey left? I could use a drink.”

“You?” I snorted. “I’m the one you put through hell.”

“You have a point. Consider it payback for the hell you put me through when you moved out here.” He looked at my belly and raised an eyebrow. “Chocolate milk?”

I sighed and nodded. “Extra chocolate. Double marshmallows.”

Gus walked into the kitchen, while I sat next to the fire and fretted. He had really scared me. Especially after the visions I had been seeing lately. When I checked the Web (of Wyrd not the Internet), that black cloud that had been dogging him, was covering more and more of his light.

I could feel that he was getting deeper and deeper into something dangerous, but I couldn’t quite see what it was. The only thing I knew for certain, was that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Chapter 11

B
y the time Gus came back with a hot cocoa for me and a hot toddy for himself, the puppies had finally crawled out from under the couch and were laying down next to me.

When my heart rate returned to normal and I could sip my drink without feeling like I was going to drown, I was ready to talk.

“So, after everything you just put me through, how did your negotiations turn out?” I asked.

“We’ll have to wait and see. Weather magic isn’t an exact science, you know.”

“Is any magic ever?” I shivered as the winter wind buffeted our cottage.

As the gust crested in power and howled, a quiet voice wrapped around me like an icy-cold serpent.

“
It’s turning out just fine for me,”
it hissed, before dissipating into the walls.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Gus, my eyes darting around the room.

The Dobies sat up, alert and on edge, growling and looking around.

“The only thing I hear is the chattering of my teeth.” He got up to toss another log onto the fire.

Soft laughter reverberated through the room.

“Tell me you heard
that
?!” I yelped, gripping my mug.

The back door slammed open. A blast of freezing cold air whooshed into the cottage, blowing out the flames in the fireplace, and smashing the lamp to the ground.

The Dobies ran for their hiding spot, under the couch, and wedged themselves in together.

“What the fuck?!” Gus hollered, forcing the words out as a windstorm invaded our cottage. Over the roar of the wind, I could hear the puppies howling and barking from their hideaway under the couch.

The back door slammed shut, but the wind continued blowing inside the cottage, spiraling faster and faster.

 As the currents grew stronger, it was a struggle to stay upright.

Bottles, pictures, tchotchkes crashed onto the floor.

Gus anchored himself to one of the stone columns that buttressed the fireplace.

I pushed my way through the tempest, trying to get over to him, but I had to fight for every step.

Before I could reach a stationary object, the whirlwind lifted me off the ground and sent me hurtling through the air.

I screamed, but the sound was ripped out of my throat by the sheer force of the wind. 

I was an inch away from slamming into the wall, when the wind gently and unexpectedly died down.

I half-fell, half-slid to the ground, amid a pile of overturned chairs and shattered ceramic.

Gus was at my side in a matter of seconds. “Are you all right?”

I gingerly moved one limb at a time.

Everything was working.

I turned my focus inward to the baby.

Move, baby. Show me you’re okay.

Nothing.

Honey, please. You’re freaking your momma out here.

Slowly, I felt a stirring. 

I breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at Gus. “We’re okay.”

Gus opened the front door and looked out over the porch and yard. “What the fuck just happened?” He asked, looking around. Everything was calm. None of the snow had shifted, not even an inch.

“How should I know? You’re the one who caused it. What did
you
do while you were in the Realm of Faery?” I snapped.

“It wasn’t me,” he protested.

“Right. Because indoor tornadoes happen all the time in Wisconsin.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Bull,” I looked around at how badly the wind had trashed the room. It was in total chaos. “We got slammed by a freaking
Gus
nado.”

“It wasn’t me—at least, not
just
me. I thought we agreed, it’s this place. It’s not my fault your cottage takes a simple little magical working and multiplies it tenfold.”

“Simple working, my ass.” I gingerly stood up. “Simple-minded, maybe.”

“Don’t jump on my shit, woman. You’re the one letting a golden opportunity go to waste.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, still glaring at him.

“Earth to Mara. Do you know how many witches would pay to do their rituals at a place like this? This cottage is sitting on some wicked powerful leylines. You could make a fortune.”

I snorted. “Sure. That sounds like a really great idea. That way, I can have every witch and wanna-blessed-be contacting me at all hours, from all over the globe, trying to get in here and cause all sorts of havoc, just like
you
do. Destroying my house and trying to kill themselves—and possibly us—in the process. I don’t think so. You know what sounds like a better idea?”

“What?”

I felt a growl rising in my chest and before I could stop it, I was yelling at the top of my lungs. “Tone down your fucking rituals!”

I was so mad, every muscle in my body was shaking.

The thing was, Gus actually did have a point. Locations that would make most people run screaming, are like heaven-sent manna to witches. It was one of the reasons I wasn’t about to give up the cottage. Sitting on top of an open portal to the Otherworld, is beyond awesome—if you’re a witch. If you’re not, you need to get the hell out before the place destroys you. Sell and sell fast. Advertise it to witches and you’ll be able to unload any kind of haunted locale in a heartbeat.

But, as a witch, you also had to be super-careful what kind of mayhem you called up when you were living in an open portal. And Gus seemed incapable of understanding that concept. I’d bet he’d feign complete ignorance of the word
careful,
even if I tattooed it and its definition on his ass.

“You should try some meditation.” Gus said, shaking his head. “All this stress can’t be good for the baby.”

“Meditation isn’t my problem,” I snapped, when I could talk again. “You are. Instead of driving me crazy and courting the wrath of the Weather Gods and the Winter Queen, why don’t you try being patient for a fucking change?”

“Because fifty years is a geological pace,” he snapped. “Not a Gus pace. “Think of it as helping a good cause.”

“It’s the Internet, Gus! Not everything you read is fact. In fifty years, Grundleshanks won’t be decomposed, he’ll be a freaking fossil.”

I stomped off to my bedroom, followed by the (understandably anxious) puppies. Right now, they were the only company I wanted to share a room with.

Chapter 12

T
he next day, I woke up to parka weather, a cleaned-up living room and a depressed Gus. We were out of milk, but he was so contrite about the damage he had caused, when he saw me pouring decaf coffee on cereal, instead of poking fun at me or lecturing me about the evils of carbs, he ran out to the grocery store and completely restocked our kitchen.

As the week progressed, the weather warmed up. The first few days, we went from a wind chill of 120 below—so cold that the brakes in my car froze—to 30 degrees. It was so warm, it actually started snowing again. From there, the temperature kept climbing and the sparkly snow turned into wet, melted slush. Soon, the snow was replaced by a light rain. As it gently washed away the last of the slush and nourished the earth, winter was starting to feel a lot like spring. Especially when I took the puppies out in the woods and the mud was so deep, it almost pulled one of my hiking boots off. We all needed a bath after that walk.

Thankfully though, we had no repeat occurrences of indoor weather or that eerie voice. Since Gus swore he hadn’t heard it, I was starting to wonder if it had been my imagination.

Gus, however, was still moping around. He wanted a ninety-degree heat wave and he wanted it now.

I almost felt sorry for him—until he waltzed into the kitchen one morning, throwing around attitude and judgmental looks.

“We need to replace the furniture.”

“The furniture is fine. What we need to do, now that you’re back, is nail it to the floor.” I said. “There’s no telling what kind of weather phenomenon you’re going to call up next.”

“It’s dated.”

“It’s antique.”

“It’s too tacky to be antique.”

“So says the King of Tacky. Wasn’t your last coffee table a naked mermaid holding a glass disc?”

“That wasn’t tacky. That was kitsch.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Kitsch is fun.”

I snorted and took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. I was having mega-cravings for french toast with powdered sugar.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Gus said, taking the carton out of my hand and putting it back in the fridge. He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Take your bad attitude and get ye gone, daughter of Eve. Forrest will be here any minute.”

“Who the heck is Forrest?” I asked, confused. “And what happened to depressed Gus? Who let perky Gus out of his cage?”

Gus waggled his eyebrows at me. “That would be Forrest. He’s the giddy-up in my go-go-go. He’s the sugar in my lemonade. The color red in my crayon box.”