Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) (9 page)

“And you’re not going to live long enough to have one, if you keep driving like that. I can tell you from experience, the trees are not very forgiving.”

“I’m just mad.” I grumbled.

“So, do what other pissed-off pregnant women do. Go shopping. Don’t you have a baby to buy for?”

She blinked out and the car started up again. I turned the radio down and thought about it. Aunt Tillie was right. Maybe I could channel my anger into a productive shopping trip. There were still a lot of things I needed. Especially since I didn’t have family to turn to for hand-me-downs.

I drove over to the mall in Oldfield and blew a hole in my bank account, making the idea of the baby as permanent as I possibly could. Then I went home to cry on Gus’s shoulder, but of course, he was out with Forrest.

So I loaded the Dobies in the car and we drove around Devil’s Point to check out Christmas decorations. Between the businesses and cheerily-decorated houses, the town’s collective light bill had to be astronomical.

Oddly enough, as much as I had complained about the winter weather, I missed the snow, now that it was gone. It wasn’t the same, looking at Christmas decorations in grassy yards. Now that it was warm enough to wear shorts and tank tops, it didn’t feel like Christmas anymore.

Chapter 17

T
he next morning, I heard Gus banging around in the kitchen when I woke up. He must have put the Dobies out in the run, since they weren’t milling around my feet like they usually did. Most people think Dobies need a lot of space, but they’re the perfect apartment dog. All they need is the three square feet of space around their owner.

I should get a tee-shirt made: “Owning a Dobe means never going to the bathroom alone—no matter how much you might want to.” Not that I got much privacy with Gus either, but at least I could beat him to the door and lock him out.

 I brushed my teeth and wandered downstairs in my pajamas.

*     *     *

“Hey, whatever you’re doing in there, I hope it culminates in food hitting my stomach. I’m starving!” I said, walking into the kitchen.

The Dobes were on the floor by the stove, their eyes following Gus’s every move. He was in
crazy chef
mode. The counter and kitchen table were cluttered with ingredients and cooking tools, the stovetop crammed with skillets and bubbling pots.

“A feast can’t just be pulled out of thin air, Sleeping Beauty. It takes preparation,” he said, stirring a pot.

A feast?
Then I remembered. Gus had decided we needed to celebrate Misrule early this year and he was going to kick it off with a Supper for the Dead.

“But that’s not until tonight.” 

“You’ll ruin your appetite by eating now.” He grabbed a pan of melted butter off the stove and brushed it onto layers of thin
phyllo
dough
.

“Can I get a corner of space for a tiny bowl of cereal?”

“You’re out of cereal.”

“What? I still had a full box of chocolate-frosted sugar squares.”

“
Had
being the operative word. Do you have any idea how bad sugar is for you?”

“Are you serious? You tossed my cereal?! That’s not fair.”

“It’s the Time of Misrule. Time to turn your eating habits on their heads.”

“No, it’s not. Wrong on both counts. You’re fucking with the schedule, like you’re fucking with my food. Misrule is the twelve days after Christmas, not the twelve days before Yule.”

“I’m a witch, dear heart. Which means, if I want to bring the spirit of Misrule into play before Yule, I can.”

I snorted. “You can
try
. Doesn’t mean it’ll work. There has to be a rule against moving holidays around to suit your whims.”

“Rules are for sycamores. Witches are rebels and rule-breakers. Witches have ethics, not rules. And my ethics are fine with me moving it to any time between Samhain and Imbolc. If the Catholic church can demote saints, I can move Misrule to a more convenient date.”

“Seeing as how freaking bossy you’re getting, we should call this the Time of Gus’s Rule instead of Misrule.”

“I’m okay with that. In fact, I like it. Welcome to the Time of Gus’s Rule. Get used to doing what I say. And what I say is… your diet is the first thing on the chopping block.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been trying to eat healthier.”

“Not much,” he snorted.

“This is Sunday. Whatever happened to ‘eat-anything-you-want’ Sundays? And I didn’t make that up. It was in that article you gave me.”

“You’ll thank me when you don’t have gestational diabetes.”

While Gus checked on the spinach, I tried to get in the refrigerator, but he was quicker.

He moved me aside. “Excuse me, Chef working here. This fridge isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he said, digging through the shelves.

A rumbly growl sounded from my midsection. “My stomach is lodging a formal complaint. If I can’t have food now, I’m going to start gnawing on the furniture.”

“At least you’ll be getting some fiber.”

“Gus!”

“Tell your stomach to chill. I’m a little busy.”

“I haven’t eaten anything since last night. Move over and let me at the food or I’m not going to be responsible for what happens to you.”

“You should have woken up while it was still morning. The breakfast bar is closed.”

“Cut me some slack. I’m growing a baby. It’s tiring and hungry work.”

Gus was still shifting ingredients around.

“What are the odds of me getting lunch out of that fridge, before I knock you unconscious and toss you on the barbecue?”

“Depends on whether or not you want a sandwich.”

“Gus! Don’t tell me you threw out the bread!”

“Flour is the new sugar.” He handed me a bag of baby carrots.

I wrinkled my nose. “Unless these are made of weird-looking Twinkies dipped in orange frosting, I’ll take option B.”

“You keep feeding that baby your normal Frankenwheat, partially-hydrogenated, high-fructose corn syrup diet and you’re going to give birth to a Twinkie. Obviously, I didn’t come home soon enough.”

Ever since we found out I was pregnant, Gus had been e-mailing me articles on the evils of carbohydrates, sugar and gluten. I dutifully downloaded them into a folder on my computer. I just hadn’t read them.

I bit into a carrot. It wasn’t half-bad. Sweet and crunchy. “I can’t live on carrots.”

“Here, diversify,” Gus said, tossing me an orange.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment. Humans weren’t meant to live on fruits and vegetables alone.”

He snorted. “Deal with it.” But he went back in the fridge and pulled out a leftover piece of salmon from his dinner date with Forrest.

I was going to turn it down, but my stomach growled and the baby practically reached out for it on her own.

“Don’t forget to chew,” Gus said.

I consciously slowed down my eating. But, wow, did this baby like fish. Salmon and cream-of-spinach soup were at the top of my list of cravings.

“Why do we need to celebrate Misrule now, anyway? Why can’t we wait until after Christmas, like normal pagans?”

“It’s not Misrule. It’s Gus’s Rule. You came up with it. I like it. We’re keeping it.”

“So… we celebrate Gus’s Rule now and Misrule after Christmas?”

“Nope. Sorry, love. Forrest is taking me on a trip to Hawaii after Christmas. So, celebrate Gus’s Rule with me now, or not at all.”

My jaw dropped. “You just got back from being out of town!”

“Life is short, Miss Thing. I intend to live it to the fullest.”

Gus went to check on a delicious-smelling leg of lamb in the stove. Seeing my opportunity to get into the fridge and add something chocolate to my plate, I slid off the chair and walked over to check out the contents.

Dang it.
Not only was the sandwich bread gone, so was my chocolate stash, ice cream, frozen pancakes, American cheese, hot dogs, frozen french fries, chicken nuggets, ice cream toppings and maraschino cherries.

I searched through the cabinets. No creamy hazelnut chocolate spread, no ramen noodles, no mac and cheese, no potato chips, no cheesy puffs, no cookies.

“Are you kidding me?!” I said, practically screaming. “Is that why you didn’t want me in the fridge? So I wouldn’t see that everything was gone? Did you leave me
anything!
?”

“What are you talking about? This kitchen is filled with healthy stuff. Protein, dairy, fruit, vegetables and legumes.”

“I want my faux food back!”

“Processed sugar, salt and fat are not only addictive, they’re toxic. Your body is your temple. Stop desecrating it.”

I glared at him. “You’re taking your life in your hands, getting between a pregnant lady and her comfort food.”

“I’m doing it for your own good. Besides, even if you’re too stubborn to realize how right I am, your baby will be thanking me the minute it comes out of the womb. ‘t
hank you, MacDaddy Gus, thank you for saving me from that crazy lady’s food addiction’
.”

I snorted. “My baby’s going to kick your ass for depriving her of chocolate. Did you feed the dogs? Or did you toss their food out too?”

“Of course I fed the monsters. I’m all about self-preservation. Last thing I need is them gnawing on my arm because they’re feeling peckish. Is that all you wanted?”

“No.” I poured myself a glass of milk, liberated a giant wedge of Jarlsberg Swiss cheese and filled Gus in on the argument with Paul.

“Screw him,” Gus said, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Put me down on the birth certificate, instead.”

Chapter 18

“W
hat? Really? Wow.” Gus wanted to be my kid’s dad? That totally took me by surprise.

“Why not?” he asked. “Unlike wuss-boy, I’ve always wanted a demon witch baby. And if it’s born with horns, that’s a bonus. Paul can go fuck himself.”

I nodded. “Let me think about it.”

And I did. And I realized that actually, I was okay with Gus being my baby’s MacDaddy. Even if Aunt Tillie was on the fence about him. Which reminded me…

“Aunt Tillie says put the weather back where it belongs or else. And she’s not too happy about the toad ritual either. She was all,
‘there are fates worse than death’-y
about it.”

Gus stopped stirring and gave me an annoyed look.

“Don’t blame me. She’s the one who’s freaking out. She says the weather thing’s going to bite us, and your plan for Grundleshanks will bring madness or death—at some point. She wasn’t clear on the timetable. But she sounded pretty pissed off. And a pissed-off Aunt Tillie is never a good thing.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“What does that mean?!” I asked, indignant.

“Nothing.” He went back to stirring. Then he stopped. “I just think it’s odd that you’re the only one who can see her anymore.”

“I know. It’s totally odd.” I shrugged. “And she’s not being all poltergeisty either. She’s using her words instead of flying knives. Maybe she used up her mojo.”

Suddenly, it dawned on me what he was really saying.

“Wait, just one gosh-darned minute, mister,” I snapped. “Are you trying to say that I’m making her up?!”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

I stared at him. “I’m about three seconds away from throwing your clothes into a wood chipper.”

“Oh, relax. Of course, I believe you—at least, I believe that
you
think you’re talking to your Aunt Tillie.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, icily.

“I just think you may be being unduly influenced by your own fears.”

“It’s not
me
. Personally, I don’t care what you do with Grundleshanks’s bones. It’s between you and the toad. I’m staying out of it.”

“Tell it to your subconscious.”

“It’s not my subconscious! It’s Aunt Tillie. You’re pissing her off royally. She wants you to undo the weather and forget about the toad, before it’s too late.”

“Uh-huh. So, did good ol’ meddlesome Aunt Tillie tell us how?”

I rubbed my forehead. This conversation was starting to give me a headache. “Seriously? You cranked up the sun and you don’t know how to undo it?”

Gus snorted. “I meant about our dire
worse-than-death
fate?”

“She never elaborates on that. Just drops those D-bombs and vanishes.” I shrugged. “Knowing Aunt Tillie, it’ll probably be at her hands. Maybe she’ll run us over with a car, or shove us into the lake.”

Gus snorted. “I’d like to see her try.”

“Don’t tempt her. She’s grown quite a homicidal streak since she died. Did you seriously not have a plan to restore winter? That
had
to be part of your negotiation.”

He sighed. “I barely had time to ask for summer to return until I could do the toad bone ritual, before you pulled me back.”

I could feel the air rushing out of my lungs, like I had just gotten punched in the gut. “Did you say
until
you can do the ritual?”

“Yes. So, if I don’t do it, summer is here permanently and that’s going to suck for a whole lot of people. If I do the ritual, according to your Aunt Tillie, we may be looking at a dire
worse-than-death
fate. So, tell me, what am I supposed to do?”

Fuck
. No wonder she thinks Gus and I are witchy menaces. We pretty much are.

“What happens if Aunt Tillie kills you before you can do the ritual?” I asked.

“We’ll have one hell of a drought.”

“I’m being serious.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure the weather will undo itself, eventually. Nature will always right the balance. Even if she has to flip the poles to accommodate the reversal in seasons.”

“We are so totally screwed,” I said.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” he agreed. “Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea.”

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you. So… do we have anything around here for dessert? If you’re going to kill us, I want chocolate first.”

He pointed a wooden stirring spoon at me. “See the fruit bowl on the counter? Take a banana and get out.
Now
. Before I feed your portion of tonight’s dinner to the dogs.”