Witchdependence Day: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 8) (3 page)

“You’ll eat anything,” Bay said, linking her fingers with his. “You don’t care whether it’s barbecue or bacon.”

“Ooh, do you think they’ll have bacon?”

I watched the couple leave the barn, shifting my eyes to Thistle once they disappeared. “What do you think? We could have dinner with your family and still spend the night here.”

“I don’t know,” Thistle hedged. “I kind of wanted us to be alone.”

“I think you should have dinner with the family,” Aunt Tillie countered. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Thistle narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Why are you saying that? You don’t want to be there either.”

“Yes, but at least I’ll have someone to irritate if you put in an appearance,” she replied. “I need to get my thrills somewhere. You’ll do in a pinch.”

I couldn’t contain my chuckle as Thistle shot her great-aunt a murderous look.

“You really are a terrible person sometimes,” Thistle said. “You know that, right?”

Aunt Tillie was unperturbed by Thistle’s tone. “It keeps me young.”

“
W
here’s the bacon
?”

Landon approached Winnie, Bay’s mother, with a petulant look as he studied the assembled goodies on the picnic table in the middle of Hemlock’s Cove’s town square.

For her part, the generally amiable woman smacked his hand as he reached for a cookie and shot him a dark look. “Those are for dessert.”

“I’m hungry,” Landon whined. “Bay has been mean to me all day and I need a cookie to make me feel better.”

Winnie pressed her lips together as she regarded her daughter’s boyfriend. Even when she acted stern I could tell she liked Landon. He’s too charming to dislike, and the way he dotes on Bay is every mother’s dream. “Fine. You can have one cookie.”

“Thank you.” Landon snatched two cookies and pretended he didn’t see Winnie’s pointed glare as he handed one to Bay. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Yes, but that other stuff you gave her needed penicillin to knock out,” Aunt Tillie interjected, grabbing her own cookie.

It took everyone a moment to grasp what she was insinuating.

“Aunt Tillie,” Winnie screeched, disgusted. “Don’t ever say anything like that again! That is your great-niece … and the man who has saved your bacon more times than I can count.”

“Speaking of bacon … .” Landon was unruffled by Aunt Tillie’s comment.

“There’s no bacon, Landon,” Winnie said. “Suck it up. Aunt Tillie, apologize to Landon and Bay right now.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Aunt Tillie replied solemnly. The look on her face reflected sincere contrition, but I knew she had something else behind the look. “I’ve been a terrible great-aunt. As part of my punishment, I shall go home without supper and think about what I’ve done.”

“Not so fast,” Winnie said, grabbing the back of Aunt Tillie’s collar and tugging her toward the picnic table. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. This is a family dinner. That means the entire family is going to be here.”

“Does that include me?” Sam Cornell, Clove’s boyfriend, nervously approached the picnic table. He still felt like an outsider despite his new living situation and Clove’s abject adoration. Sooner or later he would relax and embrace the family dynamic. It couldn’t come fast enough for me. He was jumpy – and that made everyone else jumpy. No one needs jumpy witches. Trust me on that one.

“Of course it includes you,” said Twila, patting Sam’s shoulder as she moved closer to Thistle. “Why is your hair still purple? I think the color is all wrong for you. You need richer hues. The purples and blues wash you out.”

Since Twila’s hair was fire-engine red any dyeing advice generally fell on deaf ears.

“Thank you, Mother,” Thistle replied, her irritation evident. “Just for that I’m going to dye my hair purple and blue next time. I hope you like it. I’m going to dedicate it in your honor.”

Twila slapped Thistle’s hand with a wooden spoon, taking me by surprise with her swiftness. “You’re lucky I’m a good person,” she said. “Otherwise I would punish you for being an insolent pain in the butt.”

“Insolent?” Thistle arched a challenging eyebrow. “You’ve been watching
Wheel of Fortune
with Aunt Tillie again, haven’t you?”

“It happens to be a wonderfully entertaining show.”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to watch a grown woman flip letters for a living,” Thistle deadpanned. “It’s a true gift to humanity.”

I blew out a resigned sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose. Much like Landon, I love all of the Winchester women. When you put them in the same small area, though, headaches are inevitable.

“What’s everyone doing at the festival tonight?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“I think that would be a cool job to have,” Clove said, brushing her dark hair from her face as she reached for a cookie and earned a warning look from her mother, Marnie. “I would love to dress in an evening gown and turn letters on national television.”

Thistle snorted. “You would.”

“I think Clove would be great at it,” Sam argued. “I think she’s great at whatever she does.”

“Thank you,” Clove said, beaming widely as she blew Sam an air kiss. “I knew there was a reason I moved in with you.”

“Yeah, he’s full of it,” Thistle said.

I opened my mouth to admonish her and then thought better of it. If I were the one who told her to take it down a notch she’d take her anger out on me and ruin our entire night. It was better to let someone else take her on – and then deal with the uncomfortable fallout. I could be the sympathetic boyfriend making her feel better following what was sure to be an annoying verbal clash.

“Be nice,” Twila chided, wagging a finger in her daughter’s face. “I’m with Clove. I think it would be fantastic to dress up in sparkly evening gowns and turn letters. It would be an even better job if I could sing.”

“I think it sounds boring,” Bay offered.

“That’s because you won’t wear dresses,” Winnie said. “The Goddess gave you legs. You should show them off occasionally. You always dress in jeans and cargo pants. It’s … stupid.”

Bay made a face only a mother could love. “Thanks!”

“I agree with your mom,” Landon said. “I love it when you show off your legs.”

“That’s because you’re a pervert,” Aunt Tillie said, sticking her tongue out when Landon glared at her. “Don’t look at me like that. Everyone knows you’re a pervert.”

“Have you ever considered you have a dirty mind?” Landon asked primly. “Perhaps I’m not a pervert. You probably think that because your mind is clouded with dirty thoughts.”

“No, you’re a pervert,” Aunt Tillie shot back, unruffled. “How long until the food is ready? I’m starving. There are such things as elder abuse. You know that, right? I could report you.”

“We haven’t even started grilling yet,” Twila said. “Dinner is at least a half hour away.”

“Well, work faster,” Aunt Tillie said. “If I don’t eat soon my blood pressure will bottom out and then I’ll go into hypoglycemic shock. You know what that means.”

I had no idea what that meant, but was understandably curious. “What does it mean?”

“Oh, no,” Thistle, Bay and Clove groaned in unison.

“Why did you ask her that?” Thistle asked, exasperated.

“I want to know if she’s sick,” I replied. “That hypoglycemic shock thing sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” Aunt Tillie said, nodding. “It can make a mind wander.”

Well, that was a frightening thought. If Aunt Tillie’s mind wandered any further it might not find its way back home.

“She’s not sick,” Thistle said. “This is like when she claimed she had glaucoma.”

“I do have glaucoma,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “It’s situational glaucoma. That means it comes and goes and I have no control over it. That’s why I need my … herb garden.”

“Keep it up,” Landon warned, wagging a finger. “I’m going to burn that herb garden to the ground.”

“And your oxygen allergy?” Bay prodded. “Whatever happened to that?”

Aunt Tillie squinted as she regarded her great-niece. “It comes and it goes … much like my glaucoma and your intelligence.”

“All right, leave my Bay alone,” Landon ordered, slipping his arm around Bay’s waist. “I don’t like it when you’re mean to her.”

“I do,” Thistle said, earning a pinch on the wrist from Clove and a scowl from Bay. “What? Bay is being a pain. She won’t let me turn Clove’s old room into a craft room, and she’s irritating me.”

“You’re irritating me,” Bay shot back.

“You’re both irritating me,” Winnie said. “Who else is irritated by this never-ending argument between Bay and Thistle?”

I raised my hand before I ascertained the intelligence associated with the gesture.

“Really?” Thistle raised her eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re turning on me after I planned a romantic night for us and everything.”

“I’m not turning on you,” I countered. “I’m just sick of hearing about the room.”

“I think you should leave the room as it is,” Clove said. “I think it looks pretty.”

“Oh, puh-leez,” Thistle said. “You want us to put a photograph of you in there so we can go in and worship your memory on a daily basis. You want that room to be a shrine. We’re not wasting that space, so get over it.”

“You get over it,” Clove shot back.

“Can we all just get over it?” Marnie asked, her eyes flashing. “Good grief. Why does everything turn into an argument when we’re all together?”

“I think it has a little something to do with your attitude,” Aunt Tillie replied, reaching for another cookie and earning a whack on the hand from Winnie.

“If you try stealing one more cookie I’ll make you eat the sheet we baked them on,” Winnie warned.

“I think the whole family has PMS,” Thistle announced. “That’s the only explanation. It’s probably situational, much like Aunt Tillie’s glaucoma.”

Landon groaned and covered his eyes. “Stop saying things like that. I’m going to have nightmares.”

Despite the imminent Winchester meltdown – and it was imminent, make no mistake – I felt happy. This was a true family. This was true love. This was how a lazy summer night was supposed to be spent.

“Aunt Tillie, next time Landon ticks you off I think you should curse him with a never-ending supply of tampons,” Thistle announced, earning odd stares from a few random festival guests who overheard the pronouncement as they passed the picnic table.

This is also a group of women – and a few men – who might know each other a little too well. There’s absolutely no button they won’t push.

“Who wants something to drink?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

No one answered.

“Who wants family dinner to be over with?” Aunt Tillie asked, mimicking my voice.

Everyone’s hands shot up in unison.

Okay, I love them. They’re all major jerks sometimes, though.

“
I
THINK
we should play some games,” Landon said a few hours later, leading the way through the festival. “I want to win Bay a stuffed animal.”

“Oh, how cute,” Thistle enthused, sarcasm practically dripping from her tongue. “Bay finally found a boyfriend to win her stuff at a carnival. She only started dreaming about that when she was a fourteen, and now she’s finally gotten her wish.”

“Stop being a pain,” I instructed, tugging on Thistle’s hand to make sure I drew her attention. I’m not big on shouting. I’ve found being the quiet one in the Winchester world has its benefits. People have to strain to hear me, and I like that. “I think it’s cute.”

“I think it’s cute, too,” Clove said. “I want Sam to win me a stuffed animal so I can start a collection.”

Sam looked uncomfortable with the suggestion. “Um … I’ve never been great at these games.”

Thistle snorted. “All carnival games are rigged,” she said. “No one is good at the games here. Don’t feel bad. You’re not meant to win. No one wins.”

“I’m good at them,” Landon argued. “I always win Bay something.”

“Oh, you’re so cute I want to gag,” Thistle said.

Okay, it was time to take her ego down a notch or two. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I won you that stuffed cat at the spring festival,” I pointed out.

Thistle’s cheeks turned crimson as Clove and Bay jerked their heads in her direction.

“Oh, really?” Bay looked intrigued – and like the shark in
Jaws
when it was about to eat someone while they were still alive and screaming. “What did this cat look like? It didn’t happen to be orange with black stripes, did it?”

“And now goes by the unfortunate name of Mr. Whiskers?” Clove added.

“Who told you I named it that?” Thistle asked, mortified. “Did you tell them I named it that, Marcus?”

I held my hands up in a placating manner. “I didn’t tell anyone about the cat.”

“No, you just ratted me out in front of my cousins,” Thistle grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where’s the loyalty?”

“You love that cat and you know it,” I said. “Bay loves the stuff Landon wins for her, too. There’s nothing wrong with it. And Sam, well … we’ll help Sam win something for Clove.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam deadpanned. “I’ll win Clove something on my own. I’m sure I can be a very effective carnival … game thingy … winner.”

“Yes, you’re going to terrify everyone when you play a game thingy,” Landon teased. I searched his face for signs of distaste, but Landon’s previous dislike of Sam appeared to be a thing of the past. I was glad for that. Clove clearly loved Sam, and he adored her. I wanted them to have some happiness, especially because Clove often gets shunted to the side thanks to Thistle and Bay’s louder personalities.

“Let’s all win something,” Bay suggested, her eyes twinkling when they landed on Thistle. “I mean, the four of us, of course. Thistle is far too mature to watch Marcus win a stuffed animal for her.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as I studied Thistle’s conflicted features.

“I’m fine with that,” Thistle gritted out.

“Great.” Bay turned to the game aisle and pointed. “Let’s do the balloon one first.”

I purposely waited for Thistle to pick a pace and then fell into step next to her. I considered offering to win her a stuffed animal regardless, but sometimes it’s better to let her make the suggestion. I had a feeling now was one of those times.

“I want a stuffed animal,” Thistle whispered.

“Then you have to ask nicely.”

Thistle rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might tip over. It took her a moment to collect herself, but when she did, she had an earnest expression on her face. “Will you please win me a stuffed animal?”

“I will,” I confirmed. “Which one do you want?”

Thistle remained a few steps from her cousins as she perused the selection. “I want the dog on the shelf up there.”

I studied the hound in question. He had a cute face and adorable floppy ears. “Consider it done,” I said, moving to join Landon at the booth. “Just for curiosity’s sake, though, what are you going to name him?”

“I’m not going to name him,” Thistle scoffed. “I’m not ten. I don’t name stuffed animals.”

I arched a challenging eyebrow and waited.

“He’s naming himself,” Thistle clarified. “Mr. Paws.”