Careful What You Witch For

A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

By Amanda M. Lee

Text copyright © 2015 Amanda M. Lee

All Rights Reserved

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Author’s Note

Books by Amanda M. Lee

“Pick it up!”

“You pick it up!”

“I’m not the one who dropped it.”

“I didn’t drop it. I’m … organizing.” I glanced up from the floor, my legs crossed, and fixed my cousin Thistle with an annoyed look. “We have to get some organization going in this place.”

Thistle arched a dark eyebrow, her eyes flashing as she ran a frustrated hand through her blue hair. “You’ve made a huge mess.” She gestured to the plastic bags strewn across the floor around me. “You can’t organize by making a bigger mess, Clove.”

I rolled my eyes, tucking a strand of my long, dark hair behind my ear as I regarded her. “If you want to organize, you have to start with disorganization.” I’d read that in a book somewhere, and it stuck with me. I’m big on reading.

“What book is that,
How to Drive My Cousin Insane for Dummies
?”

I furrowed my brow. I was used to being talked down to. That’s what happens when you’re the meekest member of a close-knit family. Thistle always takes it to a harsh level, though. When someone is being mean to me, I like it when she swoops in and eviscerates them with her razor-sharp tongue. When her vitriol is pointed at me, I want to give her hair a good, hard yank. “No one is making you stay here,” I pointed out. “We’re slow today. You can go and do … whatever you want to do. You don’t have to watch me.”

“What are you going to do?” Thistle asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Why do you care?” I shot back. I was feeling particularly feisty today. Don’t worry, it won’t last. I get up the urge to fight and then wish I hadn’t two hours later. It’s what I do.

“Because we’re exactly one week away from the summer season starting,” Thistle said. “Once summer is officially here, then Hemlock Cove is going to be bustling with activity. We need this place put together … not filthy. This is how we make a living, or did you forget that?”

Since Thistle and I had shared ownership of our magic shop, Hypnotic, for three years now, her words chafed. “Of course I didn’t forget,” I scoffed. “Who do you think does the bulk of work around here?”

“Me!”

“You?” That was laughable. “You make candles and then pop in when you feel like it. I do all the herbs. I do all the ordering. I do all the decorating. I do all the … organizing.”

“You do all the decorating because you like it,” Thistle argued. “We live in a magically rebranded town. Anything ‘witch’ will do. You’re the one who feels the need to change the decorations every season. You just like to decorate.”

“People like it when you acknowledge the holidays,” I retorted. “Just because you’re … heartless.”

“Oh, whatever,” Thistle said, waving at me dismissively. “If you’re insistent on doing this, though, I guess I can take a trip over to Traverse City. I need to get some new wax. The stuff I bought in the fall is almost gone – and it was a little soft for my liking.”

I knew Thistle was giving me an out, but for some reason, I didn’t want to take it. “Oh, are you finally going to get moving on the spring candles?”

Thistle wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve had months to get going on the candles,” I reminded her. “You only like to work when a deadline is looming. It’s frustrating.”

“Not all of us are planners, Clove,” Thistle said. “Some of us are more creative when we have to be. I don’t like lists and … organization. I like to let my creative juices flow.”

While it was true that I had never met a list I didn’t like, there was something about Thistle’s tone that irked me. “And where would you be without my lists?”

“Standing right here.”

“Really? Because it was my lists that made sure we got the summer ordering done before the season started,” I argued.

“I was going to do it,” Thistle said. “You just didn’t give me enough time.”

The truth was, Thistle hated ordering and organizing. I loved both. I got some of my best ideas when I was doing a menial task – finding pearls of wisdom in the back recesses of my mind while I focused on something else, not that Thistle ever gave me credit for those ideas. “If we would have waited, we wouldn’t have had inventory for next week. Do you know what next week is?”

“The Spring Fling,” Thistle replied, her tone dry. “It’s the official ending of the spring season and the beginning of the summer season – even though spring doesn’t end for another four weeks. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“It’s one of our biggest weekends of the year,” I said.

“I know.”

“So, how were we magically going to get the inventory if I didn’t step in and do it?”

Thistle placed her hands on her narrow hips. “I … that’s neither here nor there,” she sniffed. “I always do what needs to be done.”

“Not this time.”

Thistle swiveled, stalking toward the counter so she could grab her purse. “Fine,” she said. “You stay here and do your … organizing … and I’ll go and get the wax. I don’t feel like fighting.”

She could have fooled me. “Fine.”

“Great.” Thistle was already halfway out the door.

“You didn’t win this one,” I yelled to her back.

“I always win.”

No, she always has to get the last word. Unfortunately, that’s a family trait.

TWO HOURS
later I was almost done, and I had a great new idea for blueberry pancake wax melts to experiment with when Thistle returned from her jaunt to Traverse City with supplies. I just hoped I could convince Thistle to give it a try.

I started doling the herb bags to their appropriate spots, only stilling when I heard the wind chimes above the door jangle to signify someone’s entrance into the store. “I’ll be right with you.”

“No hurry.”

I recognized the voice. “Hi, Dad.”

I was still getting used to saying that. Dad. It had a nice ring to it, although it was also awkward. My father – along with my two uncles – had recently returned to the area. Being married to a Winchester woman was hard enough, but being married to a Winchester witch was even harder. They’d left during our adolescent years, keeping in varying degrees of communication with us during their exile. Now that they were back, we were all struggling to find even footing with one another.

“The store looks good,” Dad said, smiling down at me. At barely five feet tall, I’m small – and somewhat top heavy. Most men tower over me, and my father was no exception. Thankfully, he wasn’t interested in looking down the vee in my shirt like the rest of his gender.

“Thanks,” I said, depositing the last bags on the shelf. “We’re just finishing up our spring cleaning.”

“Your shelves look kind of bare,” Dad said, glancing around the store.

“We don’t have our new inventory out yet,” I explained. “It should arrive Monday.”

Dad’s face brightened. “Does that mean you’re free this weekend?”

“What did you have in mind? I’m not sure Bay and Thistle are up for another family dinner just now,” I said, my mind involuntarily traveling back to the horrors of the last one. While I was ready to strengthen my bond with my father, Bay and Thistle were more reticent. They weren’t exactly fighting the effort, but they weren’t exactly embracing it either.

“Actually, I was hoping you would come out and stay at the Dragonfly this weekend,” Dad said.

I stiffened. The Dragonfly Inn was my father’s new business endeavor. He’d joined forces with his former brothers-in-law, and they’d purchased a dilapidated piece of property on the outskirts of town. After months of hard work, their new inn was getting ready to open – and then it would be in direct competition with the inn that my mother and aunts ran. It was a sore subject in the Winchester house. Actually, it was a
really
sore subject.

“I didn’t think you were opening for another two weeks,” I said evasively.

“We’re not … technically,” Dad said. “We’re having a soft launch this weekend. We’ve invited several travel reporters and business executives for a trial run. We’re hoping that people will consider it for company retreats, and if things go well, we should get some nice press out of it, too.”

“That’s a great idea,” I enthused.

“This area already has a solid tourist business,” Dad said. “I think we’re in a good position to make a profit right away. We just want to make sure we do everything we can to make it a success.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I said. “We don’t have enough inns to keep up with the tourist population as it is. I guess I’m not sure why you want me there.”

Dad searched my face, reading the fear there, even though I was trying to hide it. Visiting the Dragonfly opened all sorts of old wounds for my mother and aunts – and it made my Great-Aunt Tillie feel … threatened. And, quite frankly, when Aunt Tillie feels threatened, everyone needs to duck and cover.
Me first!

“I understand if you don’t want to come,” he said.

“I want to come,” I said, eager to please. “I want to support you.”

“You’re just worried about what Aunt Tillie will do,” Dad said, finishing my unsaid thought for me.

“She’s been a little crazy where the Dragonfly is concerned,” I hedged.

“That woman has always been crazy,” Dad grumbled.

I glanced around. In my head, I knew Aunt Tillie wasn’t hiding in a corner and eavesdropping. In my heart, I wasn’t sure she wasn’t capable of making herself invisible to do just that. “She’s just protective.”

“I’m not here to argue about Aunt Tillie,” Dad said. “She’s been … very good to you.”

“When she’s not being evil,” I mumbled.

“I just thought you might want to have a little fun this weekend,” Dad said. “You could also get some free publicity for the shop.”

That piqued my interest. “How?”

“I was hoping you would do tarot card readings,” Dad said. “We want the Dragonfly branded with the town, and we thought tarot card readings – and maybe even a séance – would be a good way to do it.”

“A séance?” Séances never end well in my family. They usually end up with me cowering in a ball on the floor. Ghosts are real in my world, but they’re also a pain – and sometimes tempestuous.

“Nothing serious,” Dad cautioned. He was aware of the witchy genes in our family, although he didn’t like to talk about them. “I was just thinking something fun – something fake – would be enjoyable for the guests.”

Something fake? That I could do. “I don’t see why not,” I said. “It sounds like fun.”

“I figured you could stay in one of the rooms, too,” Dad said. “That would allow us to spend some time together.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said. “We only live ten minutes away.”

“Still, I want you there,” Dad said. “This is a big deal for us. I want you to be part of it.”

His face was so earnest, I didn’t want to say no. Still … I had plans for this weekend, and they revolved around the new man in my life. Sam Cornell and I had only been dating a few weeks, but the time we got to spend together was precious to us. We were still in the heady infatuation phase of our relationship, but missing an entire weekend together would be disappointing. “I kind of have a … date … this weekend.”

I wasn’t embarrassed about my relationship with Sam – no matter how much Thistle and Bay were fighting our union – but it was still awkward to discuss it with my father.

Dad inhaled heavily. I was in my mid-twenties, but I was still his daughter. “Bring him,” he said finally.

I raised my eyebrows, excitement coursing through me. “Really? Are you sure? That means we’d be sharing a … room … together.”

“I figured,” Dad said, wrinkling his brow. “You are an adult, Clove. I might not see you that way, but you are.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I wish Mom saw me that way … and Thistle and Bay, too.”

Dad smiled. “Thistle and Bay are two of the most loyal people I’ve ever met.”

“They still treat me like I’m a child.”

“That’s because you’re the youngest,” Dad said. “That’s a good thing, Clove. You have a lot of people in your life who want to take care of you.”

“What if I don’t want them to take care of me?”

“I think you’re in trouble then,” Dad said, his eyes twinkling. “The one thing I can say without any hesitation is that you’re loved. That love comes in many forms – some of it harder to take than others – but people don’t stop loving you because you’re ready to grow up.

“You just have to take it one step at a time,” he said.

I leaned in and gave him a quick hug. “I think you just hired yourself a psychic for the weekend.”

“Good,” Dad said, patting the top of my head. “I don’t think we could do it without you.”

That was nice to hear, especially since Thistle and Bay were usually the ones people asked for help. Finally, I was going to get a chance to do something on my own this weekend.

Now I just had to convince Sam to go with me. I had a feeling that was going to be harder than it sounded.