Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

“There is no way he’s going to do that. Grundleshanks is the whole reason he wants to do the ritual. What’s the problem with Grundleshanks, anyway?!” I asked, exasperated. “You two are being impossible.”

Aunt Tillie grabbed my arm and an image of Gus popped into my head, his flesh dripping off of him, until he was nothing but bones.

A wave of sadness, regret and guilt punched me in the gut.

Angry, I pulled away.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?!” I yelled. “Stop putting things in my head. Gus will be fine. He’s a big boy.”

Responding to my emotions, both Dobes softly growled in Aunt Tillie’s direction. I didn’t know if they could see her as clearly as I could, but they could definitely sense her.

“Leave the child be,” my mom said, softly. “It’s too late. The process has already begun. The dominoes are starting to fall.”

“What exactly does that mean? No dominoes,” I said. “Forget the dominoes. Life is
not
a game of dominoes. It’s
never
too late.”

Aunt Tillie looked at my mom. “I would have expected something more intelligent out of your side, Adele. She must take after her father. I warned you adding human blood into the mix was a bad idea.”

“Hey!” I protested. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Hush,” Aunt Tillie hissed.

From the edges of the forest, I could see wraith-like figures closing in on the gathering. They were extremely tall, with long hooded cloaks.

Inside me, I could feel the baby turning to look at them.

“What in the world…?”

As the cloaked figures got closer, the spirits in the cemetery vanished, one by one.

Chapter 22

“W
ell, that was interesting,” I muttered.

“Hope you’re hungry!” Gus hollered, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked over and laughed.

Gus looked like a ridiculously sexy, gender-bending escapee from
Rocky Horror Picture Show
. He was all decked out, from a black leather corset, bright blue mini-skirt and fishnet stockings to a pearl necklace, blue feather boa and platform glitter heels. The look was finished off with heavy Goth make-up and a black cape with a brilliant blue lining.

Forrest, on the other hand, looked scary and kind of awesome. His face was painted like a harlequin skull, and he was wearing a court jester’s outfit, a crown-like hat with bells on the points, and a crooked sign around his neck proclaiming him the Lord of Misrule, but
Misrule
had been crossed out and replaced with
Gus’s Rule
in blue marker. Strapped to his waist was a black, white and red pole with a skull at the top wearing a mini-jester’s hat.

They were both loaded down with food, carrying a platter in each hand. With the way Gus was teetering on his heels, I wasn’t sure he’d actually make it to the table before he lost his balance.

Aramis and Apollo ran towards them, joyful at the prospect of up-ending Gus and enjoying a free meal.

“Starved,” I called back. I could feel the baby settling back down, now that all the wraiths were gone. I clapped my hands. “Hallelujah, the victuals have arrived. Thank the Gods.”

“I always love being the answer to people’s prayers,” Forrest said, grinning, giving his skeletal make-up an even eerier appearance.

They both navigated the Doberman crew and made it to the table, platters intact, where I helped them lay out the main feast: Slow-cooked leg of lamb with fresh oregano and rosemary, roasted potatoes sprinkled with dill, finished off with a side of spinach and rice in a tomato sauce base. There was also Greek Spaghetti baked in tomato sauce, with freshly-ground black pepper and myzhithra cheese, since I was having a hard time dealing with meat these days.

It was an embarrassment of riches, and easily, a three thousand calorie dinner.

Once all the food was on the table, Gus did an elaborate invocation of spirit. He quoted Shakespeare, lit more candles, rang the bell and pounded on the hearthstone with the wand.

“I call on all our ancestors,

Kith and kin to join us, in this time of Gus’s Rule.

Red threads and black, white threads and grey.

Mingle, mingle, mingle who may.

Round and about, thout a tout tout,

The good stay in and the bad stay out!”

I looked around, expecting to see a repeat rolling in of the wraiths.

But there was nothing.

I tried to open a mental door to the other side, and it was swiftly closed in my face.

“Fantastic calling. Let’s eat.” Forrest said, sitting down.

“That was one of my better ones.” Gus seemed pleased with himself as he added food to the plate I had started for the dead. He poured a glass of each of the wines and set them in front of the skull. I looked to see if Forrest wanted to add anything to the plate, but he was already eating.

How could Gus not sense that we were alone? Even the baby seemed to be taking a nap.
Had the cadre of cloaked figures that had shown up earlier been some kind of ghostly police force? Is that why the spirits had vacated so quickly? And why they weren’t returning?

And why couldn’t Gus sense anything? He was arguably the strongest witch I knew. Were his internal sensors out of whack? Or was it mine? Were they actually here and I was blocked from seeing them somehow?

But why would that be? Would my abilities have gone on walk-about because I had pissed Aunt Tillie off?

I thought about it, and dismissed that last scenario. If Aunt Tillie had the power to render me a mundane human, she would have done it months ago. Which meant, the spirits hadn’t returned. But why couldn’t Gus sense that?

And what was the deal with the whole brother thing? Would I ever find him? Was it possible that I met him already, and didn’t know it?

Gus has always felt like my brother. We called each other siblings of the soul. But what if there was more to it than that? Wouldn’t it be the coolest thing ever if Gus turned out to actually be my brother?

But I had met his family before, and no one had ever said a word about Gus being adopted. Although, it’s not something that normally comes up in conversation.
“Pass the potatoes, and by the way, Gus is adopted.”
I think I would have remembered that.

Besides, he looked an awful lot like his
yaya
, his grandmother. This whole thing was just wishful thinking. What I needed was some kind of compulsion spell. Damn spirits were never as forthcoming with information as I wanted them to be.

Apollo nudged me, to remind me that they were under the table, watching for scraps. I dropped a piece of cheese on the ground for each of them, along with some carrots.

By the time I looked back up, the sun had set, the dinner was lit completely by candle and moonlight, and Forrest and Gus were in mid-conversation.

“Brilliant plan. The taxidermist was a stroke of genius. So, when are you going to let me hold the bones in my hot little hands?” Forrest asked, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

“When I’m ready,” Gus said.

“Why do you even care?” I asked.

“Because I’m a guy. We’re all about experiential learning. Ask Gus. He understands. Hey, we could bind some of those bones together, and make a miniature bone knife.”

I made a face. I used to have a bone knife once. It was also known as a fairy knife, since it had no metal, just a bone handle with an obsidian blade. My dad had bought it for me, two birthdays before he died. But holding it, I could see and feel the hunt, and the deer’s death, and it was just the saddest thing. I had to give the knife to Gus, because I couldn’t hold it without crying. Gus said it was because the bone hadn’t been obtained properly. And then he went out and bought me a bone knife that looked the same, but didn’t make me cry. So he was probably right.

Gus teased me about having the ability to be a great witch but being too sappy to ever fulfill my potential, and he was probably right. While I had made peace with him bouncing in and out of gray magic realms, I preferred to stay firmly in the light—when I had a choice. Even though Gus says my talents as a necromancer automatically puts me on the same path as him.

I have to admit, there are days when I talk far more to the dead, than I do to anyone who’s alive. But it’s not like I go out and intentionally perform magickal rites with the dead, which is what I think of, when I hear the word
necromancer
.

It’s more like the spirit world keeps seeking me out and sometimes, (like with my Aunt Tillie, when I first moved out here), I have to defend myself. So I don’t think that should count.

Gus, of course, thinks I’m ridiculous. Before he left for Chicago, he got me a tee-shirt that said
Mara Stephens: FortuneTeller, Witch, Reluctant Necromancer
. I only wear it though, when I’m cleaning house or doing laundry. I wondered if my brother had the same aversions and talents that I did, or if he’d be completely different than me—assuming I was ever able to find him at all.

I was so deep in thought, I totally missed the conversation going on around me, until Forrest asked my opinion.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“I could tell. Are we boring you?” He asked, one eyebrow arched. “Do we need to pair our scintillating dialogue with common circus tricks, to hold your attention? Should I start punctuating my questions with backflips?”

I could feel my nostrils flare and the edge of my upper lip start to pull up into a snarl as I stared at him. I quickly clamped down on my reaction and rearranged my face into a neutral expression. All sorts of responses were running through my head, but with a baby on the way, I was trying really hard not to swear so much.

“Could you?” I asked sweetly, baring my teeth in a semblance of a smile. “After all, you’re wearing the right costume for it. And I would really appreciate the added entertainment. Watch out for the gravestones though. I would hate for you to hit your head.”

Unless you whacked yourself hard enough to do permanent damage
, I added in my thoughts.

I smiled and Forrest narrowed his eyes at me.
Crap.
I really hoped reading thoughts wasn’t one of his talents.

Chapter 23

“S
he hasn’t been ignoring us on purpose,” Gus said, interrupting our staredown. “It’s just what she does. She gets hyper-focused on something, and it’s like nothing else exists.”

“What are you talking about?!” I asked, offended. “I don’t do that.”

“Are you kidding me? When you’re reading a book, I can walk up to you, yell directly in your face, and you won’t hear a word I’m saying. You won’t even know I’m standing there, unless I take the book away.”

“That’s because I’m
reading.
When I’m reading, I’m totally immersed in the world of the book. Doesn’t everyone do that?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

Both of them were shaking their heads.

“How can you
not
read like that? That would be so totally boring.”

“It’s not just reading,” Gus said. “You do it when you’re writing, when you’re spellcrafting, when you’re in ritual, when you’re painting, when you’re thinking. Everyone does it a little bit, but you take it to an extreme.”

“I’m pretty sure we could have set one of the serving platters on your head, and you’d have no idea,” Forrest said. “Hell, we could have probably lit your shirt on fire, and you’d be clueless.”

“I’m sure she would have figured it out, once third-degree burns set in.”

“Shut up! You guys are totally exaggerating.” I said.

Gus looked at Forrest and raised an eyebrow. “The only time you don’t do it, is when you’re watching TV. And that’s only because you fall asleep during the first commercial break and don’t wake up until the show’s over.”

“I do not! Well, maybe now, but only because I’m pregnant. I’m a woman. We multi-task. I may not look like I’m paying attention, but I totally am. I’m not sleeping. I’m resting my eyes. But I’m listening and following every plot twist.”

“Bullshit,” Forrest snorted.

“I don’t think multi-tasking actually exists,” Gus said. “I think it’s something women invented to give men an inferiority complex. Because I haven’t seen anyone do it well.”

“I can totally multi-task,” I protested.

“Prove it. What were we talking about? You don’t even have to give me an entire sentence. A sentence fragment will do,” Gus said, calling my bluff.

“You are so mean. You were talking about… Grundleshanks’s bones.”

Gus made the sound of a buzzer. “Nope. Sorry. That was two conversations ago. Try again?”

I tried to think back to what they had been saying, but I had been so busy listening to the thoughts inside my head, I hadn’t heard anything going on outside of it.

“Well, I can normally multi-task. I was just… distracted, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. We were talking about the three strikes law. I think it should be done away with,” Gus said.

“And I think it should be strengthened. Three strikes, automatic execution, go sort things out with your Maker.” Forrest said.

“What about wrongful convictions? Or petty crimes?” Gus asked. “That doesn’t seem fair, to be executed for shoplifting.”

Forrest shrugged. “Collateral damage.” Then he grinned at me—at least, it resembled a grin. Although what it reminded me most of was a wolf about to eat its prey.

“This is why I couldn’t remember the conversation. It was dumb. Besides, I thought Suppers for the Dead were supposed to be silent.”

“Not necessarily,” Gus shrugged.

“We had a moment of silence. That’s enough.” Forrest said.

“So, what do you think?” Gus asked.

I paused. I hadn’t actually given it a lot of thought before.

“A woman who doesn’t have an opinion on everything?” Forrest asked. “Stop my heart.”

“I think… it should be limited to violent crimes only,” I said.

“Fascist,” said Gus.

“Commie pinko liberal,” said Forrest.