Make A Witch Read online

  Make a Witch

  A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy Book Three

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2017 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Winchester Witticisms

  1. One

  Winchester Witticisms

  2. Two

  Winchester Witticisms

  3. Three

  Winchester Witticisms

  4. Four

  Winchester Witticisms

  5. Five

  Winchester Witticisms

  6. Six

  Winchester Witticisms

  7. Seven

  Winchester Witticisms

  8. Eight

  Winchester Witticisms

  9. Nine

  Winchester Witticisms

  10. Ten

  Winchester Witticisms

  11. Eleven

  Winchester Witticisms

  12. Twelve

  Winchester Witticisms

  13. Thirteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  14. Fourteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  15. Fifteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  16. Sixteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  17. Seventeen

  Winchester Witticisms

  18. Eighteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  19. Nineteen

  Winchester Witticisms

  20. Twenty

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  I wish that woman would either fall in a really deep hole or forget I exist. I’m honestly not sure which would be better.

  – Sam Cornell explaining why he’s hiding behind a bush while Aunt Tillie walks across the street.

  One

  “Aunt Tillie?”

  My mother, Winnie Winchester, ambled into The Overlook’s library and spared a glance at my cousin Thistle and me. She appeared weary and distracted, which was unlike her. She was generally in full-on busybody mode where we were concerned, and the distracted nature of her countenance set my teeth on edge.

  “Have you seen Aunt Tillie?”

  Hmm. That was a loaded question. “Ever, or in the past few minutes?”

  Instead of laughing, or dismissing the question with a half-hearted wave, Mom narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits and glared at me. “Are you trying to make me angry? If so, good job. If not, well, be quiet.”

  “Yeah, Bay, don’t make her angry,” Thistle teased, her eyes sparking. “You wouldn’t like Aunt Winnie when she’s angry.”

  “That’s right,” Mom sniffed, tugging her apron to smooth it. “You wouldn’t like me if I’m angry … so live in fear.”

  Thistle, her expression impish, puffed out her chest and extended her arms as she energetically swiveled in her chair. “Aunt Hulk mad.”

  I snorted out a laugh as Mom tilted her head to the side, realization dawning that Thistle was making fun of her rather than taking her side.

  “Yeah, I think I’m done talking to both of you.” Mom made an annoyed face – one I remembered well from my childhood – and heaved out one of those long-suffering sighs only a mother with a snarky child can muster. “Have you seen Aunt Tillie?”

  Instead of answering, Thistle dropped her arms and reached for the glass of wine she’d been sipping when Mom made her presence known. “You know she’s like Bloody Mary, right? If you say her name enough times she’ll pop up out of nowhere and start killing people.”

  “I thought that was Candyman,” I countered.

  “Where do you think the Candyman people got the idea?”

  That was a good question. “We should have a horror movie night,” I suggested, opting to change the subject. Thistle wasn’t wrong about risking the wrath of Aunt Tillie. I figured the sooner we stopped saying her name, the better. “You’re going to be moving out of the guesthouse in about a month and that will be our last chance for a horror movie fest. We should get one in before we run out of time.”

  Thistle arched an eyebrow as she considered the possibility. “That’s not a bad idea. We should call Clove to see if she wants to come over for a slumber party. We’ll pick a night and keep the guys away so it will be just us girls. We can do mud masks and chocolate martinis, too.”

  “That sounds good.” In truth, it sounded really good. Things were changing fast in the Winchester household. Thistle would soon be living with her boyfriend Marcus, and my boyfriend, FBI Agent Landon Michaels, would be moving in with me. The entire concept was dumbfounding.

  Yes, you heard that right. My name is Bay Winchester and I’m a witch in love. After a fight that almost tore us apart, my boyfriend announced he was finally ready to share a roof. As soon as construction was completed on Marcus’ new place, Thistle would move in with him, and Landon would move in with me. It was exciting … and altogether freaky to consider. Seriously? When did I become an adult? Only adults move in with their boyfriends. Wait … we were talking about something, weren’t we? I totally forgot about that.

  “What were we saying?” I asked, turning my attention back to Mom.

  Mom scorched me with a disgusted look. “Really? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d been in Aunt Tillie’s stash. That’s who I’m looking for, by the way – Aunt Tillie. She’s your great-aunt, in case you’ve forgotten and need a refresher. She’s about five feet tall and constantly in trouble.”

  Aunt Tillie’s stash happened to be a huge pile of potent pot, which she’d just happened to harvest about a month ago. She then proceeded to hide it from everyone ... not that we were looking or anything, mind you. I’m moving in with an FBI agent, for crying out loud. I don’t care about my great-aunt’s marijuana harvest. Okay, I don’t care very much about the harvest. Supposedly – if word on the street is correct – it’s something to behold this year.

  “I haven’t seen Aunt Tillie,” I answered. “She was around this morning before I left for work, but I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Which is exactly how we like things,” Thistle added. “We like it when we don’t see that woman. There’s a reason we rejoice when she comes up with a project. Although, to be fair … .” Thistle broke off and tapped her bottom lip, staring out the library window, lost in thought.

  “Where did your head just go?” Mom challenged, annoyed. “If you know where Aunt Tillie is I want to know right now.”

  “I don’t know where Aunt Tillie is,” Thistle answered hurriedly, running a hand through her short-cropped orange hair. She decided to go festive for the fall holiday season and wouldn’t change things up until she decided on a Christmas color. I was fairly certain green would be the winning hue, and only partially because her mother complained when she dyed her hair shades of blue or green.

  “You know something,” Mom challenged. “You must have some idea where she is, otherwise you wouldn’t have added the ‘although’ part.”

  Thistle tugged on her bottom lip as she risked a glance at me. That’s when I realized she might actually know something. I had no idea what that was, but if she was keeping it to herself it must be good.

  “We honestly haven’t seen her,” I added. If Mom found out Thistle was lying and knew what Aunt Tillie was up to I could still get away with minimal punishment because I honestly didn’t have a clue what was going on. “If we see her, though, we’ll send her your way.”

  Mom nar
rowed her eyes, suspicious. She pretends she knows when we’re lying – she even goes so far as to announce it at odd times – but she rarely does. I’ve been accused of making things up when I’m telling the truth so many times I’ve lost count.

  Mom finally exhaled heavily and turned on her heel. “Fine. When you see Aunt Tillie, tell her I’m looking for her.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that will make her come running,” Thistle whispered, amused.

  “I heard that, Thistle,” Mom barked. “You send her to us right away. Don’t bother trying to entice her to play games or anything. She has to help us first.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes so hard I worried she would rock the chair she perched in. “Yes, because we often try to entice Aunt Tillie to play games with us. Except we never do that.”

  Mom ignored Thistle’s brewing diatribe. “You might not believe it, but that’s what you’re doing every single time you pick a fight with her. It simply makes you feel better to believe she’s to blame for everything and you’re some innocent angel.”

  Thistle stared blankly in my direction until she was sure Mom was out of hearing distance. “You don’t think that’s true, do you?”

  “That Aunt Tillie will hide rather than help Mom with whatever she has going in the kitchen? I think Aunt Tillie hates working in the kitchen.”

  “Not that,” Thistle scoffed, waving her hand. “The part about me picking fights with Aunt Tillie because it’s part of a game. That’s not true, right?”

  “Oh, well, hmm.” I had no idea how to answer so I shifted my eyes to an oil painting on the wall. “That thing is dusty. We should clean it or something.”

  “You suck,” Thistle muttered, her tone low and dangerous. “I’ll make you eat dirt for that one.”

  I opened my mouth to plead my case to the contrary – even though I was certain I wouldn’t be able to put much effort behind it – but I was cut short when the front door opened and let in a blast of chilly air.

  There he was: Landon Michaels, FBI agent extraordinaire and my soon-to-be roommate. Wait, that sounds way too Three’s Company. I don’t want to use the L-word (that would be “lover,” in this instance) because that’s too cheesy. Hmm. I’m going to have to come up with something to call him, because “boyfriend” is too middle school and “soul mate” is too romance novel. Decisions, decisions.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Landon pasted a bright smile on his face when he saw me, breezed into the room and dropped a kiss on my forehead as he removed his leather gloves. He glanced at Thistle, found her pouting, and accepted her dark expression as if it were normal. “Hey, evil one. How are you?”

  Thistle dragged her eyes from me and focused on Landon for the first time since he came through the door. “Did you say something?”

  “I greeted you with charm and humility,” Landon teased, amused. “What were you just thinking about? I have a feeling it’s not good. Maybe we should skip dinner and hop into bed early for the weekend, Bay, because Thistle looks as if she has mayhem on her mind and I’m too tired for mayhem. How does that sound?”

  I shrugged. I’d heard worse offers. Heck, I was fairly certain my mother would offer something outright terrible if she didn’t find Aunt Tillie in the next few minutes. “Mom made pot roast.”

  “Oh.” Landon’s smile slipped. “Okay, scratch that. I can’t live without the pot roast.”

  “And here I thought you couldn’t live without me.” I smirked, laughing as he slid into the spot next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I was worried you might not make it until later because of the weather.”

  “It’s not terrible out,” Landon said, shifting to tug off his jacket. “The wind is blowing hard and the rain is going to turn into freezing drizzle before the night is out. I left early enough to make sure I’d arrive before it got too bad.”

  “That’s good.” I rested my hand on his chest, earning an odd look. “I just mean that no matter how much I’d miss you if you couldn’t make it back for the weekend I wouldn’t want you to risk your life on icy roads.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet, Bay.” Landon gripped my hand and lifted my fingers to press a kiss to them. “I would’ve figured out a way to make it here no matter what, though. I don’t care if I would’ve had to rent a snowmobile.”

  I widened my eyes, surprised. “You would’ve rented a snowmobile?”

  “I can’t go without my Bay fix.” Landon pulled me close, shooting a challenging look in Thistle’s direction when she rolled her eyes and mimed barfing. “Do you have a problem?”

  “You guys are so gross you make me want to toss whatever cookies Mom and the aunts are baking,” Thistle replied. “I didn’t realize we were in for an all-schmaltz weekend.”

  “Next time I’ll provide you with a schedule when I have a schmaltz weekend on my agenda.” Landon’s tone was even despite Thistle’s expression. He was used to Thistle’s attitude and remained largely unflappable when she threatened to derail the Winchester express train to weekend relaxation and bliss.

  “That would be great,” Thistle deadpanned. “Then I can plan to be out of the guesthouse so I don’t have to witness the schmaltz volcano.”

  Landon remained stoic. “Well, this will probably be the last schmaltz extravaganza before we shift living arrangements. You’ll be moving in about a month – right after Christmas, if I remember correctly – and I’ve already started transporting things from my apartment.”

  We hadn’t taken the decision to move in together lightly. However, as soon as we both agreed (and made up after a huge fight), Landon wasted no time when it came to packing his things. The first weekend after agreeing to move in together he arrived with a vehicle full of boxes. He was excited, which made me even more excited, and … huh. Thistle was right about this turning into a schmaltz extravaganza.

  “Yeah, we were just talking about that,” I admitted, resting my hand on Landon’s knee. “Would you be upset if we had one more horror movie night before the big move? We want to invite Clove over and everything.”

  “I’m fine with that.” Landon studied me for a moment, his eyes conflicted. “You know you can do that when we live together, right? I can lock myself in the bedroom and you guys can do whatever it is you do when you have slumber parties.”

  “I can guarantee we don’t get in sexy lingerie and have pillow fights,” Thistle offered.

  Landon extended a warning finger. “Don’t ruin it for me. Do you have to be such a kvetch?”

  Thistle narrowed her eyes, annoyed. That was Aunt Tillie’s favorite word for our cousin Clove. Thistle hated when anyone used it to refer to her. “I am not a kvetch.”

  Landon didn’t appear bothered by the shift in her demeanor. “If the kvetch fits … .”

  “Don’t do that,” I warned, wagging a finger when Landon launched a lazy smile and Thistle shifted in her chair, giving the impression that she was ready to pounce. “There’s no reason to start a fight when it’s completely unnecessary.”

  “Oh, I thought that was the Winchester way,” Landon teased, flashing me a wink as he relaxed. “Fine. Thistle, I apologize for calling you a kvetch.”

  “Thank you, Landon,” Thistle shot back primly. “I accept your kind apology.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at their serious expressions. “Oh, whatever. You guys aren’t fooling anyone. It’s not like it really matters anyway.” I turned my full attention to Landon as he snagged my wine glass and took an exaggerated drink. “Do you have any work to do this weekend or is it all fun, games and pajamas?”

  Landon arched an eyebrow, amused. “You want to go through the entire weekend wearing nothing but our pajamas?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I would prefer to do it naked, but that will have to wait until this one moves out.” Landon jerked a thumb in Thistle’s direction. “That reminds me, I’ve got to schedule a locksmith to change the locks once I officially move in. I don’t want to risk anyone b
ut you seeing me naked.”

  “Is that because you think it will traumatize us?” Thistle challenged.

  “That’s because I don’t want to ruin everyone else for all other men when I can clearly only handle Bay,” Landon replied. “Of course, there are times when I can’t handle Bay, so … what was I saying?”

  “You were telling me if you have any work for this weekend,” I prodded.

  “Oh, right. I don’t have any work other than reading through a few files, but I can do that in bed after you fall asleep … or in front of the fire tomorrow. It’s supposed to be cold all weekend, so we should gear up with snacks or something.”

  “You’re a very food-oriented person,” Thistle interjected. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Why do you think I fell for Bay?” Landon replied, unruffled. “She’s the only person I know who smells like bacon on a regular basis. She’s practically the perfect woman.”

  I balked. “Because I smell like bacon?”

  “Because you’re you and you occasionally smell like bacon on top of that,” Landon clarified. “I can guarantee that no woman has ever been more perfect than you because of a multitude of qualities, not just one thing.”

  “Nice save,” Thistle drawled.

  “I do my best.” Landon’s tone was dry as he leaned back on the couch, the corners of his mouth tipping up when the front door opened and Aunt Tillie crept inside.