A Breath of Witchy Air

  A Breath of Witchy Air

  A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Book Twelve

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2018 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

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  13 years ago

  Tillie Winchester was on a rampage.

  Someone had broken into her bedroom and stolen the key to the basement room. Yes, that basement room. Oh, she thought she was clever – and, yes, Tillie knew it was a she – but she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough to get away with it.

  Tillie knew someone broke into the room the second she crossed the threshold. She had a “feeling” for things like this. Okay, it was more than a feeling. She’d spelled the room to give up its secrets should anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there garner the courage to enter, and the second Tillie checked the magical alarm system following a hunch (and the suspicious disappearance of three pains in her behind) it started babbling.

  Someone had been here … and Tillie knew exactly who that someone was.

  “Thistle Winchester!”

  Tillie started bellowing before she hit the main floor of the house, ignoring the way her nieces watched her as they prepared dinner.

  “Who are you yelling at?” Marnie asked, confused.

  Tillie was genuinely fond of her nieces – she had a hand in raising them from birth and took over completely when her sister died, so they were almost like her own children – but she was in no mood to listen to inane questions, which would ultimately be followed by rational arguments. That’s all her nieces offered at times … inane questions and rational arguments. Tillie hated being rational.

  “Who does it sound like I’m yelling at?” Tillie asked, adopting a sarcastic tone as she folded her arms over her chest. “I believe I said two words … and they were a name … so I think it’s rather clear who I was yelling at.”

  “Thistle,” Twila supplied, her hands busy kneading dough for fresh bread. “Why are you looking for her?”

  Tillie shot Twila a withering look. While she loved all her nieces – and exactly the same amount, which is what she told them over and over again when they were growing up and asked if she had a favorite niece – Twila often tried her patience most. That’s because she was a dingbat. Tillie tried to think the word with love and fondness whenever it crossed her busy brain, but that didn’t change the fact that Twila was frequently in her own little world … and sometimes it was a real struggle to get her to come out and join the real world.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Twila was an adorable dink, and they were all glad when she didn’t get hit while crossing the road. Thistle was Twila’s daughter, so the lovable moron often stood up for her. Tillie was in no mood for that. Thistle had many of her mother’s traits – wild hair, a short attention span, a mouth that worked faster than her brain, etc. – but Thistle could out-think her mother in five seconds flat on her worst day.

  “What did Thistle do now?” Winnie asked, pursing her lips as she peeled potatoes. “Should we be worried?”

  That was a question Tillie didn’t want to answer. In truth, Tillie had no doubt Thistle was up to no good. The problem was that Thistle had stolen a key that allowed her to get into Tillie’s secret stash, a cache of homemade wine (and maybe a little something herbal, too) that her nieces weren’t supposed to know about. And while Tillie Winchester wasn’t afraid of anybody, she’d come to the inevitable conclusion she was allergic to being yelled at … and no one wanted to suffer an allergic reaction.

  “Of course not,” Tillie answered perfunctorily. “Thistle is an angel. She would never do something she’s not supposed to do.” Tillie was a master when it came to self-preservation. She wanted to make Thistle pay without tipping off her nieces that something was about to go down. “I simply want to spend time with her … because I love her.”

  Winnie, always smarter and more capable of reading people, was understandably dubious. “You love Thistle?”

  I would love to wring her scrawny neck, Tillie immediately thought before recovering and plastering a serene smile on her face. “I love her beyond reason.”

  Winnie didn’t believe that for a second. Oh, she knew her aunt loved her great-nieces – all three of them to varying degrees depending on the day – but it was obvious Tillie was agitated. Thistle had a special gift when it came to agitating people, so that was to be expected.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but make sure it’s not so bad the cops are called,” Winnie warned. “The last time Terry was out here because you and the girls declared war on each other he threatened us with nuisance fines because of the fire.”

  Tillie balked. “I had that under control. He freaked out for no reason. There was no danger of the fire spreading. I was simply keeping it where it was to smoke out Thistle and Bay.”

  Winnie let loose an exaggerated sigh. “He didn’t know you could magically control fire.”

  “Well, he should have. I’m omnipotent and all-powerful, after all. I never lose control of a situation.”

  Marnie cocked a challenging eyebrow. “If that’s true, you shouldn’t need our help to find the girls. You should magically know where they are … and what they’re doing.”

  “Oh, I know what they’re doing,” Tillie intoned, making a face. “I don’t have one single doubt as to what they’re doing.”

  Winnie narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?”

  “They’re … doing yard work.” The lie slid off Tillie’s tongue, but she knew it didn’t make much sense if her nieces opted to think too hard. “They’re working on a surprise for you.”

  Winnie stared at Tillie for a long beat, blinking three times in rapid succession as she debated pushing the issue. Tillie could practically read the curiosity on her oldest niece’s features, but she opted to ignore it and push forward.

  “I just need to know if you have any idea where the little darlings disappeared to,” Tillie pressed. “I promised to check on their work to make sure they were doing a good job.”

  “Really?” Winnie’s tone was dry. “You know we don’t believe that, right?”

  Tillie didn’t care if they believed her. She only cared that they stayed out of it and let her handle punishment in her own manner. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tillie lied smoothly. “I simply want to see my great-nieces. I love them. In fact, I’m going to love them to pieces.” Maybe literally, she added silently with an upbe
at smile.

  “Last time I saw them they were heading toward the garage,” Marnie offered. “They seemed to be in good moods – heads bent together and whispering – so I’m sure they haven’t gone far.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they haven’t gone far either.” Tillie squared her shoulders and stomped toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Winnie watched her with unveiled interest. “Will the girls be with you?”

  “Only if the Goddess smiles on them.” Tillie didn’t bother to look over her shoulder as she stormed out of the house, making a hard left and crowding the vinyl siding until she appeared at the front of the house.

  She tilted her head to the side and listened for the telltale sound of whispers on the wind. She was rewarded ten seconds later – the girls weren’t far away at all – and resumed her trek, not stopping until she stood in front of the double garage door.

  She heard the girls talking inside. They giggled and snorted, admonished one another to be quiet, and then did it all over again. Tillie didn’t have to see inside to know what they were doing.

  Tillie lifted her hands and let loose a wisp of magic that caused the mechanical feature on the garage door to engage. It was a slow process – Tillie wished it would open much faster – and she heard the girls scrambling for cover as the door opened.

  Tillie stood in the middle of the opening, the sun at her back, and watched as Thistle, Clove and Bay blinked rapidly to allow their eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Clove said, shielding her eyes. “The neighbors might have seen and we would’ve been in trouble if they reported us.”

  “Yeah,” Thistle drawled, her red hair gleaming under the sunlight. “What if they report us to the police for being witches?”

  “Then Terry will have an extremely hard time pretending he doesn’t know what we are,” Tillie shot back, her eyes narrow as her gaze bounced between faces. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?” Bay asked, adopting an air of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, you know.” Tillie wasn’t in the mood to play games. “You know darned well what I’m talking about.” She extended a hand. “Give it to me.”

  Thistle eyed her great-aunt’s palm with something akin to distaste. “I think you’re assuming we know what you’re talking about. That’s a mistake because we have no idea what you’re talking about.” She talked so fast her words almost blurred together.

  “Oh, don’t pull your crap with me.” Tillie made a face. “I know exactly what you’re doing and I don’t like it.”

  “I believe you’re mistaken.” Thistle forced a smile that was more of a grimace. “We’re going to need more information if you expect us to understand what you’re talking about.”

  Tillie leaned over so she could stare directly into Thistle’s eyes. “You’re good.”

  Thistle preened.

  “I’m better, though,” Tillie added. “I know you stole the key to my wine room in the basement.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say about your only great-nieces,” Clove complained, screwing her face up as she prepared to let loose a torrent of fake tears. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

  “If you start crying I’ll hurt your behind with my foot,” Tillie warned, extending a finger. “Where is my key?”

  None of the girls jumped to their feet to return the pilfered item. In fact, other than Clove’s attempt to muster fake tears, none of the girls looked worried in the least. Tillie couldn’t have that.

  “Where is my key?” Tillie repeated on a hiss, narrowing her eyes to dangerous slits. “If you don’t hand it over, I’ll call your mothers out here to smell your breath.”

  Bay, her blond hair whipping, jerked her head in my direction. “Why would you possibly do that?”

  “Because I happen to know what was in the room for which you stole the key. Your mothers don’t.”

  “It seems to me that you would be in as much trouble as us if you told them,” Thistle noted, her eyes flashing with evil mirth. “I mean … if our mothers knew you were making wine in the house and leaving it where we could stumble across it – quite by accident, mind you – I can’t see them being happy.”

  “Yeah,” Clove supplied. “I think they would be furious and make you pay.”

  Tillie had to bite back a smile. The little monsters were trying to shake her down. She should’ve been offended by the effort, but she was too entertained to even consider that. They were starting to turn into actual people. Sure, they were teenagers – which meant they were essentially walking and talking sociopaths – but very soon they would be tolerable people. She was looking forward to that. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Let’s just call it a serious conversation about a very serious topic,” Thistle replied, reaching toward the ground and coming back with a black plastic cup, from which she proceeded to sip and smile. “I mean … we’re minors. You could get in a lot of trouble for keeping wine around.”

  “Wine that we accidentally drank because we thought it was juice,” Clove added.

  Thistle lashed out and cuffed the back of her head. “Don’t admit it, you moron.”

  Clove made a rueful face as she rubbed the spot Thistle struck. “Don’t hit me!”

  “I’ll hit you if you deserve to be hit,” Thistle shot back. “What did I say before we came out here? No matter what, we don’t admit we actually took the wine. Are you slow?”

  Bay murdered Thistle with a quelling look. “Don’t be mean to her. She just got a little excited.”

  “Oh, you always take her side,” Thistle complained. “I’m sick of you taking her side.”

  “I’m sick of all of you,” Tillie snapped, stomping her foot to get their attention. “Now I want my key … and you’d better hand over the wine if you don’t want to get hurt.”

  “We’re not afraid of you.” Thistle was back to being bold. “You can’t rat on us because if you do we’ll rat on you. It’s a stalemate.”

  Tillie had to hand it to them. They’d thought things through. They were wrong, but they’d obviously given it a lot of thought. “You’re forgetting one thing.”

  Thistle was haughty. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m an adult and this is my property,” Tillie replied. “Your mothers might be agitated with the wine, but it’s my house and they’ll agree I’m allowed to do whatever I want in it. Heck, I might even build another house for myself on the property just to get away from you. They can’t stop me. What they won’t agree with is that you’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

  Thistle’s smile slipped a bit. “You’ll still be in trouble.”

  “Do you think I care if I’m in trouble? I’m an adult. There’s absolutely nothing they can do to me.”

  Bay and Thistle exchanged a weighted look. They obviously hadn’t thought this far through the process.

  “So what do you suggest?” Bay asked, swallowing hard.

  “I suggest you give me my key, dump out the wine, and head in to drink some water so your mothers don’t notice that you’re bordering on tipsy,” Tillie replied. “If you put up too much of a fight I’ll change my suggestions to something you really don’t like.”

  Thistle furrowed her brow. “But … no! We were supposed to win on this one.”

  Tillie chuckled, genuinely amused. “Oh, Thistle. You’ll never beat me. When will you realize that?”

  “Um … never.”

  “Well, you need to accept it, at least for today,” Tillie said. “If you don’t hand over my stuff I will go to your mothers and you’ll cry real tears for a change when they punish you.”

  Thistle looked as if she wanted to argue, but the look Bay shot her was one of quiet resignation.

  “She’s won,” Bay said. “We can’t win. She’s right. She won’t get in near the trouble we will.”

  “But that’s not fair.” Thistle glared at her great-
aunt, resentment palpable. “I want to win.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” Tillie said, accepting the key as Thistle reluctantly handed it over. “It’s not that you’re not capable of winning. It’s that I’m incapable of losing. It’s out of your hands.”

  Thistle made a strangled groaning. “Oh, I’m going to beat you one day.”

  “Maybe you will,” Tillie conceded. “I won’t live forever, after all. Maybe the day I die you’ll finally beat me.”

  “It’s going to be a lot sooner than that.”

  Tillie’s grin was impish. “I look forward to watching you try.”

  “Whatever.” Thistle rolled her neck until it cracked. “We didn’t even have a chance to get a good buzz on this time. It totally sucks.”

  The words jarred Tillie. “What do you mean? This is the first time you’ve done this, right?”

  Thistle’s lips curved. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I will beat you if you don’t tell me,” Tillie warned.

  “Hmm. Maybe I’ve already won and I just didn’t realize it.”

  Tillie rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you that’s never going to happen?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  One

  Present Day

  “Give me that.”

  Aunt Tillie reached over and snagged a slice of bacon from my plate, forcing me to glare at her as I sipped my tomato juice.