Wicked Witches of the Midwest 9 Read online

“Well, I’m not pregnant,” I said. “Don’t even think about spreading that rumor. I can only take so much.”

  “Oh, now that I know how much it’s going to bother you, I’m totally going to spread that rumor,” Thistle teased. The corners of her mouth tipped up in a smile but her eyes were serious when they latched onto mine. “You need to tell me what’s wrong. You look kind of pale. Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”

  “I’m sure I’m not getting sick,” I replied. “I simply feel uneasy. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Do you think it’s a premonition?”

  Winchester witches all have special abilities. No one boasts legitimate premonitions, but that didn’t mean it was out of the realm of possibility. I was fairly certain that wasn’t happening, though. “I don’t know what it is,” I said. “I just feel off.”

  “You need to be more specific,” Thistle challenged. “Do you feel off physically or mentally? If you’re feeling off mentally I’m totally going to use it to my advantage and steal Clove’s old room for my pottery wheel. Heck, if you’re feeling off physically I’m going to do that. You’ve been warned.”

  I narrowed my eyes to dangerous blue slits. Ever since Clove moved out of the guesthouse Thistle and I had been locked in a battle of wills for control of the third room. I wanted to make it an office, and she was determined to make it a crafts room. It sat empty because both of us refused to give in. We are Winchesters, which means we’re stubborn, so there is a decent possibility that room will sit empty forever.

  “Don’t push me,” I said, wagging a finger as I focused on the back door of the Dandridge. “I’m not mentally or physically sick. I’m just … worried.”

  Thistle cocked her head to the side as she regarded me, her expression grave. “Do you think something bad is about to happen?”

  I saw no reason to lie to her. “Yes.”

  “Well, great,” Thistle intoned, wrinkling her nose. “It’s been quiet for two weeks. I guess we’re due for a bout of trouble, huh?” She didn’t look particularly perturbed at the prospect.

  “I guess so,” I conceded, forcing a wan smile. “No matter what it is, I don’t think it’s happening today, though. Let’s get Clove and see this tanker we’ve heard so much about.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “WHAT DO you think?” Clove was nervous. She chewed on her lower lip and stared at the Yeti Inferno. No, I’m not making it up. Whoever owned the 1970s tanker before Sam purchased it christened her the Yeti Inferno. I kind of liked it. Because Clove is afraid of Bigfoot, she balked when she heard it. That, of course, caused Thistle to tease her mercilessly for weeks.

  “I think it looks pretty cool,” I said. We stood on the dock behind the Dandridge and stared at Clove’s new project. “It has a lot of personality.”

  In truth, the tanker wasn’t nearly as bad off as I initially envisioned. It wasn’t an overly large ship and it had been used for decades to ferry heating oil through the Great Lakes. The former owner retired her when she became more work than it was worth to keep up with the repairs. Sam didn’t want to sail the tanker, though. He wanted to dock her and turn her into a haunted attraction. He got the tanker on the cheap and he’d already had a structural engineer examine her. The ship was sound and it had a lot of potential. If he wanted to make money off of it this year, though, we only had about six weeks to get it in shape.

  “I think it’s neat,” Thistle said, her eyes gleaming. She’s usually so snarky and sarcastic I forgot she’s excitable when a new project looms. Sam said she could help decorate the tanker; she’s an artist at heart so she jumped at the chance. “Let’s check it out.”

  “Okay.” Clove seemed relieved that we didn’t dismiss the tanker outright.

  We had to climb an iron ladder to make it onto the main deck, and because none of us are exactly known for our physical prowess we were breathing heavily when we hit the bow.

  “You need to figure out an easier way to get people on board,” Thistle said, resting her hands on her knees and wheezing. “That’s not going to work for kids and older people.”

  “Sam is building a ramp,” Clove said. “In fact, that’s where he is now. He’s meeting with the builder because we want to get that finished as soon as possible.”

  “I can see that,” I said, working overtime to pretend I wasn’t fatigued. “That’s simply too much work for a normal person to deal with. Thankfully I’m a super witch, so it wasn’t unbearably difficult for me.”

  Thistle snorted. “Super witch? You’re sucking wind.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m only resting like this because I don’t want you to feel bad about what poor shape you’re in,” Thistle shot back.

  “Hey, we’re all in bad shape,” I said. “In fact … I think we should start jogging or something. We need to build muscles and stuff, and get in good workout habits before we hit thirty. It’s all downhill after that. Just ask our mothers.”

  “You have a point,” Thistle conceded. “That doesn’t mean I want to work out, though. Aunt Tillie said that being mean is a form of cardio. That’s my plan. I’m just going to be mean to everyone.”

  “I think you’re well on your way to mastering that,” I said, smiling sweetly.

  “Me, too,” Clove grumbled, her long dark hair falling forward as she stared at a rusted patch of metal on the deck. “Sam is getting someone out to fix this, too. I’m worried it’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth to fix this thing up.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said, kneeling. “If you need only a few cosmetic repairs this will be a real draw for people.”

  “I agree with Bay,” Thistle said, her eyes flashing when I shot her a challenging look. She rarely agreed with me. “I agree with Bay on this,” she clarified. “This tanker has a lot of potential.

  “I mean … think about it,” she continued, taking on a dreamy expression as she stared at the open space at the front of the tanker. “We can do scary tableaus in every compartment. Even if we don’t have time to get to everything this year for the Halloween season, we can close off some of the downstairs areas and focus on the deck and the main cabin this year.”

  “You can also have huge bonfires right over there,” I said, pointing toward the campfire ring Sam built close to the lake. “People will love that. We can get several of those eerie fog misters to add to the ambiance. I even saw one shaped like a witch’s cauldron that I kind of want to get for the guesthouse.”

  “I saw that, too,” Thistle said, giggling. “It’s purple. I love it.”

  “That does sound kind of cool,” Clove conceded. “It’s just … daunting. There’s so much work to do here.”

  “Well, there’s no way we can do the entire tanker before Halloween this year,” I said, my pragmatic side taking over. “It’s impossible, so there’s no sense in shooting for it. We need to decide what we can get done and then take our time doing the rest of the tanker.”

  “I think we should focus on the main deck and the compartments up here – it looks as if there’s some storage space on the far end of the deck – and keep people out of the lower levels this year,” Thistle said. “We’ll be able to do some really neat stuff eventually, but we don’t have time before the season hits. I can design some weird dolls and other decorations in my crafts room over the winter. By spring, we’ll have so much done you’ll be surprised.”

  I pursed my lips. It was a generous offer. Still … . “You don’t have a crafts room,” I reminded her.

  “I will within the next week,” Thistle said brightly. “Just you wait. It’s going to be glorious.”

  “And yet it’s not going to happen,” I argued.

  “Oh, it’s going to happen.”

  “Do you guys always have to fight about what you’re going to do with my old room?” Clove groused. “It makes me feel bad. I think you should maintain it as a shrine to me.”

  Thistle and I snorted in unison.

&nb
sp; “That’s not going to happen,” Thistle said. “That guesthouse is small. We’re going to use the space. I don’t see why you’re so upset, though. You live in a lighthouse with your boyfriend. You shouldn’t care what we do with that room.”

  “It’s not that,” Clove protested. “It’s just … .”

  I kept one ear on the conversation as I ran my hand over the metal wall outside of the main cabin. I’d heard this exact conversation so many times I’d lost count. The moment my fingertips touched the metal, though, my mind flooded with images and I felt as if my brain was overloading and the oxygen was being sucked from my lungs.

  I felt my knees buckle and I had no chance of catching myself. As I plunged toward the hard deck surface, a myriad of images flitted through my mind, each one more dark and distressing than the previous one.

  I didn’t realize I was going to lose consciousness until the screaming started. It seemed to go with the images, yet I wasn’t sure if the sound was coming from someplace else or me. I didn’t get a chance to give it much consideration, because my mind couldn’t handle all of the images and I slapped up barriers to keep the flood of bloody scenes out.

  That’s when my mind overloaded and everything tilted as image after image blurred into one another.

  TWO

  “Bay?”

  I could hear Clove’s voice through the murky kaleidoscope of images in my head but I couldn’t focus on her because my mind was too busy. All I could see was blood, and Clove’s voice wasn’t strong enough to drown out the screaming.

  Thistle took another approach.

  “Bay!” She shook me so hard I thought my head would snap off my neck.

  I snapped my eyes open, the bright light of the day shoving the horrible images out as Thistle’s face swam into view. “I … .” My tongue felt thick and I couldn’t make my mouth work.

  “Are you okay?” Thistle looked panicked as she struggled to keep me in a sitting position.

  “Are you dying?” Clove asked, her brown eyes filling with tears as she stared at me. “Are you having an aneurysm?”

  “How could she possibly know that?” Thistle asked, annoyed. “If she’s having an aneurysm her brain would explode and she’d never realize what was happening.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “That makes more sense than her being able to tell you she’s having an aneurysm.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a doctor,” Clove said dryly. “I must’ve missed all of those hard years you put in at medical school.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Thistle said. “You’re such a … kvetch.”

  That’s what Aunt Tillie called Clove whenever things got dramatic. It seemed to fit.

  “I’m not having an aneurysm,” I forced out. I was happy to find that I didn’t appear to be slurring my words, and the pounding in my head had receded. “I’m … okay.” That wasn’t completely true, but I was feeling better.

  “Have something to drink,” Clove said, rummaging in her small backpack and returning with a bottle of water. “Maybe you’re dehydrated. Wait … are you pregnant? Did you pass out because you’re pregnant?”

  I grabbed the bottle from her, my hands shaky as I tried to remove the cap. Thistle finally untwisted it for me and I swallowed two mouthfuls before speaking again.

  “I’m not pregnant,” I said, knitting my eyebrows as I regarded her. “That’s the second time someone said that to me today. I’m starting to think I need to go on a diet.”

  “Oh, no,” Thistle deadpanned. “The baby bump looks good on you.”

  “Don’t make that joke,” I hissed, rubbing my forehead. “That’s the last thing I need. If you even hint at that my mother will start knitting baby booties and sit on Landon until he proposes.”

  “Yes, but that could be fun.” Thistle’s tone was light but her gaze was serious. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I … saw something.” Actually I saw a lot of things but I couldn’t put them in order and it was difficult to wrap my head around the images, let alone explain them.

  “What did you see?” Clove’s eyes were bright. “Ghosts?”

  Most of the Winchester witches have special abilities. My mother and aunts are kitchen witches, but fully capable of whipping up potions and spells. I see and talk to ghosts – which is a royal pain in the butt – but that’s not what happened this time.

  “I … no,” I said, racking my brain for an explanation. “At least I don’t think it was ghosts. I definitely saw something, though.”

  “What?” Thistle was intrigued and she leaned forward once she realized I could support my own weight. “Does this have anything to do with what you said when we were walking up the driveway?”

  “I … don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t exactly the truth either. My intuition told me this was exactly what I’d been dreading. How could I possibly know that, though?

  “What did she say when you were walking up the driveway?” Clove asked.

  “Nothing.” I massaged my forehead. “It’s nothing.”

  “She said she felt uneasy,” Thistle supplied. “She couldn’t explain it. She said it was like a feeling of dread. I asked her if she was pregnant and threatened to take advantage of the situation to turn your room into a crafts area – you know, the usual stuff – but she said that wasn’t it.”

  “I don’t like this,” Clove said. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital. If you are pregnant … .”

  “I’m not pregnant!” I exploded, taking them both by surprise. “Stop saying that. Good grief. Landon and I are happy, and I don’t need you guys scaring him off by saying that.”

  “I was just joking,” Thistle said, her expression rueful. “I’m not sure Clove’s suggestion to go to the hospital is a bad one, though. Maybe you really do have an aneurysm or something.”

  “That’s not what happened.” In truth, a legitimate medical condition would be easier to deal with than what I witnessed when I touched the side of the tanker. “I saw something. It was too much for my brain to absorb at once, so it knocked me for a loop. I’m fine now.”

  Clove didn’t look convinced. “What did you see?”

  “Something horrible.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to reflect on whether or not it was wise to utter them. “It was like layers and layers of … horror.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Thistle admitted, settling cross-legged on the deck next to me. She enjoyed messing with my brain, but when things went bad – as they often did in the Winchester household – she was the first to jump to everyone’s defense. “What did you see?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it,” I replied, licking my lips. “I … it was bloody.”

  “Bloody?” Clove’s voice hopped an octave. “What do you mean it was ‘bloody?’”

  “I don’t know how to explain it.” My patience was wearing thin. The only thing keeping me in check was the fact that I knew exploding at Clove and Thistle would make matters worse. “I touched that wall and I … saw people running. They were screaming. There was a knife … and a lot of blood … and there were bodies on the deck.”

  Clove’s hand flew to her mouth as she glanced around the deck. It was the middle of the afternoon but from the expression on her face you’d have thought we were in a Friday the 13th movie and she had just had sex. “Ghosts?”

  “She already said she didn’t see ghosts,” Thistle said. “Pay attention.”

  “It was a legitimate question,” Clove protested.

  “You’re being annoying,” Thistle snapped. “Shut up.” She focused on me. “Did you see it like a vision?”

  I nodded as I stared at Clove. She was offended by Thistle’s bossy nature – which she should be used to, because Thistle came out of the womb bossy – but she didn’t like being bullied. Whenever something bad happened, Thistle always reverted to bullying mode.

  “Do you think something bad happened on this ship?�
� Thistle pressed.

  I shrugged. That was exactly what I thought, but I was fairly certain that admitting that to Clove was the wrong way to go. “I’m not sure what I think,” I said after a beat. “Let’s get off the ship, though. My stomach is a little queasy and I want my feet on solid land.”

  In truth, I wanted off this vessel in case I accidentally touched something and was overwhelmed by frightening images again.

  “That sounds like a plan,” Thistle said, gripping an arm and helping me struggle to my feet. “Then, when we get on dry land, you’re going to tell me exactly what you saw. If this tanker is haunted, we could have an entirely new set of problems to deal with.”

  Well, crap. That’s not exactly how I wanted to break the news to Clove.

  “Haunted?” Clove’s voice was unnaturally squeaky. “I knew this tanker was a bad idea.”

  Because she’s the one who told Sam it was a great idea, I had my doubts. “Let’s just go back to the Dandridge,” I suggested. “I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think.”

  I was almost positive that was true.

  “I THINK something really bad happened on the tanker and it could be haunted.”

  That probably wasn’t the best way to broach the subject with Clove, but once we got back to the Dandridge and I was comfortable on the couch I started feeling bolder. She took the news better than I expected.

  “I knew it!” Clove flailed her hands in the air. “It’s the end of the world, isn’t it?”

  Thistle made an exaggerated face as she sat in the chair next to the couch. “Oh, chill out. You’re such a drama queen.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Clove shot back. “Sam invested a lot of money in that tanker. If he just loses it … .”

  “We don’t know that’s the case,” I cautioned, holding up my hand. Sometimes I think Thistle is mean to Clove and enjoys seeing how far she can push her. Other times I think Clove deserves to be pushed because she has a whiny quality that’s completely unattractive when I’m tense. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s unattractive when I’m relaxed, too.