Something to Witch About (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 5) Read online

  “I’m not,” Connie said. “It’s given me a chance to see how your family operates. Sure, it’s been from afar, but I’ve still gotten a glimpse of all of you as a whole.”

  “Let me guess; you want to kidnap Landon and get him far away from us?” It was a joke, but I had a feeling it was also the truth.

  “All parents want their children to be happy,” Connie said. “While I wasn’t sure about you at first, I am now. You make him happy. You make him want to hit something a lot of the time, but that’s where true happiness comes from. You challenge him. And that, my dear, is why I like you.”

  All of the air whooshed out of my lungs. “You like me?”

  “You have ghosts,” Connie said. “Everyone does. Your family certainly does. At least you confront your ghosts together. There’s nothing to dislike about that.”

  My cheeks were burning under her praise. “Thank you.”

  “You just need to lighten up,” Connie said, reaching across the table to pat me on the hand. “Sometimes life is hard, and sometimes it is funny. You need to roll with the punches and not take life so seriously. You’ll learn, though. I have faith in you.”

  Okay, this was definitely a better interlude than Connor Ridgeway and his trouser snake.

  Thirty-Three

  “I think we should conduct a séance.”

  I was back at the guesthouse and my conversation with Connie – all her talk of confronting ghosts together – had given me an idea.

  Thistle glanced up from the couch. “Yeah, because that always works out well for us.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to do a séance until Landon’s family left,” Clove said. “What if they see?”

  “We can do it out in the clearing after midnight tonight,” I said. “They’ve been going to bed early. It’s not like they’re going to be wandering around the property in the middle of the night. Who does that?”

  “We always do that,” Clove complained. “And I always hate it when we do it.”

  “You hated the property by the Dandridge because you thought it was filled with sasquatches, too,” Thistle pointed out. “You seemed to have gotten over that.”

  Clove flipped her off – a gesture Thistle had no problem reciprocating.

  “We’re stuck,” I said, ignoring their silent finger conversation. “We need answers.”

  “I thought you were going to talk to Aunt Tillie,” Thistle said. “Why don’t we do that first?”

  “I did talk to her,” I replied. “She said that when the truth comes out, she won’t be the one telling it.”

  “And you took that as an invitation to sit in the dark and talk to an angry poltergeist?” Thistle asked. “And people say our family is crazy. I just don’t get it.”

  “Are you going to go with me or not?”

  “Of course I’m going with you,” Thistle said. “I’m bored. It sounds like fun.”

  “I want it known that I said this was a bad idea first,” Clove said, “just for the record.”

  “That’s always on the record,” Thistle scoffed.

  “I THINK we should wait until tomorrow,” Clove said.

  We were in the clearing, setting up candles. It was almost midnight and Landon was still at the inn with his brothers in the game room. I’d left him a note, but I hadn’t told him what we had planned. I was hoping we would be able to beat him back to the guesthouse. He hated it when we did stuff like this.

  “We’re already down here now,” I said.

  “Yes, but it seems like a much worse idea when we’re stuck in the dark,” Clove said. “Why can’t we ever do these things in the middle of the day?”

  “Because that would break every horror movie trope,” Thistle replied, blandly. “And we don’t like to stray from the mainstream. We’re followers.”

  I glared at Thistle. “You’re really sarcastic today.”

  Thistle shrugged. “I have to get my kicks where I can,” she said. “It’s been a stifling week, what with having to behave myself because Landon’s family is in town.”

  “You behaved yourself?” I raised an eyebrow in challenge.

  “I could’ve been worse.”

  Unfortunately, I knew she was telling the truth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Let’s not even start it,” Clove interjected.

  I ignored her. “Light the candles. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done.”

  Clove and Thistle did as instructed, and each of us joined hands to form a triangle. We closed our eyes and began to chant, our voices starting in unison and then overlapping as everyone’s tonal pace shifted.

  “We call to thee.”

  “Let us see.”

  “Join us now.”

  “So mote it be.”

  We said the words over and over until it was impossible to ascertain where one chant began and another ended. The candle flames shot higher in the sky as the spell grew, casting an eerie pall on the clearing.

  All at once – and in unison – we straightened and lifted our heads to the sky, never letting go of one another.

  Floyd was here.

  Clove gasped when she caught sight of the misty form. “He doesn’t look like a ghost.”

  “That’s because he’s a poltergeist,” Thistle said.

  “He doesn’t look like a poltergeist either.”

  “When have you ever seen a poltergeist? Other than the movie, I mean.”

  “You don’t have to be mean.”

  We separated hands and stepped back, forming a line, shoulders touching. “Floyd.”

  He watched us, his features nothing more than a blur of white with the occasional glimpse of red where his eyes should be.

  “We want to know what happened to you, Floyd,” I tried again. “We want to understand.”

  Floyd pointed at me.

  “Maybe he can’t talk,” Thistle suggested.

  “Then how is he supposed to answer our questions?” Clove asked.

  Thistle shrugged. “Mime?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s kind of funny.”

  The poltergeist moved toward me. Crap. Not again. He was on me before I could even contemplate moving. The last thing I heard was Clove scream, and then everything went black. Again.

  This time Floyd showed me everything.

  “GET OFF of her, asshole!”

  Things came into focus – although the real world was just as much of a jumble as the memory Floyd had just yanked me into. When had Aunt Tillie gotten here?

  I struggled to a sitting position, Thistle and Clove flanking me to lend their support.

  “Are you all right?” Clove asked.

  “I feel a little sick to my stomach.”

  “Well, join the club,” Thistle said. “We thought you were dead.”

  “We couldn’t get him off you,” Clove explained. “We tried every spell we could think off.”

  “Clove was going to try to beat him off with a stick,” Thistle said. “Once I explained that he wasn’t corporeal and she would actually be hitting you with a stick she let that one go.”

  “I’m not good under pressure,” Clove complained.

  “I noticed.”

  I pushed their argument out of my mind. I was focused on Aunt Tillie, who, for her part, didn’t seem rattled in the slightest. She stood two feet in front of us, facing off with Floyd.

  “You always were the sort of deadbeat who attacked women, Floyd,” Aunt Tillie said. “I guess death hasn’t mellowed you any.”

  Floyd zipped back and forth angrily, but he didn’t cross the invisible line Aunt Tillie had drawn in the dirt.

  “Move on, Floyd,” Aunt Tillie commanded. “There’s nothing here for you. This whole world would’ve been better if you’d never been born.”

  Floyd still wasn’t talking, but he was now emitting a high-pitched keening. It wasn’t words, but the emotion behind the sound was clear: He was pissed.

  “What the hell is going on here
?” Landon barreled into the clearing, his face a mask of concern and anger. He glanced down at the three of us on the ground and then back at Aunt Tillie. “Seriously. What have you guys done now?”

  “Holy crap!” I realized he wasn’t alone. Daryl and Denny were close on his heels – and they were fascinated with the tableau playing out in front of them.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  Landon walked over to me, reached under my arms and hoisted me up. “We heard someone scream. I tried to get them to stay behind but they wouldn’t. I didn’t have time to argue.”

  “That was Clove,” Thistle said. “She always screams. She’s such a baby.”

  “What is that?” Daryl asked.

  “It’s a bastion of hell,” Denny said.

  “It’s Floyd,” I said, rubbing the dirt off of my elbow.

  “Dead Floyd?” Daryl asked.

  “He’s a poltergeist,” Thistle said.

  “A ghost?”

  “A pissed-off ghost,” Thistle replied. “Ghosts are generally easy to get along with. Floyd here, well, Floyd is just a dick.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” Denny asked.

  “We watch a lot of movies,” Thistle lied.

  Landon shook his head and turned back to me. “What were you guys doing?”

  “We were just taking a walk,” I said, avoiding his gaze.

  “With candles?”

  “We like ambiance when we make out in the woods,” Thistle deadpanned. “Oh, what? Don’t give me that look. You know exactly what we were doing. Why even ask the question?”

  “You and I are going to have a talk later,” Landon warned.

  “I can’t wait.”

  Landon glanced back at Aunt Tillie. “Does she have that thing under control?”

  I shrugged. I had no idea.

  “Floyd isn’t a danger right now,” Aunt Tillie said. “I think he got what he wanted when he attacked Bay.”

  Landon’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. “You got attacked? Again? Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Oh, it’s all about you,” Thistle muttered.

  If Landon’s face was any indication, visions of strangling Thistle ran wild through his head.

  “What did he show you?” Clove asked.

  “He showed me the truth,” I replied grimly.

  “Which was?”

  “We have to get rid of Floyd first,” I said, taking a step toward Aunt Tillie. “Can you banish him or something?”

  “Not with the supplies we have here,” Aunt Tillie said. “This is what happens when you dabble with magic instead of doing it right. Why are you three always dabblers?”

  “Why didn’t you help us from the beginning?” I shot back. “If you had told us the truth when we asked for it then none of this would’ve been necessary.”

  “The only thing I can do is temporarily transport him out of here,” Aunt Tillie said, ignoring my reprimand.

  “Well, do it.”

  Aunt Tillie muttered something under her breath and then clapped her hands. Floyd winked out of existence almost immediately.

  I turned to find Daryl and Denny standing behind us, mouths agape.

  “Wow,” Daryl said. “That was awesome.”

  Denny looked a little more shaken. “I think everyone here has some explaining to do.”

  Uh-oh.

  Thirty-Four

  “What did your brothers say?”

  It was the next morning and Landon had woken up in a bad mood. I couldn’t really blame him. Still, I thought he was being overdramatic.

  He was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking everywhere but at me. “Do you mean before or after I had to explain what you were doing in the woods in the middle of the night?”

  I waited. He was going to unload. All the signs were there.

  “I told them the truth.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “You told them we were witches?”

  Landon shifted his body, finally meeting my gaze. “What did you expect me to tell them?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “What did they say?”

  “Daryl thought it was cool,” Landon said.

  “And Denny?”

  “He thinks you’re evil.”

  I ran a hand through my tangled morning hair and sighed. “And just when your mother was starting to like me.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother had tea with me yesterday. She said she didn’t dislike me. That’s not the same as liking me, I know. It’s better than hating me, though. This is going to change that.”

  Landon let out a long-suffering sigh. “I asked them to keep what they saw to themselves.”

  I met his eyes, not liking the angry set of his jaw. “Do you think they will?”

  “For me? Probably.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting to test my muscles. Thankfully, it didn’t seem another hard tumble left me with too many more aches and bruises. This really hadn’t been my week. “Well, that’s something at least.”

  “Do you think I’m angry with you because my brothers found out what you are? Do you think I even care about that?”

  “I would understand if you were,” I admitted. “Your brother is a minister.”

  Landon stood up. “I don’t care that you’re a witch. That doesn’t bother me at all. I’m used to it. I even find it amusing sometimes. I’ve found it helpful sometimes, too. I don’t care if my brothers know. I wanted to tell them from the beginning, but it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

  I watched Landon pace in front of the bed worriedly.

  “I am not angry with you because the secret is out,” Landon continued. “I am angry with you because you snuck out with your cousins in the middle of the night. Again. I am angry because you didn’t tell me what you were doing. Again. I am angry because you put yourself in danger. Again.”

  “We didn’t think it was dangerous,” I said. “We just wanted answers.”

  “So, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were at the inn with your brothers.”

  “And you thought that meant I didn’t want to know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Landon extended his index finger at me. “Don’t do that. You knew I would want to know. You just hoped you would be done and back to the guesthouse before I found out. Again.”

  He had a point. This was all starting to feel very familiar.

  Landon ran his hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “You promised to tell me the truth.”

  “It wasn’t a lie,” I protested.

  “I can’t keep you safe if you don’t tell me the truth,” Landon argued.

  “Did you ever consider that I was trying to keep you safe?”

  Landon stilled. “What?”

  “Maybe I didn’t want you there so you wouldn’t get hurt,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t invite me to the séance because you didn’t want me to get hurt? How does that work?”

  “Floyd has gone after me three times now,” I said. “If you were there and he tried it again you would try to get in the way, and I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt because of me. You’ve already been hurt because of me. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Stop that! I wasn’t hurt because of you. I was hurt because of my job. I am not going to keep having this argument with you.” Landon strode toward the bedroom door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “You need to decide whether we’re in this together. If we are, then we’re in it together all the way – not just when you and your cousins can’t handle the situation. Make a decision.”

  I WAS grumpy. And guilty. That didn’t make for a pleasant afternoon.

  Landon hadn’t spoken to me since this morning – not even a “pass me the milk” at breakfast. He’d left with his father and brothers so they could go off-roading with Marcus not long after.

  Connie and Blanche stayed at the inn, and my mother assured me they would be well taken care of �
�� and entertained – while I handled the Floyd situation.

  I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Landon what I saw in the memory, but it really didn’t matter. Punishing someone for this crime was out of his hands.

  Confronting Mrs. Little was another story.

  She was sitting in her rocking chair, staring off into space, when I entered the store. She glanced up when she heard the bell, frowning when she saw me. “I thought I told you not to come back.”

  “I don’t really care what you want,” I said, settling in the open chair next to her. “I care about the truth.”

  “And what truth are you interested in today? Because you’re certainly not interested in the actual truth,” she countered.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I saw Floyd last night,” I announced, not caring at all how ridiculous I sounded.

  “Floyd is dead.”

  “Part of him is dead,” I corrected. “Part of him, that angry little bit of him he called a soul, well that’s still running around Hemlock Cove.”

  Mrs. Little straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “When his body was discovered his soul escaped,” I said.

  “His soul? You mean his ghost?”

  “He’s not a ghost,” I said. “He’s a poltergeist. A really angry poltergeist.”

  “I don’t believe in stuff like that,” Mrs. Little replied.

  “I don’t care if you believe it or not,” I said. “Floyd has been … showing me things.”

  “What things?”

  “The past. His memories. What really happened to him.”

  “I see. And what has he shown you?”

  “He showed me what Mrs. Gunderson had to put up with,” I said. “How he beat her and terrorized her. He showed me Aunt Tillie interrupting one of those beatings.”

  “So, he showed you Tillie killing him?”

  “No. That wasn’t the whole memory. He showed me that last night.”

  Mrs. Little waited, watching me carefully.

  “You see, Aunt Tillie did interrupt him. She beat him with a rolling pin. She beat the crap out of him. She called him every name in the book – and then she kicked him a few times for good measure. She probably would’ve killed him,” I said. “Uncle Calvin showed up and stopped her, though. He carried Mrs. Gunderson out of that house and made Aunt Tillie leave with them. Floyd was still alive when they left.”