A Tale of 3 Witches (2 page)

Being raised by witches was bad enough. Being raised by a grandmother who was convinced that Stacy was not only a witch, but The Seeker of Justice (whatever that meant) was a bit harder to swallow.

But then, when Samhain--the strongest Sabbat in the Pagan calendar year--rolled around, well, that was a front-row seat on the train to crazy town.

Stacy slipped into a robe and padded into the kitchen. The dark roast coffee can was nearly empty so she made half a pot, licked the grounds off the spoon and grabbed the milk from the fridge.

The carton was still in her hand as she turned around to see a face staring back at her. Stacy screamed, punctured the milk with her nails and fell backwards into the trashcan.

"Hello, Anastasia. Do you have any idea what time it is?" It was Birdie, Stacy's grandmother and aforementioned witch. Birdie never called her granddaughter by her given name, which was simply Stacy. Everything had to be more dramatic, more pronounced, just –
more
with Birdie, who refused to answer to Grandma.

"Dammit, Birdie! Why do you always sneak up on me like that!?" Stacy pulled herself up and went to the sink to wash the milk out of her eyeballs.

"It's after nine o'clock. I cannot believe you slept the morning away when we have so much work to do."

Stacy groaned. Her grandmother owned a bed and breakfast called the Geraghty Girls House, and the 'girls' the title referred to her were Stacy's great aunts, Birdie's sisters. Not one had seen the underside of seventy in some time.

"Birdie, you know I worked at the Black Opal last night. Cinnamon was short-staffed." The Black Opal was Stacy's cousin's bar and last call wasn't until one a.m.

Birdie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, the morning light dancing off her copper waves. "A young person like you should have more stamina."

An old lady like you should have more manners.
At least, that was what Stacy wanted to say. But she settled for "Fine."

Stacy flipped the off switch on the coffee pot. "Just let me get showered and dressed. How many guests do you have arriving?"

"Two guests. Three rooms."

"You're kidding." There were three guest rooms, but accommodations for seven people. Often people traveled in packs on this weekend.

Birdie just stared at her.

Stacy sighed. "I know, you never kid. Still, this weekend is usually booked solid."

Something flickered across Birdie's face for an instant. Stacy couldn't identify it, but she didn't like it.

"This weekend is special." Then Birdie turned and floated out the door.

Yep. Stacy definitely did not like it.

CHAPTER THREE

Mara frowned at her tarot cards. They were arranged on the table, in two different streams, as if she were doing two separate readings.

"Well, that's not helpful at all." Mara muttered. She reshuffled the cards and tried again, but got almost the same identical layout. "Damn it. Stupid cards."

Mara had a love/hate affair going with her Thoth deck. It was an extremely loud deck, so it was easy to read, but it was sometimes too blunt. No cushioning messages or softening the blow to human emotions with that deck.

She was about to try it a third time when she felt someone approaching the cottage. She closed her eyes and tried to read the vibes coming up the walkway. She recognized the bright orangey-red cheerfulness right away -- it was her baby girl. The large sable-colored energy with her had to be Paul.

By the time the doorbell rang, Mara was already opening the door.

"Come here, baby. Come to mama." Mara held out her hands and the baby reached for her, laughing. Mara hugged her, kissing the soft skin of her forehead and cheeks. "Mama's missed you soooo much."

Paul set the diaper bag down. He was still so dang sexy. He looked like the All-American boy next door, with a gym membership and a high IQ. Everything a girl could want, rolled up into one sexy package. If only he wasn't so weirded out about their past. Mara bit her lip, wondering how she was going to broach asking him about a longer-term father-daughter visit.

"So, how'd it go? Did she zap any old people?"

Paul sighed. "It was fine. Everyone survived. Daniel thinks I'm being an ass."

"Well, you kinda are."

The baby cried and the word "hungry" popped into Mara's head.

"Hold her for a sec," she said to Paul as she handed him the baby. Then she went into the kitchen to warm up a bottle of breast milk. Thankfully, she had pumped enough to feed a small army of babies before her milk had dried up, and she had a freezer-f.

When she returned, she gave Paul the bottle to feed to her and then watched as he burped her and cleaned her up. In spite of his worries, he was gentle with her. Why he continued to struggle against succumbing to her innate baby charm was beyond Mara.

"You have a knack with babies. I think all you need is more time together."

"Hah! Yeah, right. I don't know. I mean, I guess it would be nice. As long as she doesn't turn me into a toad. But what if she--"

"What? What can she possibly do?"

"I don't know. That's the point. I just don't know. She's not... normal. When she cries, it's like... pictures pop into my head of what she wants. That's not normal."

"So she's a little extra-special. She gets that from me. But I promise you, she does not have the ability to zap you. I've been with her every day and she's never zapped anything. She didn't even zap a bee that was stinging her. And don't you think if she could have, she would have?"

The dogs came trotting in and when they saw the baby, they ran over and licked her little feet and legs. The baby squealed with laughter.

"Look at that," Mara said. "The dogs love her. And if there was anything of Lucien in her, they would know it. If you don't believe me, believe the dogs."

Paul looked uncertain, but Mara saw him keeping a close eye on the dogs with the baby, to make sure they didn't get overly aggressive with her. And with that, she suddenly knew that everything was going to be okay.

"I have a small proposition for you..." she said, moving to sit next to him.

*   *   *

After Paul left, Gus walked through the living room, crunching on an apple.

"Want a bite? Picked a fresh one for you." He tossed her an apple.

"Sure." She caught the apple and went on frowning at her tarot cards.

"What's going on?" He sat down next to her.

"I was trying to find out if this trip is a bad idea. This pile is what will happen if we don't go, the other is what will happen if we do go."

"And...?"

"They're both bad. If we don't go, there's going to be chaos and disaster, and if we do go there's going to be chaos and disaster."

"Then there's only one thing to do. Screw the status quo and full speed ahead. Life is all about change, Miss Thing. I'm already packed." Gus looked around. "Where's Paul? Where's the baby? I thought I heard them down here. Did you get everything worked out?"

"Yeah. I can't pay him enough to spend the weekend here."

"Honey child, you
talked
to him? I thought you were going to cast a spell on him. Bring him back. Let Gus handle everything."

Mara looked at him, annoyed. "You use magic way too much. Besides, I took care of it. He packed up his truck with all the supplies he's going to need and he took the baby and the dogs to his place."

"You think they're going to be okay?"

Mara thought about it. "Yeah. I do. I think this could be exactly what they need. He doesn't want to admit it, but I think he's coming around."

"Yes! So what are we waiting for?" Gus glanced at his watch. "If we leave now, we'll be at our haunted holiday by morning."

"Gus, seriously? Drive all night? I hate doing that. I'm tired just thinking about it."

"And that, Miss Thing, is why I took a nap this afternoon. I'll drive, you sleep." Gus grinned at her and stood up. "You keep dawdling and Tillie's going to kick your ass. So go grab your stuff and let's get a move on. Samhain awaits!"

CHAPTER FOUR

They drove all night, finally arriving in Amethyst, Illinois the day before Halloween. The town itself seemed a lot like Devil's Point, Wisconsin, where Mara lived: small, picturesque, antique-y, with an undercurrent of the supernatural. An undercurrent that vibrated so strongly, even normal humans were probably able to feel it.

"I love this place!" Gus shouted, as they parked in front of an old, three-story Victorian house. In the front yard was a sign:
Geraghty Girls Guest House
. They walked along the black wrought iron fence to a winding brick pathway. Even though the house was painted in cheerful colors, it couldn't quite shake its spooky aura. The path and the expansive porch were decorated with gourds, cornstalks, tiny skull lights and everything you might expect of the season. Except instead of a scarecrow sitting on the front porch, it was a witch, complete with long pointy hat, flowing velvet cape, striped nylons and ruby slippers.

"Okay, you're right. This is kinda fun." Mara capitulated. "But it's going to have be a lot more fun than this to justify leaving the baby."

"Y'know, there's a reason doctors insist the umbilical cord gets cut. Obviously, I didn't make it a clean enough cut." Gus said, eyeballing her. "Maybe I should have used a silver axe."

"Oh, hush up. Just because I'm attached to my child. All moms are."

Gus snorted. "Are not. My mom had me working the second I popped out of the womb."

"Really? You actually came out of a womb? Here, all this time, I thought you were hatched." Mara teased.

"Very funny. Laugh it up, Princess Porcine. At least I don't look like an egg."

"Hey, hands off my pregnancy pounds. You don't get to nag me about them until you pop out a munchkin of your own."

As they climbed the stairs to the porch, Mara took a second look and realized the witch was also wearing a fluffy pink tulle gown beneath the cape and holding a wand with a star at the tip. It was as if they couldn't decide on the Good Witch of the North or the Wicked Witch of the West, so they opted for both. Mara smiled. She had a feeling she was going to like these Geraghty Girls.

Then the witch pulled out a flask of Jameson, startling Mara, who screamed and bumped into Gus, who then fell into the doorbell.

The witch looked at them and said, "Hello, dears. Do you have a reservation?"

Mara doubled up with laughter.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Don't mind her," he said, pointing at Mara. "Her brain's been oxygen-deprived."

Mara tried to stop laughing. "It's not my fault. She startled me!" To the witch she said, "That was great. Can you do it again?"

Gus elbowed her in the stomach.

"Ouch! Sorry, we do have reservations," Mara explained, once she regained her composure. "Under Tillie MacDougal."

The witch popped up out of her seat, said, "Oh my, it's been so long!" And then squeezed Mara for all she was worth.

Confused, Mara hugged her back. Then, to Mara's relief, the door swung open, causing Gus to hurriedly scurry out of the way before it smacked him, and there stood another woman, with the same copper hair as the porch witch, only taller.

The porch witch released Mara, clapped her hands and said, "Look! It's Tillie come for a visit. After all these years!"

Mara looked back and forth between the women. "I'm sorry, is one of you Birdie by any chance?"

The woman at the door frowned, adding a few more wrinkles to her mature face. "I am Birdie Geraghty and you, young lady, are not Tillie MacDougal."

Just then, a tall girl with strawberry blond hair appeared behind the woman, trailed by the biggest dog Mara had ever seen. He looked like Maramaduke. They were descending the inside stairs when something seemed to trip her. She lurched forward then leaned back to catch herself to no avail. Her feet flew out from under her and she bounced all the way down the stairs, landing on the hallway floor.

"What the hell?" the girl said and looked back up the stairs.

Birdie closed her eyes, composed her face, then gestured at the girl, introducing her. "This is my granddaughter, Stacy."

Stacy stood up, brushing herself off, and joined them on the porch. "Birdie, why on Earth is there a toad jumping up the stairs? Please tell me it's not for a special recipe."

Mara and Gus looked at each other and Mara gave a small grimace.

"I didn't see a toad," Gus said, straight-faced. "Maybe the dog pushed you."

Mara frowned at him and he frowned back at her, slightly shaking his head. He was probably right, not wanting to tell them about Grundleshanks. Not many people would be able to understand why the ghost of a toad was hopping around. And how he became a ghost was a long story, better told over a bottle of bourbon. Not that she could remember what bourbon tasted like, anymore. It had been a long, dry pregnancy.

"It was probably a shadow. Shadows can be tricky that way," Mara said, clearing her throat.

Stacy gave Mara a funny look and looked back at the stairs for a final inspection.

Mara turned back to Birdie. "Tillie's my great-aunt. I'm Mara Stephens. And this is my friend, Gus. Tillie..."

Birdie held up a hand to cut her off. She tilted her head, as if listening. "Tillie is... dead?" Birdie rolled her eyes and said to the witch on the porch, "Lolly, have you ever heard of anything so irresponsible? Now what are we supposed to do?"

Lolly, formerly known as the porch witch, shrugged.

Birdie, Lolly and Stacy, Mara repeated to herself, trying to commit their names to memory. "It was your note. Aunt Tillie said we needed to be here, so you could have a full coven supporting you."

"I thought your Aunt Tillie was dead," Stacy said, and then she lurched forward again as if something shoved her.

"Seriously, what the heck?" Stacy twirled all the way around to see what was poking her.

"She is dead," Mara said, glancing at Birdie. "She just doesn't let it stand in her way."

Birdie looked around at Stacy, then suddenly cackled, as if she had just been let in on a joke. Then she turned and glared at Mara, eyeing her up and down, before she eyed Gus. "There's only one room set aside for Tillie. The girl can stay. You'll have to get a room at the motel on the interstate."