Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (4 page)

“Tomato, tomahto.”

“You remember how hard we looked for her?”

Yeah. I remembered. We had spent most of my life searching for her.

“I never told you this, but I tracked her down at Aunt Tillie’s house. I begged her to come back home, but she was afraid. She said she was cursed. And whatever was coming for her, she didn’t want it to touch you, or even know you existed. Three days later, on her twenty-seventh birthday, she vanished.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

“You need to lay low. Stay off the Otherworld grid. You can use your sight to stay alert for danger, but other than that, stay in the shadows. I won’t be able to help you, without drawing attention to you. You’ll be on your own.” He reached over, patted my hand, and started to fade.

“Dad! Wait! Come back!”

But he was gone.

I picked up the remote control and turned off the TV, but the sudden stillness creeped me out. So I turned it back on and snuggled into my blanket.

What did he mean, she was cursed? It sounded like something that was handed down from generation to generation and I was woefully under-informed about it. I wished he had stayed longer. Although, to be honest, I was surprised he made it back to this side of the veil at all. My dad’s a normal human being. Not like my mom.

As I thought about my parents, I remembered all those times when I was little, snuggling into my dad’s arms as he watched TV and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was in my bed. I got up and went to the hall closet. My fleece blanket was still folded up, on the top shelf. The Mag-Lite was still in its place. It was as if last night had never happened. Maybe it hadn’t been a ghostly visitation at all. Maybe it had just been a dream.

I sighed. So it was going to be like that. One of the reasons I hated dealing with ghosts, is that they always screwed with my sense of reality. They had the ability to make dreams seem real and reality seem surreal.

I walked into the living room and turned on the TV. SoapNet. Not exactly a channel that would air
Get Shorty
. And then I noticed the time.

Damn, damn, damn
. I was going to be late. I took the fastest shower known to womankind, then ran around my apartment like a demented wind hag, throwing everything I could possibly need into a box.

Gus’s big job opportunity was this afternoon and I still needed to meet with Lenny before I drove over the hill.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sipping a chai latte at Aroma, the local coffee shop/bookstore, waiting for Lenny. An hour later, I was on my second over-priced latte, paging through a book I couldn’t focus on.

I looked up at the clock. Then I looked at my watch, but it gave me the same time. I was starting to feel like an unwitting character in a never-ending Beckett play.

Just as I was giving up, the elusive Godot swept into the shop. And “swept” was exactly the right word for it, with his white Panama hat and white alligator shoes. Perfectly groomed from stem to stern, wearing a pale yellow shirt and white linen pants, Lenny looked like a summer day in Florida. He smiled at me, but his eyes were twitchy.

He bypassed the coffee line and headed directly for the table. He’d be jack-rabbiting out of here the minute I turned my back.

“Yes, baby doll,” he said, sitting down and taking off his white Panama hat. “What can Lenny do you for?”

I placed the shreds of the eviction notice on the table, hoping he’d say Lasio had forged his signature, but he just shook his head.

“Wish it weren’t so.”

“C’mon, Lenny. You’ve known me since I was a kid. You’re like family. And family doesn’t evict family.”

“Sorry, sweet-pea, but I’ve got nothing to work with here. Gloria is one wigged out
mamacita
when it comes to you. If you were actual blood, I could maybe use that. But since you’re not…”

I cursed to myself. How long had Lenny been on a first-name basis with the evil hag? “Mrs. Lasio’s just really old world. It’s a total over-reaction.”

“Honey, we live in a Moral Majority world. Flaunt your religious beliefs and sexual preferences at your own peril. It’s something we boys have known for centuries. Done is done.”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Did time turn backwards while I was asleep? Are we going to be fighting over civil rights next? This is the new millennium, isn’t it?”

 ”New, old, who cares? Honey child, read the newspapers. Creationism made a comeback and science is just another theory.” He sighed. “You chose to live an alternative lifestyle. I told you to stay under the radar. You got careless.”

“She broke into my apartment,” I protested.

“Sorry, cookie. That’s just the way it crumbles. You’ll be fine.”

I slumped down, head in my hands.

Lenny reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t stress, sugar. The Lord will provide.”

“He fucking will not. You know what they say, Lenny. It’s not the earth the meek inherit, it’s the dirt.” I looked up him. “So, what she said about you is true? You’re born again? You found salvation?”

Silence from his end. A jogger outside the window seemed to catch his full attention.

I nudged his leg. “Lenny? Cough it up. And be straight with me.”

“Perish the thought.”

“If you’re going to let her ruin my life and turn me out in the streets, at least give me a crumb. What’s really going on?”

His blue eyes were bright in his elfin face, his white goatee and mustache neatly trimmed. Everything about him screamed
hot date
. Call me crazy, but I had a feeling the effort wasn’t made on my behalf.

Lenny forced a smile. “Sorry, lamb chop, but I’m dating her brother and they take their religion very seriously.”

“You found Jesus in order to get laid?” I practically choked on the remains of my latte.

Lenny shot me a look and I put up my hands in surrender.

“I’m down with that, really. I’m just trying to figure out why I have to lose my home over it.”

He sighed. “This family can eke out drama like a salt-water taffy pull. They’re very hot-blooded, close-knit. If she’s upset, she calls Manuel and gets him upset and my sex life is for shit, darlin’. And she has been freaked about the devil stuff since the day she met you.”

“It’s not devil stuff,” I snapped. I was getting so tired of being labeled as evil.

“Of course not, sugar. But it doesn’t matter. The truth never has. Life is all about dealing with people’s perceptions of the truth. Which is a completely different ball of wax. Unfortunately, Gloria’s perception means you just got voted off the island.”

My emotions were bouncing between disgust, despair and anger. Despair must have won, because Lenny leaned forward and patted my hand.

“I’ll give you a good reference. Heck, I’ll even give you your full security deposit back, plus last month’s rent check. But I need you to pack up and not cause a fuss.”

I crushed a napkin in my fist and tried not to cry. “I hope he’s worth it.”

“Oh, he is, baby doll,” Lenny gave a happy sigh. “He’s absolutely incredible. He used to be a gymnast and he’s still got a body that defies the laws of physics. At our age, that’s saying something.”

Just then, a well-muscled, older Spanish hunk, in a tank top and sweats, walked in through the door.

Lenny waved his white Panama in the air. “Yoo-hoo, Manuel! I’ll be right there, darling.” He turned back to me. “Sorry, love. Must run.”

“You don’t happen to own any other apartment buildings, do you?” I asked, in a last ditch attempt.

“Not yet. But I’ve always got my eyes open.”

A couple of air kisses, a fragile hug and Lenny was off with his Latino dreamboat. I looked down at my empty latte mug, feeling completely disconnected. And then I noticed the time.

Damn it
, Gus was going to kill me.

Chapter Four

I threw a prayer up to the traffic Gods that Coldwater Canyon wasn’t nightmarishly backed up and jumped into Sally, the cherry-red, vintage Mustang convertible I had inherited from my dad’s mid-life crisis.
Look out, ninth graders. Witchy-Poo’s on her way!

As I floored it over the Canyon, the wind did its best to force-feed me my hair. Well, no one would ever mistake me for being graceful. Or even stylish, really, unless it was a really good day. But at least the car was bitchin’.

While it was a hot summer day back in the Valley, over on this side of the hill, a cool breeze flowed in from the ocean. Now, this would be a great area to live in. Beautiful mansions, gorgeous views, tree-shaded streets, swimming pools that glittered like gemstones. Maybe in my next life.

With a sigh, I stopped daydreaming about things that were out of my reach and focused on Gus’s big job. From what I had Googled, Lyra had taken his name from the Italian word for money,
lira
, when he immigrated to America and it brought him luck ever since.

He quickly married up, using his wife’s business contacts to make a small fortune in promotional merchandise. Then he took a big risk and invested in a string of B-grade movies featuring A-list has-beens that paid off in a big way. A couple of surprise hits and a growing cult following later, he was swimming with the celebrity elite.

I turned up a side road and was suddenly at the sprawling, Greco-Roman inspired,
Casa de Lyra
. The wrought iron gate was open and a marble fountain, featuring naked male cherubs pissing water, held a spot of honor on the front lawn. Given the cancerous quality of L.A. tap water, piss was a pretty apt metaphor.

But what struck me most as I parked my car, was the marble driveway. What would possess anyone to put in a marble driveway? That had to be a bitch during rainy season.

Mr. Lyra had to be rolling in money, if he could afford to have rubber-booted servants carry his family members from their chauffeur-driven car to their ornate front door.

I schlepped my box of occult tchotchkes to the door, where a beefy security guy carefully searched it.

I glanced at my watch. Party guests were due to arrive in thirty minutes. “Can you hurry it up?”

“You were supposed to be here an hour before the party.” He said, oblivious to my protest.

“I don’t need that much set-up time,” I lied.

But just when I thought he was done, he started searching me.

I jumped. “Hey, easy there! This gets any more intimate, I’ll expect a ring.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and I could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You keep squirming, it’s going to get a lot more intimate.”

“Sorry. I’m ticklish. Isn’t there supposed to be a female guard doing this?” I grumbled.

“This ain’t the airport, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Shoes off.”

I slipped out of my Birkenstocks. “If there’s a cavity search involved, I’m quadrupling my fee.” 

He grunted again, gave me my shoes back, and handed me off to a harried maid.

The maid pulled me through the mansion at a brisk trot, past Renoirs, Monets, a Steinway baby grand, antique furniture, brightly-colored balloons, streamers and a
Happy 14th Birthday, Kimmy
banner.

Within minutes, I was unceremoniously deposited in a closet-sized, harshly-lit room. Good thing I came prepared, because doing readings in that type of environment would suck.

I shook off the resentment I was feeling about the security at the door, quickly touched up my make-up and slipped into a long, flowing, green gown. It was a tight squeeze, but I didn’t hear any seams rip. So far, so good. I opened up my box of Gothic kitsch and got to work.

Twenty minutes later, I turned off the lights and looked around, pleased. The play of light and shadow from the candles softened the small space and gave it some much-needed depth. Counters were hidden under Celtic print fabrics and decorated with dragon statuary and some of my more esoteric tarot decks. Flickering tea lights were reflected in the mirrored walls, like hundreds of fireflies. It felt like a magical moment, stolen out of a summer’s night. The room positively glowed with an air of mystery and promise.

I kissed the top my crystal skull for luck and put it on the reading table next to a bowl of quarters. Then I twirled in front of one of the mirrors. In the candlelight, I looked pretty damn witchy. With my long hair, goth-style make-up and the bust-friendly cut of the dress, I kind of looked like a young, woodsy, Elvira.

Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of deja vu so strong it made me nauseous. It was as if the world had somehow shifted and I was looking at my reflection through a crack in time.

I stared at the mirror. Frightened eyes stared back at me. I tried to remember what year it was and the answer that came into my head shocked me.
Breathe, Mara. Just breathe. It’s really not the seventeenth century.
And then a smile started, so slow and wicked it made the skin on my spine crawl. My hands shot up to my face. I wasn’t smiling. But my reflection was.