wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch (3 page)

“Hello, Laura.”

Lila frowned. I always pretended I couldn’t remember the monster’s name just to mess with her. What? I have to get my thrills somehow and I can’t do what I really want to do and make a voodoo doll of the little terror and let Thistle and Bay poke it with pins whenever the mood strikes.

“My name is Lila.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I regarded her. You can just tell when someone is going to grow up to be obnoxious. Yes, I know I’m purposely obnoxious. I’m an acquired taste. The problem with Lila is that she thinks she’s charming even though every kid in the school wants to lock her in the janitor’s closet and forget her there every summer break. I know people hate me. I encourage it.

“It is,” Lila sneered.

“Whatever you say, Lilac,” I replied, focusing on the Bay, Clove and Thistle. “What are you guys doing?”

“Having hot chocolate,” Clove said. “We’re not doing anything bad.”

That usually means they are doing something bad. Given that they were dealing with Lila, though, I didn’t think they were doing anything bad enough. I would have to give them some pointers later.

“What are you doing over here, Lucifer?” I fixed Lila with a dark look. “Shouldn’t you be stepping on puppy tails or starting some poor, unsuspecting kid’s hair on fire?”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Lila shot back.

“Really? I always thought the truth was welcome.”

Lila narrowed her eyes, looking me up and down as she decided how to respond. She was afraid of me – and that’s the way I like it. If she was a little older I’d show her exactly how to handle a bully. I would probably be arrested for that if I tried it now.

“I’m going to tell my mother you’re being mean to me,” Lila announced, as if that was somehow a threat that would bring me to my knees.

“You do that,” I suggested. “While you’re at it, tell her that if you don’t stop harassing my nieces I’m going to give you a good dose of herpes on your lip to match hers. How does that sound?”

Lila balked. “I … my mother does not have herpes. That’s a beauty mark.”

“Huh. I heard through the gossip vine that she got that beauty mark from the mailman,” I said. “I heard she had to buy ointment at the pharmacy for it.”

“That’s a lie!”

“I don’t lie,” I countered, lowering my voice. “Here’s a little tip, Locust. If you keep messing with my girls you’re going to run into a big brick wall – and it’s going to look a lot like me. When that brick wall falls, you’re going to be crushed and we’re going to laugh until we can’t laugh any longer.”

“You can’t threaten me,” Lila hissed. “I’ll tell my mother.”

“I can do whatever I want,” I said. “You go and tell your mother that I’m waiting for her if she wants to talk. I think we’ll have a really nice chat about you … and your future … and that herpes on her lip and how it will probably spread if you don’t start behaving yourself.”

“I … you’re a witch,” Lila said. “Everyone knows it!”

“I am a witch,” I agreed. “That means I can cast spells on you. I’ve been limited because you’re a child. That won’t last forever.

“Let me tell you a little bit about karma, Listerine. You’ve earned a big ball of it, and when it finally comes your way you’re not going to like what happens one little bit,” I continued. “I would start trying to make up for all the rotten things you’ve done if I were you.”

“Well, that shows what you know,” Lila said, tossing her greasy hair over her shoulder. “I don’t believe in karma. I’m a princess.”

“What you just said doesn’t make any sense.”

“Says you,” Lila snapped. “My mother says I can be anything I want to be.”

“Oh, I believe that,” I said. “You’re just the type of person who is going to do it with herpes on your lip and pit stains on your blouse.”

Lila’s lower lip began trembling, but I recognize an act when I see one. “I’m telling my mom!”

“Good,” I said, unruffled. “I’d rather mess with her anyway. I can do truly awful things to her and not get in trouble. Go get her.”

Lila scampered off and I could hear her screaming for Poppy as she disappeared into the crowd. I really was in a foul mood. The idea of taking it out on someone was just the thing I needed to get me into the holiday spirit.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” Bay said, her blue eyes cloudy as they landed on me.

“Why is that?”

“She’s going to make us pay for what you said to her.”

“Not if I teach you how to get her back,” I said.

Bay stilled and I could practically see her mind working. “Will you teach us how to curse her?”

“Will you tell your mothers if I do?”

Three heads solemnly shook in unison.

“Then I’ll teach you how to curse her,” I said. What? The kid has it coming, and if my kids do it there’s no way I can get in trouble for it. “It’s going to be our secret, though, and you can never tell your mothers.”

“Deal,” Thistle said, extending her hand for me to shake. She knows I won’t go back on a promise once I shake someone’s hand.

I clasped her hand tightly. “You’re going to make some man really miserable some day.”

Thistle’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait!”

Three

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened in the history of the entire world!”

I followed Clove into the house a few hours later, spurring her on with my foot whenever her mother wasn’t looking. She was overly dramatic on a daily basis. She is going to be a beast as a teenager.

“It’s not the end of the world, Clove,” Marnie chided, dropping her gloves on the table next to the door.

“Santa Claus is missing!”

I cringed. Clove’s voice bordered on shrill on good days. Now that she thought reindeer were going to start falling from the sky she was practically panicked.

“Santa Claus is not missing,” Marnie said, pulling Clove’s coat from her shoulders and hanging it in the hall closet. “He was just … detained.”

After the pageant ended – and the ringing in my ears ceased – the school Christmas spectacular was supposed to end with a visit from Santa Claus. When he didn’t show, the kids started wailing. They didn’t stop – not even for a five-second breather. I had a feeling some of them were still wailing.

“He was probably detained by a bottle of whiskey and whatever hot-to-trot waitress was staffing the bar at Hannigan’s,” I said, laughing at my own joke. Walkerville’s resident Santa Claus was Bernard Hill. The man wasn’t good with kids and he has wandering hands when it comes to the ladies, but he also has white hair and fits the suit. He got the job by default.

“That will be enough of that,” Winnie warned, moving Bay so she could help her take her coat off.

“Do you think Santa Claus is dead?” Clove asked, her brown eyes widening. “Does that mean we’re not going to get our Christmas presents?”

“Santa Claus isn’t dead,” Twila said. “He probably forgot to write down tonight’s event in his day planner. There’s no reason to get worked up.”

“We’re never going to get that puppy now,” Clove yelled, burying her face in her hands as she burst into tears.

If I didn’t want to be deaf during the Christmas pageant, I definitely wanted to be inflicted with selective hearing loss now.

“I think you’re just tired, Clove,” Marnie said, gently tugging on her hair in an attempt to get her to perk up. “You’ll see in the morning that things aren’t so bad.”

“Santa Claus isn’t even real,” Thistle pointed out.

“Knock that off, fresh mouth,” I said, cuffing her on the back of the head. “Santa Claus is real. I already told you that.”

“I don’t believe you.” Thistle widened her eyes to comical proportions. “I think you’re full of it.”

“That’s enough of that,” Twila said, swooping in and gathering Thistle in her arms before I could retaliate. “I think you need some sleep. I think all of you need some sleep.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Marnie said, hoisting Clove up into her arms instead of cajoling her further. “Everyone needs some sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

“Does that mean we’re getting a puppy?” Clove asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as her lower lip quivered. “We really want one.”

Marnie looked caught. “I … .”

“You’re not getting a puppy,” I said. “I already told you that, so stop asking. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to have a great Christmas … so stop all that whining. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Nice,” Winnie said, flicking my ear as she moved past me. “We don’t know where Santa is, but we’ve definitely found the Grinch.”

I watched as Marnie and Twila wrangled Thistle and Clove up the stairs, finally settling my gaze on Bay. She was quiet for long stretches of time and that often led to her being overlooked.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I know that isn’t Santa Claus,” she said, her tone serious. “Don’t bother arguing. I know that’s Mr. Hill.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not stupid.”

I smirked. No one could ever accuse Bay of being stupid. “No, that’s not Santa Claus,” I said. “He’s a man pretending to be Santa Claus. The real Santa could never go to all the holiday parties around the world. You know that.”

“I’m not getting into an argument with you about Santa,” Bay said. “I just … if Mr. Hill is really missing, what does that mean for Christmas?”

“What do you mean?”

“The best part of Christmas is always the town party, and he’s always the Santa there, too,” Bay explained. “If he’s missing, what happens to the town party?”

I’ve never understood Bay’s love of Walkerville’s Christmas party, but she’s infatuated with it. “Santa will be at the party, Bay,” I said.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ll make sure of it.”

That seemed to do the trick, because Bay brightened considerably. “Do you think we’ll get our puppy?”

“No.”

“I think you’re going to make sure we get our puppy,” Bay said, her eyes twinkling. “You act like you don’t like us, but I know you do.”

“That’s not an act, kid.”

Bay rolled her eyes. “We want a big dog,” she said. “We don’t want any little runt dogs that yap and run around. We want something big so we can make it attack Lila if she shows her face out here.”

“Is that why you want the dog?”

“We want the dog because we want something to love,” Bay answered. “Biting Lila is just a bonus.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before I slipped her a Hershey’s Kiss. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Bay smiled as she took the candy. “I need one for Thistle and Clove, too.”

I sighed but handed over the chocolate goodies. “Don’t worry, Bay,” I said. “I’ll make sure your Christmas party is what it should be. You can count on me.”

“Thank you, Aunt Tillie,” Bay said, rolling up on the balls of her feet so she could give me a kiss on the cheek. “Make sure you pick out a good puppy for us when it’s time.”

“You are not getting a puppy!”

THE
girls were in better moods the next morning. Well, mostly. There was still a little pouting and trepidation, but they seemed less likely to melt down than the previous evening.

I’m not going to lie, when puberty hits this house I’m seriously considering hitting the road. I remember the terrible teen years with Winnie, Marnie and Twila, and the three of them had nothing on these three. I’m considering starting my own band. Anything has to be better than watching Bay, Clove and Thistle fight over boys, clothes and makeup.

On the flip side, I get a giddy satisfaction knowing that my three nieces are going to get a great big heaping of crap when their little darlings start hitting fun ages like thirteen … and fourteen … and seventeen. They seem to forget what horrors they were at those ages. That will be a stark reminder of what they put me through – and I look forward to watching them struggle with three wild teenagers of their own.

“We have two whole weeks without school, and I’m really happy about it,” Thistle said, grabbing a slice of bacon and shoving it into her mouth. She chews like a horse sometimes, I swear. “We won’t have to see Lila Stevens more than once, and that’s pretty much the best Christmas gift anyone could ever give me.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full of food,” Twila ordered, patting Thistle on the head as she sat down next to her and started in on her own plate. “That’s tacky and rude.”

“Aunt Tillie does it,” Thistle said, causing me to narrow my eyes in her direction.

“Aunt Tillie does a lot of things you shouldn’t do,” Winnie interjected.

“Like what?”

“Yeah, like what?” I asked, echoing Thistle.

“Like making wine in the basement,” Clove teased, grinning as she poured syrup on her pancakes.

“And dancing naked under the full moon when she thinks no one is watching,” Bay chimed in.

“That’s gross, by the way,” Thistle said. “They make horror movies about stuff like that.”

Winnie leaned back so she could give Thistle her best “you’ve gone too far, little lady” look. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re too old to be running around naked,” Thistle said. “It’s … scary.”

“I didn’t know things were supposed to hang that low until I saw Aunt Tillie try to dance like Michael Jackson on Halloween,” Clove said. “I thought those were zombies of a different kind.”

“Hey!”

“She was bad,” Thistle said, laughing at her own joke.

“All right, that will be enough of that,” I said, reaching over to Thistle’s plate and stealing a slice of bacon. “I’ll have you know that I’m in prime shape and people would be lucky to see me naked.”

Someone near the kitchen door cleared a throat, drawing my attention from my great-nieces. Walkerville’s lone full-time police officer, Terry Davenport, stood in the doorway next to Marnie and he looked as if he wished he could go back in time to miss my last statement. Hmm. He should be so lucky as to get a gander at my gams when the moon is full.

“Hi, Terry,” Winnie said, her voice unnaturally bright. “What a nice surprise. Would you like some breakfast?”

Terry didn’t get a chance to respond, because Marnie moved in on him and cut off Winnie’s path off in the process.