Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (12 page)

“If you say so. I ain’t too used to this witch stuff. It’s my friend’s bag. She’s so gaga about it, I figured I may as well try it out.”

I concentrated for a minute and then quickly wrote a chant on the parchment paper.

Love and sex are whirling,

Lust be in thy turning.

Bring my true love to me.

The one who holds my passion’s key.

As the flame consumes the candle bright

I call to love with all my might

Come to me, within these days of three

As I desire it, so mote it be.

I handed the bag and the parchment to the woman. “There you go. Three days and he’ll be yours.”

“Cool.” The woman cracked her gum a final time and left with her treasure.

Gus gave me a thumbs-up sign. “See, I told you. You’re a natural. Now quit your whining and hand me the sun block. I’m starting to pink up.”

I reached into my bag and handed him the Coppertone.

“Not that one. The REAL sunblock.”

“Oh, excuse me. I forgot you need SPF 4800.” I took back my SPF 15 and handed him a tube of Neutrogena SPF 90. “You’re so weird.”

“Not weird. Smart. I could get caught out in the Sahara desert for a week with a tube of this and not break a tan.”

By the end of the day, we had made five hundred dollars towards the moving fund and, much to Gus’s amusement, I was sporting a bright red sunburn. Gus, on the other hand, was cool, comfortable and not the slightest bit crispy. Which was pretty freaking amazing, considering that the temperature was in the triple digits and the sun had been relentless.

But, best of all, I had managed not to spend any of the money. Which was a first for me. I have a weak spot for hand-made crafts. So it was a surprisingly good day. Until I came back from the port-a-potty.

Gus was sitting behind my table with a big, Cheshire cat grin on his face and the type of self-satisfied air that could only mean one thing — trouble.

“What the hell’s up with you?” I eyeballed him, wondering if I should make a run for the car.

“Oh, ye of little faith. You’re going to thank me later.”

That didn’t bode well. “Unless you’re giving me a winning Lotto ticket, I don’t think so. I don’t think you’ve ever done anything that made me want to thank you later. Strangle you, yes. Thank? Not so much.”

“You wound me, woman. Not to mention, you have a short memory. But I’ll overlook that. With your aging female hormones, memory lapses are to be expected.”

“Keep it up, I’m gonna dump your body and forget where I left it. Cough it up, grinning boy. What are you up to?”

Gus clapped his hands. Whatever it was, he was obviously excited about it. “This is our big chance. The coven that was supposed to do the closing ritual pulled out. Their HPS was dressed up like an Anne Rice character, in full gothic regalia, and she passed out from the heat. They’re desperate for someone to pull a group ritual out of their ass.”

“Too bad we don’t have a coven.”

“I’m your coven. And you’re witch queen for a day. So I volunteered us.”

I looked at him in horror. I could already feel my stomach twisting. “What’s the statute for justifiable homicide in California?”

“Pish posh.”

“Pish posh nothing. Goddamnit, Gus. I leave for twenty minutes and you and your inner diva drag me into hell. Do you remember that little talk we had about me not doing any more magic? Do you remember the gray water and the black egg?”

“It’s not magic, it’s a public ritual. Besides, Mama Lua lifted the curse, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine. I even snagged a donation of yummy, carb-laden treats, so we have libation.”

“Great. Maybe if you wave a chocolate chip cookie over me, the fairies will take pity and drop a ritual in my head. I swear, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

“There’s no need to be snarky, Miss Thing. You don’t like me taking initiative? Maybe you shouldn’t take so long in the port-a-john.”

I counted to ten before I said something I couldn’t take back. Then I kicked off my sandals and stretched my toes in the grass. “Look at me,” I said, pointing at my feet. “I can’t High Priestess a ritual. I’m wearing a sarong and Birkenstocks, for fuck’s sake. Get one of the tiara-wearers to do it. They live for this kind of shit.”

“A real witch can craft with a paper hat and a blade of grass if she has to.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I’m not joking.” He was getting that obstinate look on his face that I’ve come to know and loathe. “Think fast, because we’re on in thirty minutes.”

I seriously thought about strangling Gus, but that would waste precious time. We needed some kind of game plan, a.s.a.p. Before I got torn apart by a group of pissed-off, over-heated pagans who wanted a closing ritual.

Chapter Thirteen

Time passed quickly. Too quickly. Before I knew it, there was a massive group of tired, happy and broke pagans gathered in the clearing for my impromptu closing ritual.

“Ready or not, here we go,” I muttered.

I still didn’t want to do it, but Gus had his heart set on being the center of attention. I tried to talk him out of it, but it was useless. He had been dreaming of this moment ever since he got booted out of the last coven he was in. To be the biggest deal in the center of a large pagan gathering and thumb his nose at the people who had betrayed him, (at least, that’s Gus’s version of events). And he had been doing so much for me this week, I just didn’t have the heart to stomp on his inner diva and destroy his fantasy. Especially since he had spotted some ex-coven members roaming around.

So I stood up, put on my best public face, and went out to take on the crowd. Thankfully, everyone was more than ready to call it a day. Gus and I hurriedly set up the space, using a borrowed cauldron, (with the top covered by a round slab of wood), as our makeshift altar. On top of the altar, we placed a loaf of bread, a huge pitcher of apple cider and a large wooden spoon that I had snagged from concessions.

The crowd joined hands, one after the other, chanting
“Hand in hand, the circle is cast,”
as they surrounded us.

Then Gus and I alternated calling quarters from the center of the circle.

“In the East, I call on the divine fire of illumination and creativity.” Gus said, facing East.

I turned to the South. “In the South, I call on the lustful joy of the fertile earth.”

Gus turned to the West. “In the West, I call through the water, to the land of the ancestors, for their wisdom and guidance.”

I faced North. “In the North, I call upon the winds to bring clarity.”

I took over the circle and explained the working. “This is the time of year where we reap the rewards for our work. It’s the time of harvest, when crops are transformed through the sickle blade. Wheat becomes flour, flour becomes bread, bread sustains us.”

Gus picked up a loaf of bread and placed it on the altar. “We’re going to transform this bread into that which sustains us spiritually.”

The crowd cheered.

Gus continued, “What we need you to do, is create an energy cone. You’re going to gather in around us and walk deosil — that’s clockwise for you newbies — while doing a
Mah
chant. We’re going to gradually increase the volume, pitch and pace while my beautiful high priestess here crafts what we need into the bread. Then, when she’s ready, she’ll yell “Now.” That’s when you’re going to throw all your energy to her and she’ll redirect it into the bread. If you get lost, follow me. I’ll guide you.”

I placed my hands above the bread and started crafting different attributes into it, as Gus whipped the crowd into a steadily growing rhythm with the
Mah
chant.

“Joy… Laughter… Tolerance…” I said. “Wisdom… Patience… Inspiration…” Behind me, the chant grew in intensity and strength, until it became a solid wall of sound. By now I was yelling to be heard over the crowd. “Truth… Knowledge… Love…”

The bread was so ready it was vibrating. The
Mah
chant climaxed and I shouted “Now!”

Everyone screamed and released the energy to me and I threw it into the bread. A brief moment of silence and the circle erupted with laughter and joy.

Then Gus picked up the pitcher of apple cider and knelt in front of me. Everyone quieted down as he started talking. “I hold the womb of the Lady, from whence all things come and to whom all things return.”

I picked up the large wooden spoon. “I hold the instrument of the Lord, that which stirs the Lady’s womb and brings life into fruition. The spark without which there is nothing.”

I pointed the end of the spoon to the sky and then slowly turned it over and brought it down until, with a final thrust, it penetrated the liquid in the pitcher and brought more cheers. Then I shook some drops of cider onto the bread.

Gus and I both poured ourselves some cider from the pitcher and then handed it off to the circle to be passed around along with a container of paper Dixie cups. As Gus removed the board from the cauldron, I held the crafted and anointed bread up over my head.

“One piece for the sickle, for Death always takes his due,” I said, tearing an end off the bread and dumping it into the cauldron. “And one for the ancestors, in honor of who we came from and to honor those who will come after us.” I tore off the other end piece and threw it into the woods. I held the rest of the bread up in the air and showed it to the crowd. “And the rest for life! May we all receive help when we most need it and least expect it.”

As the crowd cheered, Gus and I each tore off a piece that we fed to each other and then we passed the bread around to the waiting throng. The pitcher was soon completely drained and the bread quickly devoured.

Everyone seemed sated and happy with the ritual as they fanned out to enjoy the remaining food (now free) at the concessions table.

As Gus and I walked past a small group, we heard them talking about how uplifting the ritual was. The best one in years, apparently.

Gus turned to me with a smug look on his face. “I told you, you could do it.”

I shook my head. “I just hope I don’t regret it.”

When we got home, Mrs. Lasio had tacked up another eviction notice on my front door, along with an updated calendar. I pulled them down.

“What a bitch,” Gus said.

“She doesn’t want me to get too comfortable, I guess.” I looked at the calendar. Six days to go. I felt my stomach clench. “I’m running out of time,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Gus took the calendar from me and tossed it in the pool.

Later that night, he tried to cheer me up by inviting me to go with him to Club Frack, a new bar in SilverLake, which was rumored to be a reincarnation of Club Fuck. Gus was so excited about it, he was practically buzzing. But he was a lot more into the alternative sex scene than I was.

As far as I’m concerned, why bother lighting the fire if there’s no one at home to put it out? It would just be an exercise in frustration.

After Gus took his frozen crow from the freezer and left, I scrubbed the freezer clean and signed up for a free trial for an online apartment rental service. Too bad they didn’t have anything in my price range. So I slathered my sunburn with aloe gel and went to bed.

That night, the dreams started again.

I ran through the woods. Branches slapped and cut my face, but I couldn’t stop. I could sense the cottage behind me, as if it was chasing me.

I tripped on a branch and went sprawling face-first into a clearing. Suddenly, the cottage loomed in front of me. I had come full circle, without knowing it.

A crow soared by overhead, cawing. The earth shook and rose up under me; a thick, musty wave, carrying me to my fate, as the cottage door opened.

“No!” I screamed.

I clawed at the dirt, trying to find a root to hold on to, but the earth was as pliable and as buoyant as black water. I slammed into the cottage and wedged my body against the doorjamb, fighting against the tidal wave of black ooze.