Read Online A Tale of 3 Witches by Barbra Annino, Christiana Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbra Annino, Christiana Miller
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and break the news of my demise over the phone. You will do it in person, like a responsible adult. More to the point, she needs you. Consider it an emergency."
Mara looked around, anxious. "But..."
"Isn't that what dads are for? Paul can stay here and watch the baby and the dogs." Gus chimed in. "You wanted them to have bonding time."
"And I'll pop in and out and make sure he takes good care of her." Tillie added.
"But, it's just so... sudden."
"That's how emergencies are." Gus said, grinning at Mara. His eyes were twinkling at the prospect of a witchy crisis looming. "Duty calls. Have magical powers, will travel. Witches to the rescue. Hip, hip, hooray. Let's get a move on." He said, practically pushing her towards the stairs so she could pack.
"No more buts. Get that suitor of yours over here and make it happen," Tillie snapped.
Mara groaned. Last time Paul stayed over at the cottage, a malevolent spirit had possessed him. She wasn't at all sure he'd be up for staying there again.
CHAPTER TWO
To say the dream was unusual would be putting it mildly. There was a toad hopping all around a pumpkin patch and the thing had such expression in his eyes, Stacy Justice could swear he was Lord Byron reincarnated.
Her Great Dane, Thor, was galloping after the toad, his huge jowls flopping in the fall breeze, until he came across an old woman with a temperament so ornery, it fired off her in tiny purple sparks. Stopped the dog right in his tracks. Thor rolled over on his back and whinnied, kicking his legs in the air. The toad shrugged, climbed on top of Thor's belly and blinked at the woman.
She gave a reluctant smile to the toad, but to Stacy, she said, "You kids think you know everything. Think your brains are better, just because they're younger. You better wise up, toots. I don't have as much patience as your grandmother. Just ask Mara."
Then she was gone.
Stacy bolted upright in bed, jostling Thor, who was snoring next to her, his giant tail thumping happily.
Was she talking to me? And who on Earth was Mara? Stacy thought.
* * *
Stacy's eyes were still heavy as she crawled out of bed. She cursed herself for not making coffee the night before. She would need a whole pot to kick off this weekend. Not only was it the busiest tourist weekend of the year, it was also jam-packed with family activities that she was bound to be dragged to, whether she wanted to go or not.
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
Mara looked around, anxious. "But..."
"Isn't that what dads are for? Paul can stay here and watch the baby and the dogs." Gus chimed in. "You wanted them to have bonding time."
"And I'll pop in and out and make sure he takes good care of her." Tillie added.
"But, it's just so... sudden."
"That's how emergencies are." Gus said, grinning at Mara. His eyes were twinkling at the prospect of a witchy crisis looming. "Duty calls. Have magical powers, will travel. Witches to the rescue. Hip, hip, hooray. Let's get a move on." He said, practically pushing her towards the stairs so she could pack.
"No more buts. Get that suitor of yours over here and make it happen," Tillie snapped.
Mara groaned. Last time Paul stayed over at the cottage, a malevolent spirit had possessed him. She wasn't at all sure he'd be up for staying there again.
CHAPTER TWO
To say the dream was unusual would be putting it mildly. There was a toad hopping all around a pumpkin patch and the thing had such expression in his eyes, Stacy Justice could swear he was Lord Byron reincarnated.
Her Great Dane, Thor, was galloping after the toad, his huge jowls flopping in the fall breeze, until he came across an old woman with a temperament so ornery, it fired off her in tiny purple sparks. Stopped the dog right in his tracks. Thor rolled over on his back and whinnied, kicking his legs in the air. The toad shrugged, climbed on top of Thor's belly and blinked at the woman.
She gave a reluctant smile to the toad, but to Stacy, she said, "You kids think you know everything. Think your brains are better, just because they're younger. You better wise up, toots. I don't have as much patience as your grandmother. Just ask Mara."
Then she was gone.
Stacy bolted upright in bed, jostling Thor, who was snoring next to her, his giant tail thumping happily.
Was she talking to me? And who on Earth was Mara? Stacy thought.
* * *
Stacy's eyes were still heavy as she crawled out of bed. She cursed herself for not making coffee the night before. She would need a whole pot to kick off this weekend. Not only was it the busiest tourist weekend of the year, it was also jam-packed with family activities that she was bound to be dragged to, whether she wanted to go or not.
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
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