Page 7 of Last Witch Attempt
“I’ve done a little research on that too,” Clove interjected. “It’s entirely possible.”
“Oh, good, you’re the one who is going to be just like Aunt Tillie in her old age,” Thistle drawled. “I’m so relieved it’s not me.”
“Say that again and I’ll make you eat dirt,” Clove hissed.
This conversation was quickly spinning away from us. “I’m not opposed to trying to modify Mrs. Little’s memory,” I interjected. That was difficult for me to say because memory charms had been happening frequently lately. I didn’t like using them because stripping someone’s memory often felt abusive. In this particular case, it was necessary. “I’m worried about what happens if we do it wrong.”
“When do we ever do anything wrong?” Aunt Tillie challenged.
“Stop saying things like that,” I hissed. “That’s not the way to get me on your side.” All I could picture were the clown dolls overtaking the town. How did she not consider that a spell gone wrong?
Evan chuckled, reading my mind. Then he sobered when he realized Aunt Tillie was glaring at him. “I agree with Tillie,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height. He had a grace about him that most humans didn’t possess. He was full of sneaky sarcasm and snark too. I liked him a great deal. “Margaret is at a tipping point. We either have to get the state involved because she’s no longer showering or feeding herself or we have to intervene ourselves.”
It was the food and shower information that tipped me over the edge. “Fine. We’ll do it. If things go wrong, we have to be prepared to reverse the spell and get the state involved.” I needed that caveat thrown in. “We can’t let her suffer.”
“I could let her suffer and not feel a shred of guilt,” Aunt Tillie replied. “There’s no joy to be found when I’m unable to torture her.”
“Then let’s do it.” I was resigned. “I really hope this doesn’t backfire on us.”
“Have a little faith,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
MRS. LITTLE DIDN’T COME LOOKING FORus when we let ourselves into her house. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and stared at her hunched figure as she hunkered under a blanket in the living room, staring at the television.
I violently disliked the woman. Often, I thought there was no punishment great enough for her transgressions. This was just sad.
“Let’s not drag things out,” Evan whispered as he appeared at my side. “We need to lull her so we can get the potion in her.”
He was right. Dragging things out would just make it worse for all of us. I started singing a lullaby, weaving magic through the words as I made my way into the living room.
Mrs. Little didn’t react to our appearance. She remained focused on the television.
“Give me the potion,” Evan ordered Aunt Tillie, holding his hand out.
Aunt Tillie balked. “Why would I do that?” she demanded. “It’s my potion. I’ll give it to her.”
Evan’s expression said he was done playing games. The vampire moved fast, snagging the potion from Aunt Tillie’s pocket before she even registered what was happening.
“Oh, now you’re on my list,” she hissed as she scrambled to keep up.
Evan ignored her, offering a kind smile to a dazed Mrs. Little as she clutched her blanket to her chest. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he assured her. “I’m here to make things better.”
Mrs. Little didn’t respond. Her hands shook, and she pressed her eyes shut, as if waiting for the worst. In her mind, we were angels of death.
“Be fast,” I instructed Evan. “This is painful.”
He slid his arm around Mrs. Little’s shoulders, tugged her close, and uncapped the potion bottle with one hand. Before she could resist, he poured the contents of the bottle down her throat.
She went lax in his arms.
“Do the magic thing,” Evan ordered Aunt Tillie. “Hurry up.”
“Last time I checked, I’m the boss,” Aunt Tillie growled.
“Do it,” I snapped at her. “This is just cruel.”
“Aunt Tillie gets off on being cruel,” Thistle said as she looked over the china plates that had been affixed to the wall via garish metal holders. “They’re all birds,” she said to me. “Why would she choose birds? Birds are boring. Even cats would be better than birds.”
“You’ll have to ask her,” I replied, jolting when Aunt Tillie engaged her magic.
