Page 76 of Last Witch Attempt
I narrowed my eyes. “I do not make excuses for her.”
“You do.”
“I do not.”
“You do.” Thistle looked at Clove. “Tell her she makes excuses for Aunt Tillie way too often. We’ve talked about this. We agree.”
Clove’s eyes were the size of saucers, and she made a slashing motion across her throat. “I would never talk about Bay behind her back. Why would you even suggest that?”
If looks could kill, Clove would be dead. Thistle looked as if she was imagining wrapping her hands around Clove’s neck and squeezing the life out of her. “You suck as a person … and a witch … and especially as a cousin.”
“There’s a pile of dirt right there.” Clove pointed for emphasis. “Say it again. I am a great person.”
It was interesting that she didn’t care as much about being pegged as a crappy witch and cousin.
“Let’s not do this.” I raised my hands. “A fight won’t help matters. For the record, I don’t make excuses for Aunt Tillie. I simply refuse to believe that pointing fingers will help.”
“At what point does Aunt Tillie face repercussions?” Thistle shot back. “She never has to account for the things she does. We just say ‘Oh, that’s Aunt Tillie’ and let her get away with murder. Heck, for all we know she conjured Millie to do just that.”
It took me a moment to figure out what she was getting at. “You think Aunt Tillie brought Millie into this world to murder someone.” That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. “You might not like everything she does—I know I don’t—but Aunt Tillie is no murderer.” I looked to Evan for backup.
“I don’t like this entire conversation.” The vampire folded his arms across his chest and glared between us. “She is who she is. You can’t try to change her eighty years into her development. As for creating Millie to murder someone, I guarantee she didn’t.”
I was suspicious. “Do you know something?”
“No. I had no idea Millie existed until you told me. Tillie doesn’t get her thrills killing people. She likes to dole out justice. My guess is that she created Millie as an alibi. She went out to torture someone and sent Millie downtown so she would be seen by others. Whatever she did—probably some form of malicious vandalism—can’t be blamed on her.”
“But someone still would’ve known,” I guessed. I thought about the two Aunt Tillies and the way they’d appeared when we were modifying Mrs. Little’s memory. “I bet Millie was created for some elaborate scenario involving Mrs. Little.”
“That would be my guess too,” Evan agreed. “I know what happened with that Floyd guy, how he was beating his wife and Tillie got involved. I can see her creating Millie to help with a situation like that. If I remember correctly, Floyd and Mrs. Little had ties.” He sent Thistle a stern look. “No matter what you believe, there’s no way Tillie created a clone to murder someone.”
Thistle harrumphed. “I didn’t say I thought she actually murdered someone.”
“Just stop.” Evan looked tired. “Tillie is who she is, and no matter how much you puff yourself out, you love her, even though she drives you crazy from time to time.”
“It happens weekly.”
“You’ll live.” Evan smirked. “Millie is here. We have to deal with her. We also have to deal with this.” He gestured to the campsite. “I have some bad news.” He turned grim. “I pick up two distinct scents here, and neither are human.”
He had my attention. “Arachnids?”
He shook his head. “I’m familiar with their scent.”
“Are you saying there were two naiads here?”
“Yes, and we need to go that way.” He pointed to the trees to the north.
“Why that way?” I asked, almost fearing the answer.
“Something has died here.” He inclined his head.
As much as I didn’t want to see what had been left in the woods to rot, he wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t worried. Besides, we were looking for a motive for what was happening.
“Let’s go,” I said, tilting my chin down.
Evan led the way. He reminded me of a bloodhound the way he stopped, scented left and right, then started out again. It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. “There.” He pointed to a spot in a tiny clearing. The earth was mounded, denoting something—or someone—had been buried.
“Crap.” I started forward, then stopped. I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
