Witchdependence Day: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 8) by Amanda M. Lee Read Free Book Online

We should get some sleep.”
    “I’m coming,” I said, pushing the door shut and latching the lock. “I’m right behind you.”

Five
    I didn’t think I would fall asleep, but the rain drove me under minutes after my head hit the pallet. I didn’t stir again until my cell phone rang the next morning.
    “I’m going to make you eat that phone if you don’t answer it,” Thistle grumbled, jerking the blanket over her head.
    Her sweetness factor decreases the earlier the morning hour.
    I fumbled around the top of the blanket until I found my phone. “Hello.”
    “It’s the end of the world!”
    I recognized the voice without checking the number. “Good morning, Aunt Tillie,” I said, swallowing my weary sigh. “How are you?”
    “Did you hear me?” Aunt Tillie barked. “It’s the end of the world!”
    I was used to her histrionic fits so I didn’t put a lot of stock in her early morning meltdown. “Zombies or aliens?”
    The silence on the other end of the call told me my joke landed on the wrong side of Aunt Tillie’s funny bone. “You get more and more like Thistle and Bay the more time you spend with them,” Aunt Tillie said.
    “I think that’s a compliment,” I said, patting Thistle’s head under the blanket as she growled.
    “I’m going to kill that old woman,” she threatened. “I’m going to hit her over the head with a shovel and bury her where no one can find her.”
    “Tell Thistle I heard that,” Aunt Tillie said.
    There was no way I was risking Thistle’s wrath before she had her first jolt of coffee. “What can I do for you, Aunt Tillie? It’s not even seven yet.”
    “Which means it’s the middle of the night and she wants to die,” Thistle hissed.
    “I heard that, too,” Aunt Tillie said. “Tell Thistle I’m going to curse her to smell like rotten potatoes if she’s not careful.”
    “I will … relay that message at some point during the day,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
    Thistle pulled the blanket down and glared at me. “What did she just say?”
    “She said she loves you and can’t wait to see you today,” I lied.
    Thistle and Aunt Tillie snorted in unison, and not for the first time I wondered whether Thistle would evolve into the cantankerous matriarch as she aged. That was a sobering thought. “What were we talking about?”
    “We were talking about the end of the world,” Aunt Tillie said. “I need you out at my special garden right away. Civilization is breaking down. We have to prepare ourselves for Armageddon.”
    Most people would ask questions, or at least feign worry. I was fairly certain Aunt Tillie was spouting nonsense for dramatic purposes. I knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t let it go until I agreed to ride to her rescue. “Give me thirty minutes.”
    “Did you not hear me about the end the world?”
    “I did hear you, but I can’t get out there right this second,” I replied. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
    “No one cares about that,” Aunt Tillie barked. “I don’t want to kiss you, just bend your ear and utilize your investigative talents. Swallow some mouthwash and move your butt. The world is about to end and I need a big stick to fight off evil.”
    Well, good. I love it when she carries around a big stick. She often whistles while she does it and makes growling noises at birds. The visual is hilarious.
    “I’m on my way.” I ended the call and glanced at Thistle, smiling at her mussed hair and murderous expression. “Good morning, Sunshine.”
    “Ha, ha,” Thistle intoned. “What does that crazy old bat want now?”
    “She mentioned something about the end of the world.”
    “Zombies or aliens?”
    I chuckled. Thistle got my sense of humor and it was only one of the things I loved about her. “She says I have to meet her at her field.”
    “Oh, great,” Thistle muttered. “Someone probably tripped the wards last night. Teenagers are always out there looking for pot. Aunt