CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
My mother was dead.
She didn't need my forgiveness. Honestly, I don't think she'd want it. Mom was not the type of person to regret her actions, no matter how rash or impulsive or devastating they might be.
None of that mattered now. I needed the coven. Inviting the Willowstones into their ranks again would open doors everywhere. For me, yes, but more importantly, for my sisters.
They'd lost both parents.
Dad, they only knew from stories Mom and I had told, and Mom—well, their memories of her bounced from fun to terrible. Being around my mother was a lot like riding a big, scary rollercoaster while wearing a blindfold. You never knew when the turns or dips were coming.
I leaned against the porch railing and called out, "April! May!"
I didn't get a response. Hmm. That did not bode well. Either they didn't hear me, or more likely, they were ignoring me
"Meow." Hello, mistress. I have forgiven you for your unfounded accusation.
I looked down at Grumbler. "What?"
"Meow." You accused me, wrongly, of eating the belladonna. But you may rest easy now. I have forgiven you. She blinked at me and canted her head.
"You forgive me, huh?"
"Meow." Yes. You're welcome.
"Gee, thanks. So ... do you know the location of April and May?"
"Meow." Of course I know where they are. It's my job to protect all the Willowstones. She stared at me, and I stared back.
After a few seconds, I said, "Would you mind telling me?"
I will show you. Grumbler leapt off the porch and took off down the stone path that led toward the left side of the property.
Oh, no. No.
I ran after my familiar, threatening my sisters under my breath as I thought about all the ways they could be creating trouble. It was a long list.
My bare feet slapped against the large weathered stones of the path as I followed the cat around the corner of the house and through neat rows of multi-colored gardenias.
Ack! Grumbler led me exactly to where I didn't want the twins to be—at the six-foot wooden fence that divided the Willowstone property from that of Leticia Moore.
We called her Old Lady Moore in lieu of other colorful names that might act as better descriptors. Ahem. She'd been the ancient crone next door since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. She was mean as a striking snake, too.
The witch had been widowed longer than she'd been married. She'd never had a second husband, but I sincerely doubted it was out of undying love for her dead spouse.
You can thank the Mother Goddess the woman never had any children. Unless you were crazy enough to count us girls as the kids she never wanted. Her favorite name to call us was the Willowstone Wildebeests. To be fair, though, over the years we'd been called worse names by supposedly better people.
Honestly? We kinda deserved the name, too. We'd spent our childhoods tormenting the elderly woman with pranks and tricks—and our mother encouraged it, if that gave you any idea about our antics. Don't feel too sorry for Old Lady Moore, though. The cranky hag gave as good as she got.
I still had the scars to prove it.
But today, of all days, I couldn't afford for the twins to renew the feud with Old Lady Moore. I'd gone out of my way to make sure she had no complaints about us. I'd warned April and May to not set foot on the woman's property and to ignore any comments she yelled or glares she pointed at us.
The elderly witch spent most of her time sitting in a rocking chair on her second-story bedroom balcony, her narrowed gaze always on us and our home. She had a crotchety Chihuahua familiar named Harold who hated us as much as she did.
I found April and May kneeling next to small blue ceramic cauldron, laughing, as they created fart bubbles. The brown orbs floated in a line that went over the fence, up into the air, and into the opened French doors of Old Lady Moore's bedroom.
One thing you could say about my sisters—they were creative in the ways they disobeyed. Those two were queens of the you-didn't-say-we-couldn't-insert-action-here loopholes.
They were too busy distilling the smelly bubbles to notice my arrival.
"What are you doing?"
"Aaaah!" They yelled together. I startled them so badly that they bumped into the bubbles and several popped. Noxious odors smelling like rotted food, poop, and burnt hair rolled over us.
I gagged, waving my hand in front of my nose. The eau de nasty scents were disgusting. I breathed out through my mouth. Yuck! Apparently, the spell wasn't meant to last too long because the stench disappeared quickly. Thank goodness. I crossed my arms and glared at my sisters.
April and May scrambled back from the mini-cauldron they'd used to create the stinky spell, scooting across the grass on their rear ends.
As usual, they'd pulled their hair into bouncy ponytails and wore matching outfits. On this bright June morning, they'd chosen pink T-shirts and khaki shorts. No shoes, but none of us Willowstones wore shoes if we could help it. Touching the earth with bare skin enhanced our magic.
"I told you to leave Mrs. Moore alone." I glanced at the empty balcony. "What did you do? Drive the poor woman into her house?"
The twins shook their heads.
"She wasn't there…" said April, the oldest by four minutes.
"…but the doors were open," finished May.
"So you thought, hey, why don't we ruin a senior citizen's morning by stinking up her house?"
April and May bowed their heads, but I knew better than to believe they felt remorse. I wondered if I should make them go over there and apologize to Old Lady Moore in person. I didn't know if that was a wise move, putting my sisters within spell distance of Old Lady Moore. She might turn them into amphibians, which she'd threatened more than once.
I sighed. "What's your excuse for tormenting Mrs. Moore?"