"She sicced Harold on Grumbler yesterday," said April, indignant.
Grumbler hissed and then yowled, her way of confirming the story. She looked at me. Harold chased me up a tree, mistress. It took forever to remove the leaves from my fur.
"Uh-huh. I don't think that decrepit little dog got within two yards of you," I told Grumbler. "You're not supposed to be in Mrs. Moore's yard, either."
Grumbler looked down at her paws. "Meow." It was an unfortunate situation.
"I should make you apologize to Harold."
Grumbler stared up at me with her wide green eyes. I do not apologize to my inferiors. He should express gratitude that I did not rip off his face.
Grumbler wasn't going to apologize to anyone for anything ever. That was the nature of a cat, doubly so for a feline familiar. I turned to my sisters. Two pair of blue eyes blinked innocently at me.
"You left out the belladonna." I waved at the cauldron. "I assume you needed it for your shenanigans?"
"We needed a pinch for the spell," admitted April.
"And we forgot to put it away," added May.
"Do I need to give Speech 127 also known as Why Grumbler Can't Have Belladonna? Or do you want Speech 1004, titled Don't Mess Up Today in Any Way, Shape, or Form No Matter What."
"Sorry," the twins said together, their expressions reflecting genuine regret. My irritation faded. My sisters were mischievous, but not malicious. They had good hearts, even if they didn't always have a good judgment. Besides, no matter what they did, I found it difficult to stay mad at them for long.
"Okay. What's done is done. Clean up this mess and then go study. Your entrance exams for college are next week."
April shook her head. "Why should we bother? It's not like we'll get in to Garden Grove's precious witch college."
"Yeah," said May. "We're Willowstones. They'll turn us down even if we get perfect scores on the exams."
"No, they won't," I said. "Because today is the day Willowstones are getting back into the Garden Grove Coven."
The twins shared exchanged a look, one of disbelief I'd seen in their gazes many times before. They were not convinced that the coven or the community would ever accept a Willowstone again. They supported my plan because they felt they had to, not because they had any great faith that I could overcome the prejudice of a whole town.
I couldn't blame them for their cynicism. They'd spent most of their lives being rejected by everyone. I tried to protect them from the consequences of what Mom had done, but the bitter judgment of others wormed through any defenses I attempted to erect.
I figured out it was better to teach them how to deal with difficulty rather than how to hide from it. Those were harsh lessons for them to learn, especially so young.
"I need to run a few itty bitty errands for Dorianna Miller before work," I said, projecting confidence I didn't feel, "and then she'll invite me to tonight's meeting. Once I present our case for re-instatement to the coven, we'll be voted back in. I'm sure of it."
"I hope so," said April. "But, Cassie, you always do stuff for her, and she never invites you to coven meetings."
"Never," repeated May.
"Well, this time is different," I said, trying to reassure my sisters. They'd been disappointed too often. "This time, she'll definitely let me plead our case in front of the coven."
"She better," said May as she got up and dusted grass off her knees and shorts. "Then you can stop working for Pete the Pincher."
"I'd like to pinch him," muttered April as she got to her feet, too. "In the wiener."
"April!" I choked back a laugh. Pete Paller was a human, a harasser of female workers, and the only guy in town who'd hire me.
Well, his dad had hired me two years ago, after my college fund and family inheritance dried up. Ash City was the closest urban center I could search for work outside of Garden Grove, but the commute was too long.
t the time, I was homeschooling the twins and working endless hours on the gardens. It took patience, skill, and time to grow and cultivate plants. I spent a lot of time drying herbs, donating flowers, canning vegetables, and making jellies and jams. The apothecary needed repairs and updates, too, and the only labor I could afford was my own.
I'd needed a local job.
Paller's Pickle Factory was the only place in Garden Grove willing to hire me. I packed pickle jars from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. six days a week.
Three months ago, Pete took over the facility from his dad and quickly gained a reputation as a leech. Garden Grove wasn't a big town and the pickle factory was its main employer. Most of us women put up with Pete's pinching and leering because we had families to feed and bills to pay.
But if—no, when—the coven accepted me tonight, I'd cast a spell on Pete's fat, nipping fingers. He'd never touch another woman again without permission. I should probably also bespell his unibrow so he'd stop waggling it suggestively at the female employees.
I wanted to hex the letch now, but I was the only witch employed at the factory. Pete the Pincher would know I was the one who'd used magic against him. Then I would lose my job before I was ready to quit.
Hopefully, I could finally turn in my notice tomorrow. Given the opportunity, I was sure I could make the coven understand that Delia Willowstone had been an anomaly in a long line of respectable and noble witches. My sisters and I had spent nearly a decade paying for my mother's mistakes. That had to matter, right?
While April and May picked up their mess, I studied the opened doors of Old Lady Moore's bedroom. The rocking chair remained in its usual place on the balcony as did the small table where she kept drinks and whatever book she was reading.
"Mrs. Moore hasn't been outside at all this morning?"