Thorn to Die

He backed out of the drive and was way down the road before I turned to the house. The warm yellow glow coming from the small pane of glass set in the front door beckoned to me. Letting my feet guide me, I rushed inside and toward the sound of voices in the kitchen. My aunts and cousins were all sitting around the table, tea cups in hand.

At the head of the table sat Grammy Jo, in a loose cream blouse and skin tight leggings with tiny donuts up the sides. She stood up when I entered, holding her arms wide. “Well, don’t just stand there, child. Come give your grandmother a big squeeze.”

As I fell into her arms, it felt like jumping into a memory. All the times she’s hugged me as a child; after a knee scrape, a disappointment, a broken heart. They were all there, held within the warmth of her embrace, the strength of her arms, and the hum of her voice. It was wonderful to have her home.

“Have a seat, we’re celebrating,” Aunt Piper said with a big smile stretching across her plump face. She motioned toward the chair next to her.

“I’m not sure why,” Aunt Viv replied. Her eyes widened so much that I thought they were going to fall out of her head. “This will happen again, you know. They always target the magical kind. It’s only a matter of time before they string one of us up on that bonfire again.”

Blythe and Aunt Piper giggled as Raven quietly whispered to her mother to relax. Aunt Viv could always be counted on to find the horror in a situation. The good part was that she was usually wrong.

“Your cousins have just been filling me in on your adventures.” Grammy Jo sat back down and raised one dark eyebrow. “Sounded like a little too much witchy fun, if you ask me. Tea?”

She held out a cup of steaming tea as I sat. I took it from her and waited for a lecture. Surely, after everything we’d done this week – breaking into a store, interrogating subjects, finding a bomb, nearly getting killed twice – was worth a long lecture about magical responsibility. But Grammy Jo just laughed and refilled her cup.

“Be careful,” Raven said in a loud whisper. “I’ve heard Grammy’s tea will kill you.”

The four of us giggled as Grammy threw a tea towel at her granddaughter. I sipped the warm beverage, feeling suddenly lighter. A giddiness bubbled up my gut, spilling out into my laughter. I knew this drink. It was Grammy Jo’s own recipe – euphoric eucalyptus. It only came out when there was something to celebrate and tonight we definitely had something to celebrate.

“Hello?” The voice that came from the doorway caused us all to swivel in our chairs. My jaw dropped when I caught sight of Momma Tula standing there in a light cotton summer dress, her freshly washed hair combed smooth. A pink blush lit up the cheeks that had remained pale for too long and I

could even see a hint of lipstick on her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered and she took a bold step forward, into the kitchen. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course!” I sprung up from the table, unsure whether to offer her my chair or run in for a hug. As not to scare her away, I just stood there for a few seconds until she took the seat across from me.

“Good of you to join us, Tulipia,” Grammy said, holding out a cup. As Momma Tula took it, Grammy gave me a knowing wink. “We were saving you a cup.”

I hid my tears behind my dainty blue flowered tea cup, overjoyed with the family sitting around me. This is what I’d missed. Generations of Brunick witches all together.

Blythe and Raven retold the story about tonight, talking over each other and gesturing loudly. I just sat there, soaking it all in.

I’d always looked past the fact that the three of us shared a birthday and a birthmark, but maybe Momma Tula was right. There was something between the three of us, as different as we were. Raven with her flowing black locks and Native American heritage. Blythe with her blonde bob and exuberant personality. Then, of course, there was me. The copper-haired artist with a piggy sidekick.

We were something special. We were the Half-Moon Witches.

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A Bone to Pick

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An Excerpt from A Bone to Pick

Chapter 1

This wasn't the way I had planned to die. My cotton uniform weighed heavily on my body, suffocating in the autumn heat. Guns fired around me. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled my nostrils. Bodies littered the field, victims of a useless and senseless battle. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and crouched lower in the tall grass, shoving my musket a little higher on my shoulder. Kat, my pint-sized pig and loyal guardian, stood next to me. His beady little eyes surveyed the field for danger.

This was life or death. If we didn't make it through this, Blythe was going to confiscate my room and turn it into a craft room. She'd fill it with her paint-by-number crap paintings of little kittens and neon flowers.

Over my dead body.