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“Actually, I don’t think it was Him,” I muttered.
In this time, Halloween/Samhain still held onto its more sinister Celtic origins, not the sanitized twentieth century version with costumed kiddies ringing doorbells for treats.
“Little demons, the lot of them,” Alice muttered with shaking head. “They’ve been at it all morning.”
“Two guesses who the main culprits are, and the first one will be right.”
Alice grunted her agreement. “Their shenanigans will be worse tonight when the Anders kid and his cohorts have the cover of darkness to aid them in their deviltry. Last year they broke open the flour barrel and dusted the entire place with it.
“I tried to get his father Zed to pay for the waste, but he said I couldn’t prove it was his boy. Told him no one else had feet the size of wagon wheels, and the prints were dusted all over the floor. This year they’re not raising a ruckus in my store, if I have to bar the door and nail every barrel down.”
“I’ll help. Where’s another hammer?”
“Over by the counter. Land sakes, for once I’m glad that you sent Henry to the Indian village today so he wouldn’t be caught up with those hooligans.”
“He wouldn’t,” I assured her. “Henry’s a good kid. You raised him well, Alice.”
“Maybe, but that nasty Tyler Anders has been hellbent to drag him into his gang one way or the other. Michael’s there with him at the village though?”
I nodded. “He’ll bring Henry back with him to the cabin tomorrow, so you won’t have to worry about him tonight. Speaking of which, would you like me to stay here with you? I could be backup in helping you chase the little beasts away with my broomstick.”
Which I’m sure they’ll believe I will be hitching a moonlit ride on at midnight.
Of course, my spellcasting reputation might help in my quest to intimidate the buggers from egging the windows, breaking into the store, or terrorizing the animals in the barn.
Ironic that on this night of all nights I would be more comforted in the arms of a sexy werewolf than in the presence of wicked teenagers bent on menace and mayhem.
I chuckled to myself at the thought of what a perfect pair we made—a werewolf and a witch. We should have been married on Halloween.
“That would be very nice. Thank you, Callista,” Alice breathed with relief, wiping the perspiration off her brow with her forearm.
“Glad to do it. When we’re done, let’s close the store for the duration, then settle back with some of your apple cider and cinnamon bread. It sounds like it’s going to be a trying night.”
“It will be,” she confirmed, then looked around and sighed. “Well, there’s lots to do to keep all my stock protected from those monsters. Let’s get back to it.”
General store all shored up for the upcoming Samhain bedlam, Alice and I took our leave upstairs with hot mugs of spiced cider and orange blossom muffins. The blustery wind had picked up considerably, blowing leaves and branches and debris everywhere outside, and whistled eerily through the trees.
“Better make sure all the shudders are closed up tight,” she said, shivering. “It’s colder than a witch’s—”
“Alice!” I chuckled. “And you a proper church-going lady. But you’re right, the temperature’s dropped and the clouds are rolling in. Feels like a storm’s headed our way. I’d better make sure the animals are tucked in safe and sound. Be right back.”
I downed the last of my cider, stuffed the muffin crumbs into my mouth, then headed down the backstairs.
I heard the commotion just as I reached the barn. The chickens were frantically clucking and flapping, the pigs snorting and squealing. Even Patty was stamping and whickering anxiously. Something was definitely distressing them.
Or somebodies, more likely.
“Tyler Anders, I swear if you’ve plucked one chicken feather...”
Fighting the vacuuming force of the wind, I yanked open the barn door with a loud bang against the wall, then stumbled into the barn. It was in shambles—crates and haybales were ripped apart and strewn everywhere. Whitewash was messily splashed all along the walls and posts.
But it was the wordwitch bitchpainted on Patty’s right side with manure that made me see blood red.
“You little bastards,” I spat, fuming as I rushed up to poor Patty and did my best to wipe it off and calm her down.
That. Was. It!
I had enough of those nasty little thugs, and I refused to let this cruel prank go, even if I had to personally pound them all senseless with my broomstick!
