Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) by Christiana Miller

planning for Grundleshanks, I looked up the ritual. I found some stuff online, but most of the details were in Gus’s esoteric lore books.
    The toad was a shamanic creature, that dwelt on both land and water, a totemic guide for a witch who dwelt both on Earth and in the Otherworld. So I could see why Gus was a huge toad fan. And Grundleshanks had been the coolest toad ever.
    The toad bone ritual was part of the Horseman’s lore. They used the bone to exert almost preternatural control over a horse, commanding it to become gentle or go wild at a whisper. And while I could understand that would have been super-important in an era when we relied on horses for everything, we were living in the era of the automobile.
    Besides, the last time I suggested we go trail riding, Gus adamantly refused. He didn’t want anything to do with an object of transportation that didn’t have drink holders, seat belts or a GPS.
    *     *     *
    When I arrived at the cemetery, I found the missing garbage can, a long table and chairs, boxes of decorations, and coolers filled with appetizers and drinks. For the guys, there were two sweet wines: the red Mavrodaphne and white Samos of Muscat , and a bottle of the turpentiny-tasting Retsina. And for me, a giant bottle of coconut water. There was even a large can of dog food for the Dobes.
    Since I had nothing else to do, while the dogs ran around sniffing everything, I started transforming the cemetery. I covered the table with a few large Celtic sarongs. Then I put our skull, whom we had started calling Bertha, on top of a hearthstone that Gus had carved with sigils. I set the skull and the stone at the head of the table, laid a silver bell on one side and priapic wand on the other, and then circled the hearthstone with candles.
     
    I don’t know what got into me. But as the sun started to set, everything looked so perfect and magickal, I couldn’t help myself. I lit the candles and did a small calling to the spirits of the ancestors, the spirits of the dead who surrounded us.
    I told myself that I was just trying to prime the space, to acknowledge the spirits and let them know we were here, so that when Gus called them in—since it was his dinner after all—they’d come in like gangbusters.
    Instead, I got a response I wasn’t expecting. White wraiths rose up from the ground, spirits passing through coffins and dirt, so thick in their manifestation, it was like standing in fog.
    The dogs whimpered and pressed closer to me.
    My heart pounded faster and I stopped breathing, wondering what in the world I had just done.
    The fog rolled out, stretching, before forming separate shapes.
    Finally, I recognized my Aunt Tillie and my mom, and a whole bunch of people who I didn’t know, but who felt familiar.
    I started breathing again. Aramis growled, while Apollo started barking. I petted them and told them to hush. They quieted down, but the hair on their necks still bristled.
     
    “It’s bad form to call us in girl, when there’s no food on the table,” Aunt Tillie said, sidling up to me.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to actually call you in yet. I don’t know what came over me.”
    I quickly took a little of each of the cut-up veggies, fruit, and Greek cheeses—kasseri and feta—from the cooler and put them on a plate for the dead, adding a spoonful of Greek salad and a torn off piece of pita bread. Then I opened the container of tiropitakia (Greek cheese triangles) and spanakopitakia (Greek spinach triangles)—which Gus had made from scratch—and added one of each to the platter.
    “I know what it was,” my mom said, winking at me, as she sat down. “You missed us.”
    “That must be it,” I agreed.
    “You look ridiculous,” Aunt Tillie sniffed.
    “When it comes to missing people, I wasn’t talking about you ,” I told my great-aunt.
    “Ignore your Aunt Tillie,” my mom said. “You look adorable. Just like your brother.”
    Aunt Tillie hissed and the whole world