Witchdependence Day: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 8) by Amanda M. Lee Page A

you?”
    “Hardly,” Aunt Tillie scoffed. “That’s not the sort of power I need.”
    I understood what she was getting at. “Which ones do you want?”
    “Get me the three young ones,” Aunt Tillie replied. “They’re easy to boss around. Clove should have the supplies I need at the shop. I’ll get you a list.”
    “He doesn’t have much time,” I said. “I … don’t know how I know that, but I can feel it.”
    “I feel it, too,” Aunt Tillie said. “That’s why you need to hurry. Get the girls and my supplies. Don’t dawdle. While you’re gone, I’ll keep Dutch company. He’s going to enjoy my stories.”
    “I’m already looking forward to it,” Dutch said, pressing his eyes shut. He looked as if he could slip away at any moment.
    “Hurry, Marcus,” Aunt Tillie prodded. “We need to do this now!”

    “ A RE WE sure this is a good idea?” Clove asked, her eyes huge as she took in Dutch’s prone form. He’d passed out during my absence and his breathing was shallow. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
    “He doesn’t want that,” I argued. “He’s afraid. Can’t you help him?”
    “We’ll do our best,” Aunt Tillie said, sorting through Clove’s herbs and handing her three bags. “Mix that into a poultice and pack it on his wound. We need to start the chant soon.”
    Chant? “Can you stop him from dying?”
    “We don’t have power over life and death, Marcus,” Thistle said. “You know that. We might be able to do something else, though.” She held up the fabric poppet Aunt Tillie instructed her to bring. “We’re going to direct his illness into this. If it works, he’ll be weak but hopefully recover.”
    “And if it doesn’t work?”
    Thistle shot me a pained expression. “He’ll die.”
    “We’re not going to let that happen,” Aunt Tillie said. “Everyone get moving. We’re almost out of time.”
    Bay, Clove and Thistle sprang into action, seemingly knowing what Aunt Tillie wanted them to do without her uttering a word. I held Dutch’s limp hand as they readied the area, taking a step back but refusing to release my grip when Clove applied the poultice.
    “Okay, Marcus, you need to step away,” Aunt Tillie instructed. “We can’t have you messing up our energy field.”
    “But … I don’t want him to die alone.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. I barely knew the man yet I was invested in his survival.
    “Then take a step back,” Aunt Tillie pressed. “If we do this right, he won’t die.”
    I tugged a restless hand through my hair and did as she asked, leaning against the office wall as Aunt Tillie placed the poppet in the center of the floor and then joined hands with her great-nieces.
    “Are you ready, girls?”
    They nodded.
    “You remember what to do, right?” Aunt Tillie asked. “We have only one shot at this and you haven’t done it since you were kids.”
    “We remember,” Bay said.
    “We could never forget,” Clove added.
    The women pressed their eyes shut, and a chill swept over me as something powerful moved through the room. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel everything.
    “We call upon the power of the north,” Clove intoned. “Stay true. Stay solid. Stay the course. Stay watchful.”
    “We call upon the power of the east,” Bay said. “Be strong. Be courageous. Be true. Be diligent.”
    “We call upon the power of the south,” Thistle said, her face a mask of concentration. “Earth. Air. Fire. Water. To all of you we take heed, and ask for help.”
    “We call upon the power of the west,” Aunt Tillie said. “We’re out of time. We’re out of options. Make haste and do your best.”
    Nothing happened, and I felt a severe pang of disappointment. Then they repeated their chant over one another. I was dumbfounded as wind whipped through the room and four voices ceased standing out as unique entities and instead melded.
    It felt as if the spell would never end. My heart ached, and when I looked at Dutch