"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", Part 3...

"Thank you so very much, James,"  Matilda purred as he opened the back door of the Eldorado for her.  James touched the brim of his Greek fisherman's cap in a sassy salute.  His thick tawny lashes swept down.  His perfect teeth showed in a grin almost to his back molars.  The sexy navy-colored cap sat at a jaunty angle on his blond head and the ends of his silvery hair brushed the shoulders of his black t-shirt.

The cap was slightly reminiscent of part of the chauffeur's uniform that Grandma Lila tried to get James to wear, but he absolutely wouldn't.  James gravitated to black t-shirts with Gothic designs on them and tight black jeans.  He leaned into the red leather front seat of the gleaming Cadillac and picked up the stack of gaudy bowed-tied packages from various boutiques, preparing to carry them to the house.  I rolled my eyes skyward as I looked at his shapely little ass.  Matilda caught my expression, threw her head back and laughed.

Perhaps James knew what we were laughing about.  I couldn't see his expression over the packages he balanced as he walked up the pink and white granite path to the front steps.  Grandma was coming down those steps, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand, probably Long Island Iced Tea.  There was a sprig of fresh mint sticking out of the top of the glass and Grandma had a mischievous look in her eyes.  A bit drunky she was, now that I looked closer...  And, it was only ten o'clock on a rather damp and dark Saturday morning.  The toadstools weren't even burned off our huge front lawn.  Grandma Lila waved dramatically at James.  "Take them into the parlor, James.  I doubt you can fit any more packages on Matilda's bed.  It's still full of shoe boxes from her last trip to Blanchard's.  Matilda Darling, are you depressed or something?  You've been going shopping even more than you usually do."

"Just bored, Gran."

"Bored?  What?  Your flower shop isn't doing well?"

"Now really, Gran, you know that orchids and gardenias and seasonal arrangements aren't enough for me."

"No, I suppose not.  Still you make a good living there."

"Gran, you know that nobody in this family has to work!"

"True...  True."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.  She was wearing one of her Arabian silk galabeyas, a fuchsia and lime green one with a contrasting cobalt blue scarf tied around her hair.  Her feet were bare, just the slightest glimpse of turquoise toenails peeking from under her swirling hem.  Her good mood was surely because she hadn't yet discovered her unlocked magical room.  Had Matilda jimmied the lock or had Grandma simply forgotten to seal the door?  I hardly thought that my lazy sister would go to all the trouble of breaking in simply to find a place to screw Jus Glaser.

"You girls haven't forgotten that Lughnassah is three days from now, have you?"

"Oh!"  Matilda's eyes got big with mock surprise.  "Well..."

"You had!"  Grandma frowned at her.  "Really, Matilda, are you a witch, or not?"

Matilda got a wild, defiant look on her face.  "I AM!"

"Don't get snarky with me, young lady.  Pull back those hooded gypsy eyes of your's.  Your father's reckless blood in you...  He was a carny, an Irish traveler too, I think.  Your mother hardly knew him.  Then, she was pregnant and he was...  The handsome devil was simply gone."

I sighed.  I'd heard this story many, many times in various versions, all of them probably true.  "When is mom getting out of rehab?"

"Not for a while, and in that expensive clinic in Bordeau with the designer cabins!"

"She's better off there.  She hates chilly New England.  She can't understand why you stay here, Grandma."

"The cold is refreshing, so invigorating.  I had that new furnace put in last spring.  Plus, this old house has a soapstone fireplace in every bedroom and that big black enamel wood-burning stove in the kitchen, the one Conchetta begged me for, plus the Viking electric range!  I swear I spoil our cook!'

"You love her, Gran."  Matilda sighed.  "Even though she's a freaking manic about being spotless in the kitchen and she gabbles under her breath all day long, swearing in Spanish."

"Yes, I do love her, AND, I love her cooking!  Oh, by the way, speaking of cooking,--- the feast...  It's my turn to host a holiday so the coven will be coming here for the celebration, no small family thing with just us and Oona and Olga this Lughnassah."

"My evil nine year old horse obsessed twin sisters I can take, Gran.  After all, they are OURS."  Matilda frowned.  "I DO like most of your coven, Gran, but is Maeve coming TOO?"

"Yes, yes, she is.  She's making her famous whiskey cake."

"That cake is NOT good enough for me to tolerate Maeve, the Wicked Witch Of The East.  She's obnoxious.  Just because she runs "Morvyn's Roost" in Salem doesn't mean a thing to me."

"Well, you have to admit that a bar with a witches boutique and herb shop attached to it IS a novel idea.  It's been extremely successful, especially since she got that local band playing there on the weekends.  What's the name of it?  Hmmm...  Yes, ---'Wild Ratchet'.  You certainly are there enough when they're playing."

"I like their music," Matilda countered.  "And, the place is jumping then."

"Of course."  Grandma smiled.

But I scowled, folding my arms on my chest.  "I positively hate it that I'm only sixteen!  I have no fun!"

Grandma hugged me and I was briefly smothered in silk and Parisenne cologne.  "You will grow up fast enough, my little Tatiana!  Once you reach thirty-five you turn around once or twice, then you're fifty and in your crone years!"

"Being older hasn't slowed you down, Gran,"  Matilda smirked.  "Is Paul coming to Lughnassah too?"

Paul was Grandma's longtime lover.  She met him years ago at a Witches Rights Rally.  He's one of those older guys who has taken care of himself his whole life, so that now in his sixties he was craggy handsome with lots of silver hair usually worn in a supple ponytail or a single braid, like a thick cable, down his back.  Paul had a tall v-shaped body with an amazingly defined chest and back and wicked dark green eyes lit with his unique kicky sense of humor.  He always reminds me of how Sean Connery looked in Medicine Man.  Paul has the same sort of husky deep, musical voice and he always smells faintly and deliciously of old fashioned bay rum.  Yeah, Paul Kazakov was a very hot guy, but instead of being a Scot he was Russian, originally from Minsk.  I could definitely understand why Grandma adored him.

She sighed loudly and dramatically.  "No, my sweet Paul won't be coming.  He will be in Boston meeting with other contractors considering that big apartment complex near Newsome Heights.  Too bad, too bad..."

"Yeah, Gran, too bad."

"Well, let's go inside, girls.  Conchetta should have lunch ready soon.  I suggested chicken enchiladas, Caesar salad and fudge ripple ice cream with cinnamon sugared almonds."

"Slushy Margaritas, I hope?," Matilda asked.

"That can be arranged, I'm sure, Darling."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.

"Our wonderful homemade root beer for you, Tatiana," she added.

"Sure, sure, sure..."  I kicked at a twig on the walkway, mildly irritated.  "I'm such a child, an 'enfant terrible'.  I switched to a French accent.

Grandma hugged me.  "Not at all, Dear.  You're just young and an unpredictable little witch."