Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) (20 page)

Just my luck. The doc was a comedian. He turned a dial and a swishing sound filled the room, punctuated by rapid thumps.

“Hear that? That’s the heart beat.”

“Is it supposed to be that fast?” Paul asked. He looked like he was about to jump out of his skin, he was radiating so much tension. “It sounds like a galloping horse. The baby doesn’t have hooves, does it?”

“It’s a strong, healthy heart. Nothing to worry about.”

“What’s the swishing sound?” I asked. “It sounds like an ocean.”

“It’s the sound of your blood flow.”

“How cool is that?” I said, thinking about a song Gus often sung.
The ocean is the beginning of the earth, all life comes from the sea…

“So is it a boy or a girl?” Paul asked.

The doctor shook his head. “This baby is crafty. It keeps hiding the important bits.”

Come on, baby,
I thought.
We’re all waiting for you.

The baby turned its little butt and mooned us.

“You may have to come back next month.”

Paul looked irritated. “Are you kidding? That’s all we’re going to see? A profile and a butt?”

I frowned at him.

“Normally, babies respond to the wand’s sound waves.” The doctor shifted the wand around. “I’ll see if I can encourage your little one to move.”

I turned my thoughts inward.
Turn around, baby. Show me your face.

There was no movement for ten, very long, seconds.

The doctor was just saying we should schedule another appointment, when the baby started to move... We had a three-quarters profile... And then a full on face shot, as the baby floated away from the ultrasound wand.

The doctor smiled, pleased. He pressed a button and the ultrasound machine spit out a picture.

“Wow. Look at her. She’s so beautiful,” I said and felt tears of joy starting. I was so happy, it was literally leaking out of my eyes.

“Is it a she?” Paul asked.

The doctor shrugged. “We never got a clear view of the genitals. The face on the other hand… This is what your baby’s going to look like when it’s born.”

Paul looked at the photo, still nervous. “It’s normal, right? No extra parts?”

“As I said, we’ll have to try for gender on a different date.”

“No hooves, horns, wings or claws, right?”

“Paul!” I snapped.

“I can’t help it! It sounds like a centaur.”

“That was a heartbeat, not hoofbeats, you moron.”

The doctor gave him an odd look. “Sir, you’re reading too many tabloids. Your wife is having a baby, not a mythological creature.”

“She’s not my wife,” Paul muttered.

I turned to the doctor. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse him. He’s an idiot.”

The doctor laughed. “I understand. Fathers often get nervous. No, sir. No extra, non-human parts.” He moved the wand, as the baby turned. “Hmmm.”

“What?” Paul asked, sounding worried. “Hmmm is never good.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” He looked at the monitor again. “For a second, I thought I saw something on the baby’s forehead.”

“It’s not horns, is it? Was it nubby horn roots?” Paul shouted. 

“Paul, stop it!” I shouted back at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Calm down, sir. It was only a shadow. Nothing to worry about. It’s gone now. If the baby had horns they wouldn’t have vanished.”

“Did it look like the mark of the devil? Was it in the shape of a 666?”

The doctor looked at him, annoyed. “Your young woman here is going to give birth to a child, not a goat or a demon. You’d do well to stop your subscription to the National Enquirer, turn off whatever fanciful TV shows are filling your head with impossibilities, and start reading parenting manuals,” he said, glaring at Paul.

Paul cleared his throat and gave him a nervous smile. I rolled my eyes and went back to looking at the monitor and my beautiful baby.

Chapter 37

“T
hat whole forehead thing was weird. What do you think the doctor saw?” Paul asked, still nervous as we left the office.

“No idea,” I said, shrugging.

Actually, I had a pretty good idea of what the doctor had seen, but I knew better than to tell Paul. What had popped into my head, was that it was a Witch Mark.

It made me happy, because it meant I was going to have a baby witch on my hands, but it would freak Paul out.

As it was, Paul had freaked out the technician. When she pulled me aside to give me a folder with my disc and print-outs of the pictures, she also slipped me a business card for a family therapist.

She told me he specialized in Peter Pan syndrome, and suggested I set Paul up with an appointment, stressing how important it was for him to get his feet grounded in reality before the baby arrived. I assured her he had recently started therapy. Obviously, it wasn’t enough, but maybe he could up it to twice a week instead of once.

*     *     *

As Paul drove us back home, I looked at the pictures of my baby. There was no gender reveal, but the face was beautiful and the tiny little body was amazing. I stroked my belly.
You did good, little one.

I felt the baby turn and stretch in response.

When I looked up, Paul was—as usual—driving like a maniac. But when he swerved too close to the edge of the lane, the car next to us also swerved, so it kept a consistent distance. When he got too close to cars in front, they moved to a neighboring lane. No one behind us was tailgating. It was like our SUV was protected by an invisible bubble.

I grinned. We were going to be okay. The fetch I had made was working. Since Paul was focused on driving, I took out my cell phone, texted Gus and we filled each other in on our days.

Me: I have gorgeous baby pics. And guess what baby has?

Gus: A penis?

Me: Ha. Funny. A witch mark.

Gus: Cool. We have a baby witch. I never doubted it.

Me: What R U up 2?

Gus: Forrest showed up. Took cats.

Me: Thank the Gods. U were running out of blood.

Gus: Very funny. Now I have no toad test. How was Paul?

Me: Kept asking doc if baby had horns, hooves or a tail.

Gus: Are u sure no horns? Becuz that would be wicked cool. We could hang ornaments on them. Or paint them in neon stripes.

Me: I’m good w/the witch mark.

Gus: We’ll have to burn Yule log in fireplace. Raining heavy out here.

Me: Not here. :-p

Gus: Yuck it up, mama lama. Keep up that attitude and you’ll call it to you. Just u wait.

“It’s such a pleasure driving with someone who completely ignores you to text her non-boyfriend.” Paul said, giving me an irritated look as he muted the radio.

“Sorry,” I put the phone away. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Right,” Paul snorted, clearly not believing me.

“Besides, you’ve been in a weird space. What was that about, back at the doctor’s office? The technician was ready to turn you in to Family Services as a potential danger to the baby.”

“I’m sorry. I just… flipped out. When I heard that heartbeat, I started thinking about Ichabod Crane—”

“—The Headless Horseman?—”

“And it all went downhill from there. I know what I was saying was rude and possibly idiotic, but it was like I had no control over what was coming out of my mouth.”

“Was it the PPSD?”

He looked at me, quizzically.

“Post-Possession Stress Disorder. It’s what I think you’ve been struggling with.”

“I don’t know. Can we please stop talking about it? I apologize, from the bottom of my heart. Can we move on now?”

I nodded. But, crap. If he was going to flip out like that at an ultrasound, there was no way I could risk having him in the delivery room. Thank the Goddess that Gus wanted to be there, or I’d be delivering this baby completely on my own.

So, we made small talk. Not about anything important. Not about the baby. Just about books, TV shows, the freaky weather.

As night fell, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washed over me, and I had to close my eyes. I tilted my seat back, thankful that Paul was driving—even if he could use a few stints at a driving school. At least he was able to stay awake, which was more than I could do.

A few minutes later—at least, it felt like a few, but it was probably more like twenty—Paul nudged me awake.

“I was thinking we could go to the Fortenberry Mansion off Route Ten for dinner.”

The Fortenberry Mansion had been converted into a restaurant and it was supposed to be spectacular. It had been built in the 1800’s, and had been remodeled in the early 1900’s, with a bowling alley and a private distillery in the basement—a key club for the upper class, to get around prohibition restrictions.

“Isn’t that expensive?” I asked.

“It’s my way of apologizing for being a jerk. Hey, look at that.”

The moon was just rising, huge and glorious. It was close to Earth and it looked amazing. A warmly glowing fruit that you could almost pluck out of the sky. It took my breath away.

“That’s the most gorgeous moon I’ve ever seen,” I said.

Paul agreed.

Suddenly, my blood ran cold. “Wait… is that a full moon? Totally full? Not even one little sliver off?”

“Look at it. That’s as full as it gets.”

Oh, no!
I closed my eyes and tried to feel for Gus, but we were still too far away. Either that or he was deliberately blocking me. Was that what the radio had been trying to tell me with its song selection?
Bad Moon Rising
.

“How could it be a full moon?! We had a full moon, at the beginning of the month. And it can’t be a blue moon. It’s too early.”

“You’re losing your days, Mara. The last full moon was after Thanksgiving, not at the beginning of December.”

I sat there, stunned. What kind of an idiot witch was I, letting the moon phases slip by, unnoticed? What the hell was wrong with me?! I mean, granted, I kept falling asleep at ridiculously early hours these days, but if I wasn’t going to look up at the night sky, why didn’t I check a damn almanac? Or a calendar?

Wait. I
had
checked the dates on my phone.

I pulled out my iPhone.
Yes.
I had bookmarked the site. I clicked on the bookmark.

“It can’t be. The next full moon isn’t supposed to be until the beginning of January.”

“Tell it to the moon,” Paul shrugged.

I made the site larger. “Damn!”

“Did you figure it out?”

“It defaulted to the wrong year. I was looking at the wrong damn year.” Why hadn’t I just charted it, looking out of the freaking window? Why did I believe a stupid app? Why had I stopped paying attention to nature, when I knew how much was riding on this moon? How could I have been so stupid?

So what I thought had been a waning moon during the Supper for the Dead, was actually a waxing moon.

Great. The full moon hit on the longest night of the year. Knowing Gus, he was going to be all over it. Unless it was still raining, he’d be getting ready to do the toad bone ritual. At the stroke of midnight, he was going to drop those bones in the stream, under the light of the full moon, and the horrible predictions, nightmares and visions Aunt Tillie had been flinging at me would come true. We’d get winter back and I would lose Gus forever. He’d either go mad and I’d lose him in this world, or he’d follow the bones into the wasteland and I’d lose him to the Otherworld.

“What is your problem with the moon?”

I shook my head. “I have to get home. Can we go any faster?”

“Okay…” Paul said, but he was thoroughly confused. “So you’ve turned down a fancy dinner, a movie and an overnight hotel stay for… what, exactly? Your gay roommate? The moon? Is this your way of telling me to get lost?”

“It’s not you. It’s Gus. He’s in trouble. I mean, he’s not yet, but he will be unless I get home.”

“Did he text you or something?”

“No, but that’s a great idea.” I pulled out my phone and started texting.

Me: Is it still raining there?

Gus: Nope, clear and booty-ful.

Me: We’re doing Yule tonight, right? I’m on my way home.

Gus: You’ll have to start Yule without me. ~ I see a bad moon rising ~

Me: Ack! No! I know what U R up 2. Don’t do it. Please.

Gus: Sorry, can’t hear you. Too much static on this line. Call back later.

Me: Gus! I’m serious.

Gus: The party you have dialed is not home. Try again 2morrow.

I tossed the cell phone in my purse, annoyed.

“Can we please go faster?” I snapped at Paul.

He looked at me, surprised, but hit the gas, while I prayed for winged Hermes to grant us additional speed.

Chapter 38

A
s we drove, clouds moved in, obscuring the moon, and the wind picked up. It was as if the night was screaming, “
Danger.”
The storm that had passed through Devil’s Point was about to hit us.

Soon, the winds were at gale force and the moon had completely vanished behind storm clouds. Lightning raced along the horizon. Thunder shook the car. Rain pelted down in sheets and a gust of wind blasted the SUV.

Paul slowed down to a crawl as he struggled to keep us on the road. He turned on the wipers, but even at the fastest speed they couldn’t keep the windshield clear.

“Weird fucking weather,” Paul muttered. “Freaking summer storms in the middle of winter.”

The slower we went, the more I struggled to keep little screams of frustration from erupting out of my throat.

Paul glanced sideways at me. “Mara, what is your damage?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m worried about Gus. I just have this feeling that something is wrong. Can you go any faster?”

“I could, if I wanted to kill us. But I don’t.”

“Not even a teeny tiny bit faster?”

The rain, if anything, got heavier. I pounded my leg in frustration. I turned the radio to an AM station to get traffic and weather info. Maybe there was some kind of ETA on when it would blow over. But all I could find were commercials and religious pontificating.