Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale by Amanda M. Lee

Author:Amanda M. Lee [Lee, Amanda M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: WinchesterShaw Publications
Published: 2015-06-06T23:00:00+00:00

Never take candy from strangers. There’s probably something wrong with it. The only exception is a Snickers. Go ahead and take it then, but don’t eat it. Bring it back for me, and I’ll test it for you.

– Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up

Eleven

“I kind of miss the cloak,” Thistle said.

We’d been walking about twenty minutes, and instead of the pall that had been following us for what felt like hours, we were feeling markedly lighter.

“I miss food,” Clove said.

My stomach rumbled in agreement. “I do, too.”

“I’m guessing there’s no food in fairy land,” Landon said, rubbing his own stomach sadly. “I would kill for a bacon cheeseburger right now.”

“I wouldn’t trust the food here,” Thistle said. “We know the apples are poisonous.”

“Maybe it’s just the apples,” I suggested.

“Do you want to take that chance?”

She had a point. “I guess not.”

We walked on for a few minutes, silent. My stomach refused to quit growling, though, and Landon’s was starting to rumble in tandem with mine. “Now that Clove brought up food that’s all I can think about,” I said.

“Me, too,” Thistle said. “If you can believe it, I swear I smell pot roast.”

I sniffed the air, groaning when I realized her words carried the power of suggestion. “Now I can, too. Thanks so much.”

“You’re not the only one,” Sam said. “I think I can smell baked ham. It smells just like my mom’s kitchen. She used to make a big one for Sunday dinner once a month, and then we would have something to make sandwiches with for days. It was amazing.”

“I smell French fries,” Marcus said. “Not only can I smell the fries, I can smell the salt.”

I glanced at Landon. “Let me guess, you smell bacon?”

He smiled, rueful. “Am I that transparent?”

“You’re predictable in your love of bacon,” I said. “I think, if it came down to it, you’d choose bacon over me.”

“Never,” Landon said. “I would choose to have you wrap yourself in bacon, though.”

“You’re so sick.”

“You’re both sick,” Thistle said. “I … hey … what’s that?”

We moved to her side, our gazes sliding in the direction she pointed. What we saw was straight out of a fantasy – one we’d all been living in mere seconds before.

“Is that what I think it is?” Landon asked, leaning forward.

“It’s a cottage,” Clove said.

“I don’t care about the cottage,” Landon said. “I’m talking about the garden. It looks as if it’s made out of … food.”

“Let’s see,” Thistle said, skipping off the road and heading toward the cottage.

“Thistle, be careful,” Marcus warned. “This could be a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Thistle said. “It’s Hansel and Gretel’s story.”

I froze, her words bringing the old tale to focus. Of course.

“Hansel and Gretel were tempted by a cottage made of gingerbread and candy,” Clove said. “This is a cottage made of … oh, man, is that flower pot full of burritos? I love burritos!”

“This is still a cottage dreamed up by Aunt Tillie,” I said. “She likes candy, but she likes regular food more.

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