“No,” Thistle replied without hesitation. She might’ve been annoyed, but she wasn’t going to playthatgame. She didn’t bend to anyone’s whims. “I’m going to make you pay just as soon as I can move my arms again.”
Rather than grow angry, Aunt Tillie grinned. “You remind me so much of myself at your age.”
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Thistle barked.
“I can’t let you up until you promise to behave.”
“Then I’ll die out here.” Thistle meant it. She was willing to hurt herself ten times over if it meant winning. Sure, remaining trapped in a spell in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her life wasn’t winning in most people’s books, but it was to Thistle.
“You’re unbelievable.” Aunt Tillie waved her hand, freeing Thistle. “You’re going to make some man extremely depressed someday. You’re going to be a little tyrant and he’s going to live under your thumb.”
“Boys don’t like tyrants, Thistle,” Clove sang out.
Aunt Tillie looked lost in thought. “It’s going to be glorious,” she said finally.
“What?” I pinned her with a dubious look. “Are you encouraging Thistle to be awful?”
“Of course I am.” Aunt Tillie made an exaggerated face. “As long as she’s not awful to me, that is.”
“Oh, I’m going to be awful to you,” Thistle warned. “It’s coming, and it’s going to be the stuff nightmares are made of.”
Aunt Tillie booped the end of Thistle’s nose. “You’re hilarious.” Then she turned her back on my cousin and looked back in the direction from which we came. “I think we’re done here.”
That brought me back to my original complaint. “What are we doing out here?”
“I needed something for a spell.” Aunt Tillie started walking along the path only she could see. “Let’s go.”
“But…” I was flustered as I followed her.
Clove, only too eager to get out of the woods, scurried to keep up with our great-aunt. She might’ve been whiny—so, so whiny—but she was a survivor. She already knew that if trouble came calling, Aunt Tillie would be the one to survive. She wasn’t taking any chances.
“Are we casting a spell when we get home?” she asked.
“I’mcasting a spell,” Aunt Tillie replied. “You three kvetches are going to bed. The older you get, the less fun you are.”
“Oh, please,” Thistle scoffed from the back of the line. Aunt Tillie’s truck was parked on the road. I’d lost track of where we were in relation to the truck. Thankfully, Aunt Tillie really was like a bloodhound. She never lost her way. “It’s not that we’re less fun, it’s that we think for ourselves more. You can’t tell us a story and have us automatically fall for it.”
“That’s less fun to me,” Aunt Tillie replied as we started up a hill. “In fact…” Whatever Aunt Tillie was going to say next died on her lips when flashing lights became apparent. “Well, crap,” she said.
Thistle and I hurried forward to get a look. We were at the road, which was surprising because I thought we would have to hike at least five more minutes until we got back to where we’dparked. The lights were coming from a Michigan State Police cruiser parked next to Aunt Tillie’s truck.
“What do we do?” Clove asked, her voice thin and wispy. “Do we run?”
“It’s the cops,” I replied. “You don’t run from the cops.”
Aunt Tillie shot me a withering look, clearly disappointed. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“We can’t run,” Thistle argued. “It’s the middle of the night and we’re in the middle of the woods. Even if we wanted to walk home, it’s miles.”
“I’m good with that.” Aunt Tillie turned on her heel, fully prepared to return to the woods. I stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“What is going on?” I hissed. “What don’t you want them to know?”
“Whatever she’s got in that bag is against the law,” Thistle surmised.
“I don’t adhere to the laws of men,” Aunt Tillie replied. “Now zip it!” She mimed closing a zipper over her lips, then turned to me. “You should be the one to handle this.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and jangled them in my face. “Go get my truck.”
“Why would I do that?”
