Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,1

who was once a lighting engineer on several of his tours. They were married four years ago in a gorgeous wedding on the beach in Bora Bora, with my mother as maid of honor and me as a bridesmaid.

Remembering it now, my portly Uncle Darling in his white shirt and crisply pleated trousers with a tall, lean Monty at his side, both of them with love brightly shining in their eyes, forced me to remember how beautiful my mother had been in her organza sea-green dress.

Backless, crisscrossed over her breasts and wrapped around her neck, the dress floated delicately in the wind as her long black hair rippled behind and her bare feet dug into the sand as the sun set and the happy couple had promised to love one another until the end of time.

Warm waves had crashed to the shore, their frothy caps slapping against the wet sand, the setting sun grazing my mother’s shoulders as she silently shed happy tears because Uncle Darling, after all those years on the road, had finally found true love.

“I hope so,” Atti said, interrupting my reverie. “I worry, with the weather being the way it is tonight, the pair of them will land teats up in a snowbank. It is quite dismal out, Halliday.”

“You say dismal, I say picturesque.”

Wandering into the kitchen to attend to the broken light above the cabinet, I looked out the windows facing the cliff my house sat on and heard the ocean crashing below. Even though the backyard was lit up at every corner with snowmen and Christmas trees, it was hazy from the snow and visibility was poor.

But did I mention Uncle Darling is a warlock? He’ll clear a path if necessary because he doesn’t have an Atti riding him like a bucking bronco and minding his magic at every turn.

Witchcraft could be a little sexist from time to time. Warlocks don’t have familiars—it’s as though the ancients thought a man could navigate this world without issue, but a helpless woman? She needed a keeper.

Not that I don’t love Atti. There was never a time he wasn’t around, and to say I wanted to do as I pleased without him breathing down my neck is to denounce the enrichment he brings to my life.

Without him, I’d be very sad. But I won’t lie. I do mind the freedoms allowed warlocks when I’m not given the same pass.

Though, times were a-changin’. Our supreme ruler—head witch honcho, Baba Yaga—was a feminist, and while the ancients may have set the standards, she was all about blowing them up.

“Picturesque, yes. Conducive to safe driving? No, Halliday.”

“It is looking pretty rough out there,” I agreed, pulling the sleeves of my mid-thigh-length sweater over my cold hands with a shiver, grateful for the warmth of a crackling fire.

Atti flew up behind me with a tsk-tsk. “Though, I’ll admit it’s rather lovely.”

Turning, I looked at my open concept kitchen/dining room in one of the biggest spaces in the house, pleased with how the decorating had gone.

With the large kitchen island behind me, I leaned back on it and smiled. I adored the long walnut stained dining room table to my left and the fireplace next to it, ten or so feet away.

I’d put two small matching buffalo-plaid armchairs in front of the glowing fire, with a small antique white table between them for the times I wanted to enjoy my morning coffee. Phil’s cat tree was to the right of the fireplace so he could enjoy the warmth, but was far enough away from food preparation and well, us.

I plumped the pillows sitting on the chairs before I wandered over to Phil and gave my ungrateful rescue cat a stroke to his head.

As per usual, he gave me the evil eye and inched away from me.

“Is that worry I hear in your voice, Atti? Wasn’t it only last week you gave me that long sigh of aggravation when I told you Uncle Darling was coming for a few days?”

“As if the day will ever come when I worry about that over-bedazzled wanderer.”

I grinned. Atti, as always, had a gripe about Uncle Darling. Let’s face it, Atti had a gripe about everyone, but he was especially sore with Uncle Darling for taking Mom on so many of his “pointless meanderings,” as Atti called them.

But there was one meandering he had with my mother Atti would probably forever grudge about.

Uncle Darling had been a nomad for most of his life, touring as a drag