Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) by Christiana Miller

always gets you into trouble.”
    I gave a strangled scream and opened the freezer door. Sure enough, there it was in a ziplock freezer bag, hand towel and all.
    “Ziplock keeps things fresh. It never leaks. The company guarantees it. Look at the stripe. Sealed tight. Besides, it’s not like you have a lot of food in there. Crow-flavored ice cubes is a small price to pay to keep me happy.”
    I slammed the freezer door shut and chased Gus through the living room, tackling him on the couch.
    “Ouch! Gus abuse!” he protested, blocking me with a raised forearm as I smacked him with a couch pillow. “You’re being unreasonable.”
    “Don’t even get me started, you big baby. You’ve turned my kitchen into a bird morgue.” I said, smacking him again. “I can’t believe you.”
    “Hey, you need me, so be nice.”
    “What for?”
    “Mama Lua’s for one. And tomorrow is Pagan Pride. We rented a vendor table so you could make some cash-ola, remember? Who else is gonna help you?”
    I gave him a blank look. “Oh, shit. I totally forgot.”
    “Beat me to a pulp and you’re on your own.”
    I thought about it for a second. “Fine. But the bird goes.”
    “Of course it will, dear heart. Eventually. Everything does. Besides, it’s already in the freezer. It’s not like it can give your freezer more bird cooties than it already has. So, finish your coffee and let’s go see Mama Lua.”
    I groaned.
    “It’s not that bad. Think of it as an otherworldly diagnostic. Your life is for shit anyway. Let’s go see if some other entity is giving you a helping hand on the road to hell, or if it’s all just your imagination.”
    I sighed and grabbed my latte. It was going to be a long day.

 
    Chapter Eleven
    The Crooked Pantry advertised itself as a place for groceries only a witch could love, and it was the only occult store in a ten-mile radius. Mama Lua was behind the counter, blending oils. She was a large Jamaican woman who’d lived in New Orleans for the last ten years. Until the day her Orishas told her to leave. She quickly packed everything she owned and moved to Los Angeles. A week later, Hurricane Katrina hit the Louisiana shore.
    The Orishas loved Mama Lua and Mama Lua loved them back, if all the offerings of chocolate, money and orange slices were any indication.
    I pulled Gus back outside the front door. “I can’t do this.” I said, gripping his elbow hard.
    He tried to pry my fingers off his arm. “Could you just act normal for a few minutes? You’re making this much more epic than it needs to be. Besides, we need supplies for tomorrow, anyway. So why don’t we start there and just ease into the whole curse thing?”
    We walked back into the store. Mama Lua gave us a slant-eyed glance, but didn’t say anything.
     ”Hey, Mama Lua.” Gus said, leaving her Alegba a quarter for luck. “Got anything new in?”
    Alegba was a large stone, painted half red with one black eye and half black with one white eye. And he seemed to enjoy his gifties. He was sitting on a tray with coins, candy, orange slices and a cigar. What the hell. I tossed a quarter on there, too.
    “Oh, honey child. Mama’s always got something new.” Mama Lua picked up the cigar, lit it and blew smoke over Alegba, muttering something that sounded like a prayer in Yoruban. Then she carefully put the cigar out and placed it back on the tray. “What you’re looking for is in the back. Next to the herb rack.”
    Gus dragged me past the bookshelves, clothing racks, a jewelry counter, a veritable garden of statuary and over to a small shelving unit in the back of the store. It was filled to overflowing with small containers of oils, resins and miscellaneous supplies: Graveyard Dust, Blue Balls, Florida Water, Dove’s Blood Ink, Bone Dust and Dragon’s Blood, amidst a host of others. And it was right next to a massive, rotating herb rack.
    While Gus poked through the herbs, incenses and oils, I went to the front of the store to hunt