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

boy’s club is going to revoke your pink panties.”
    “What boobs?” he asked with mock innocence. “I was looking at your tattoos. Zane does incredible work.”
    I laughed. Trust Gus to take the sexuality out of naked bodies. I pirouetted in front of the mirror. On my back, there was a huge tattoo of a human morphing into a winged dragon. On my thigh was an elaborate Tudor rose, with the vines snaking into a knotwork legband. There was a crowned skull with a serpent slithering out of its eye socket on my belly and an intricately shaded, Celtic knotwork armband with a triple horse motif around my upper arm. It really was nice work.
    “When you die, I want your skin.”
    I stopped, arrested by a visual of myself as a rotting, skinless corpse. “Why?”
    “Book covers, drumheads. Can’t let that kind of artwork go to waste.”
    “You just want an excuse to pound on me all day.”
    “It’s a bonus,” he admitted with a grin.
    I snorted. “You want any other parts, or can I keep the rest?”
    Gus thought about it for a second. “Well, your head, of course. Can you imagine? You would make one hell of an oracular skull. And your bones. Femurs, fingers… I can make all sorts of things out of you. Bone flute, bone grail, bone walking stick. The list is endless.”
    “So pretty much, you’re just going to dig me back up and recycle my entire body.”
    “Sacrilege, woman. Bones become fragile when you bury them.”
    “They become really fragile if you cremate them.”
    “Much better to put a few dozen beetles in the casket with you and let them do their work. Above ground. After I skin you, of course.”
    Ick. This post-mortem imagery of me was a bit much, first thing in the morning.
    “You know who’s carrying caskets now?” he continued. “Costco. I can even get one delivered. How great is that?”
    I was starting to feel decidedly queasy. I rubbed my stomach, “Whatever happened to talking about things like politics or religion or what I want for breakfast?”
    But Gus was still thinking out loud. “This kind of thing is impossible when you live in an apartment complex. Could you give me a six-month warning before you kick the bucket? So I can rent a house?”
    “Yeah, sure. I’ll put it at the top of my to-do list. Freak.”
    “Great. So, my domestic little goddess, you get on the laundry and I’ll go pick us up a couple of lattes.”
    I thought about it for a second. I really didn’t have anything else to do. “Get me a pumpkin scone with that latte and I’ll think about it. Any other wifely chores you have in mind though, you’re on your own.”
    “Just me and my hand, as always.”
    “Really didn’t need that visual.”
    As I was about to walk into the bathroom, Gus picked up a glass of thick, grayish water from my nightstand. “Gross. How long has this been sitting here?”
    Ewww. I looked at it and cringed. Did I actually drink from that glass last night? “It didn’t look like that when I went to bed.”
    “You must be having some interesting dreams.” He held the glass out to me like it was full of nuclear waste. “Please, take your spirit scum away from me.”
    I grabbed the glass from him, planning to dump the water down the toilet. “Why are you still here? Get moving, barista boy. Quad shot, half and half, extra foam. And I want it like ten minutes ago.”
    “Four shots? Are you sure…” as I glared at him, he hastily revised what he was going to say. “I shouldn’t make it six? Maybe seven? After all, why stop before you go into cardiac arrest?”
    My eyes narrowed and my upper lip curled over my teeth. Gus did what any self-respecting male witch would do — he beat a hasty retreat.
    I could hear a muffled trumpeting sound and an off-key rendition of “Off Gus goes to save the day!” as he walked through the living room. I laughed and shook my head. Who could stay mad at someone as goofy as him?
    But as soon as I opened the bathroom door, everything went to hell.
    I