A little climbing on Glyn’s family tree. My editor claims she wants to be Gram when she grows up.
“Hello, Glynnie. I see nothing’s changed here.” She rearranged the canisters on the counter and, while Glyn was putting them back in order by size, she reorganized his set of chef’s knives on their magnetic strip, leaving some pointing up and some down, the small ones mixed up with the large.
Glyn followed behind her, setting everything back in its place and trying to ignore the gleam of amusement in her eyes. She knew what she was doing. But witches were witches and buttons, real or psychological, existed to be pushed, regardless of the aftermath. Chaos suited them.
Lady, why did I think this was a good idea? Less than three minutes and he could already feel his own brand of witch-crazy raising its ugly head and sniffing the air. At this rate, Levi would come home to find him in his birthday suit, painting runes on the walls and singing children’s songs in three different languages while Gram played the bongos and made the furniture dance. Levi hadn’t left him the first time it happened, but he wasn’t sure he had enough credit left in that account for a repeat performance.