I let myself in through the gate. I can hear voices coming from somewhere in the house, lots of laughter, and possibly the crackling of a fire? A few steps up I’m met with another sign: WE ARE THE GRANDDAUGHTERS OF THE WITCHES YOU COULD NOT BURN. And then another: THINGS HAVEN’T BEEN THE SAME SINCE THAT HOUSE FELL ON MY SISTER. And finally, by the door: WITCHES WELCOME, ALL OTHERS MAKE AN APPOINTMENT. And then… yes. A pair of stuffed legs encased in black-and-white tights and ruby slippers peeking out from the edge of the porch.

The aunts might be my most favorite humans on earth.

“Is that her?” An unfamiliar voice comes from the open window, piercing the silence. Then the door flies open and I see a flash of wrinkly peachy flesh, a cloud of white hair, and a pair of pink house slippers.

The pink house slippers command a lot of attention, because they happen to be the only things she’s wearing. In other words, a very old, very naked lady is standing on the porch, waving frantically at me.

The woman breaks out into an enormous smile, which I’d probably think was adorable if I weren’t also dealing with the birthday suit situation. “Willow! My dear!”

“Um…,” I squeak. I have absolutely no idea where to look, so I settle on the fake witch legs poking out from under the house. “Are you Aunt Marigold?”

“You bet my sweet ass I am!” she shrieks, and then—to my deep horror—begins shaking said sweet ass in my direction. “My dear, we have waited to meet you for so long!”

“I… ah…” I look nervously around me. We’re on a residential street. Is this okay for her to be running around naked? “I think you’ve forgotten your…”

“Clothes? It’s called being skyclad. Nothing between you and the sky, just pure, unadulterated freedom!” She waves her arms in the air and all sorts of bits begin jiggling.

That’s what my mom was trying to warn me about. Marigold.

“My goddess, you do look exactly like Sage and Rosemary.”

“Marigold! Put some clothes on, for goddess’ sake, she’s new!” It’s Violet, and she appears on the front porch, looking flushed and, to my relief, throws an enormous silk kimono over Marigold, who grudgingly ties the sash. Violet is wearing a long purple dress and dangly moon earrings that reach all the way to her shoulders. “Excuse Marigold. She needs to learn when the proper moment to be skyclad is.”