The Witching Hour (The Witches Pendragon Mystery Series Book 1) (6 page)

Late Saturday evening, I, Noelle, hurry down to the chocolate shop to check on Beatrice, who generously took over in the afternoon as I ran errands at the large market in Tours. I had to go by train, since the other ladies have the Volkswagen, and I had a difficult time managing all my sacks of cocoa beans until I shoved them into a taxi at the Amboise station. When I finally got them home, I tucked them in the chateau’s dark cellar to keep them fresh.

“No sign of him?” I ask as I come through the door of
Le Denouement
at half past eight to find Beatrice sweeping the floor.

“Your ghost?” Beatrice replies calmly. “He was here, Noelle. Scared the daylights out of me. He’s a pale, skinny thing. Looks like he might have been a heroin addict in life.”

I wonder how she can determine all that from viewing a translucent being for the five seconds she said he materialized.

“They all look pale,” I reply.

“Him even more so,” Beatrice insists. “Maybe he materialized a little better for me than he did for you. He had a pentagram tattoo on his ankle, did you know?”

“A pentagram?”

“Yes, you know, like they have for the Knights of the Round Table, only his was inverted.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do say. By the way, I made up a batch of Elfie’s
Chocolate Surprises
…sold gobs… people kept coming back, saying they had the munchies.”

Oh by the thumbs of Uther, no! When I ask her how much cannabis she added to her
Chocolate Surprises
, I find out that she has almost doubled the miniscule amount Elfie uses.

“They like it with a bit more weed than Elfie put it. For all her wild ways, she’s overly judicious. Nobody will get any medicinal benefits with such a small amount added into their chocolates.”

“Beatrice,” I say quite seriously, “You do understand it is a banned substance here in France. You understand that the French don’t believe it has any medicinal benefits? Please tell me you only sold them to those over 18.”

“Of course,” Beatrice looks very serious. She always looks serious behind the thick-lensed glasses Merllyd made for her. “I only sold them to a handful of adults, who then came back an hour later and bought us out.”

I am about to reiterate Hatha’s stance on putting marijuana in chocolates in the modern world, and how adamant she is against it, when Sheila pops through the door. “Good evening,” she greets.

“Thought you were home supervising the electrician,” I say, startled to see her so soon after leaving her at the chateau.

“I was and he’s finished for the day. He didn’t get much done, but he told me the first floor is as good as it will ever be. Second floor is still not working; we’ll have to keep using our candles. Anyway, tomorrow I intend to start tiling, like Elfie taught me. Going to use that fancy saw she has, if I can figure out how to turn it on.” She smiles wide and a wisp of hair escapes her wimple. 

“But what are you doing here?” I ask as Sheila tucks the auburn lock back in.

“Well, since there’s nobody up at the house tonight –except Francine and Liselle who are still refusing to talk to any of us witches– I thought I’d come down and help you both close down the store. Thought maybe we could all go out to dinner, it’s a Saturday night.” Her eyes travel to the back room, “I see everything’s done, all washed up and ready when you reopen on Monday.”

“Yes, it’s all ready,” Beatrice answers cheerfully. “Spic and span, neat as you can,” she adds, which is a saying we witches like to repeat. She reaches for the strings of her owl-print apron and unties them.

“Isn’t Manon here?” Sheila asks.

“Why would she be?” I question. “She’s probably closing up her store.”

“That’s strange, I saw her not that long ago, she was walking towards the house. But  a young man came running up the drive calling her name. Don’t know how she knew him, but they went walking into the woods together.”

“Manon, sweet innocent little Manon went walking in the woods with a man?” I ask.

“No.” Sheila’s tone is serious. “He wasn’t a man. The boy looked way too young for her. It wasn’t
that
kind of a relationship. The boy came out of the woods a little bit later but Manon did not, so I thought she might have ended up here.”

“That does sound intriguing,” Beatrice murmurs while I wonder: should I be worried about our missing sister witch? Should we go search the woods for her?

I suggest that we do just that thing, when I see Elise from the hardware store slinking down the street. She’s wearing a hoodie pulled tight around her and looking a little shifty. I watch her glance up and down the Quai des Marais. Apparently satisfied that nobody’s watching her, she crosses to the other side of the street and heads in the direction of the river. A moment later she crosses the bridge heading for the woods.

“I think the two of you should go and search for Manon,” I assert.

“Really? There’s nothing wrong with walking through the woods by oneself. We all used to do it back in the Feral Forest. Maybe she’s just missing the whispering of the trees. I know I miss it sometimes,” Sheila says, but even she doesn’t seem to convince herself with this argument. Her voice trails off and she furrows her brow.

“You have to go and look for her, just to be sure,” I insist. “And right now, I have to do something. I’m heading to the river, to the woods on the other side. If I’m not back by the time you find Manon, come looking for me.” Quickly, I toss the keys to the store to Beatrice who has her mouth open, ready to ask me a million questions. I’m sure she wonders why I suddenly feel compelled to head to the river at such a late hour. I don’t give her the chance to ask anything; instead I slip away, hurrying after Elise.

I walk with quick steps. The heels of my shoes make a clippity-clop sort of sound as I head down the sidewalk. Why am I doing this, following a girl I barely know? Inside, I know why; my witch’s intuition tells me that Elise is somehow involved in the murder of poor Hugo, and if I want my shop to return to normal, I need to find out exactly what she’s up to.

“If we are going to face this force of nature head on,” Hatha huffs, after the four of us carry the catatonic Claire-Elaine back to her room, “We must do it at the hour when we are the strongest. So, I suggest we all turn in for a couple hours of sleep. We’ll regroup at midnight down in the kitchen. Since Elfie has already experienced paranormal activity in that room earlier this evening, we might just be better off in the kitchen than in the basement anyway.”

There’s wisdom to her words so we nod and head upstairs. Undeniably, I feel unsettled preparing for bed, knowing that I have to wake up in a few hours and confront a ghost. Instead of slipping into my pajamas, I don my long black robe of old. I’m not sure why, but it brings me comfort and confidence. Staring at myself in the room’s free-standing mirror, I am swept back in time to the Forest Fosse. On nights when it wasn’t raining, we witches would all pull out our woven sleeping mats made out of rushes and sleep under the stars. Staring up at the night sky, I felt at one with my sisters, as well as with the animals of the forest, and with the divine universe that glittered overhead. That’s really sappy and nostalgic, but it’s true. Even though I love modern day France, living in the forest with 60 other witches and the occasional warlock was hard to beat. So tonight before I go to bed, I kneel down and say a quick prayer to the Goddess Eostre. I pray diligently, asking to be returned to our home in Forest Fosse. Then I slip between the sheets right next to a very nervous Camille, hoping she doesn’t notice the tissue I have concealed in my hand.

“I say, Elfie” she squeals, turning to face me, “Your feet are like ice, are you anxious?”

“I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve stirred the cauldron and beat the drum at the Witching Hour, but I’ve never gathered together to fight off a ghost.”

“Let’s hope it’s not a fight. Let’s hope it’s just a little persuasion that dear Charlotte needs. 600 years is a long time to be dead and still roaming the earth.”

“It’s a long time to seek revenge on a man who has been dead for over half a millennium, give or take a hundred years. Can you imagine being that mad at someone, Camille?”

“No. But then the only man I really know is Master Merllyd and despite the whole powerful fire-wielding persona, deep down he’s a tender-hearted bean. But yes, with regards to Charlotte her husband’s been dead an incredibly long time and it’s time for Charlotte du Mont to move on.”

“You can say that again.” I fluff up my pillow and flip over on my side. Outside, an owl hoots a warning. My gaze flits to the window and I see a small bird of prey take flight from a nearby tree. At the same time the moon escapes from behind a puffy cloud and light fills our room. Unable to sleep, I stare at the walls and notice that, in some places, the floral-print wallpaper has chipped away revealing a second layer underneath. The second layer is a hideous pattern, one with ducks wearing bonnets against a blue background.

“Hmm, ducks in bonnets” I snort.

“What?” a startled Camille asks and from the sounds of things she was on the verge of sleep. Languidly, I point out the ducks and she says, “Oh, yes, right,” and grows silent again.

“Do you ever miss it? The forest, that is?” I blurt out.

“Every day,” Camille replies. “Every day, especially when it’s time to go to bed. But, come now, Merllyd will figure it out. Any day now we’ll go home. I’m sure.”

She’s been lying on her back this whole time, but now she rolls over onto her left side and her breathing slows. After I hear Camille begin to snore, I unwrap the tissue I have in my hand and stuff a
Chocolate Surprise
in my mouth. The cannabis grown by the Aspen witches is very low in TCH so it doesn’t cause me to be stoned, but it is high in another chemical. I can’t remember what it’s called. All I know is that it has a lovely, calming effect and that’s exactly what I need after running into a ghost twice.

Not to mention that, in just a few hours, I’ll be going in search of that same ghost one last time, despite the ominous warning of the screech owl.

I, Noelle, find that it’s not that easy to follow Elise. For one thing, we’ve left behind the lights of the city and it’s getting harder to see. For another thing, Elise is walking so fast it’s as if she’s on her way to a fire. I spy her in the low light, on the far side of the bridge, down near the river. I cross that same bridge hunched down low behind its stone wall. Luckily, nobody is passing in the opposite direction or they’d think I was a lunatic as I waddle like a duck from one side to the other. Afterwards, it’s all I can do to hide behind a tree here, or a stone fence there as I try to keep up with the young girl. Every so often, she glances back over her shoulder and I try to dodge out of sight.

Nearing the edge of a large stand of oak trees, she looks furtively around. For a moment, my heart stops. Did she see me, hurrying after her? I hide behind a hedge and am relieved when Elise stops glancing around and slips into the stand of trees. Overhead, the same misty rain that has been falling off and on for a week starts up again.
Darn it, I’m not really ready for this
. I was in such a hurry to follow her that I left my rain jacket hanging on its hook in
Le Denouement
.

Luckily, Elise follows a path that parallels the river, so even when I don’t see her ahead of me, I can see her footprints in the sand. The rainclouds cut in and out, occasionally allowing the moon to guide my path. Still, it’s tough going. The cute low-heeled shoes I bought with tiny black cats embroidered on them are meant for city streets, not slogging along the banks of a river. After tonight’s trek through the forest, they’ll have to be relegated to the trash bin.

Although right now, ruining my shoes is the least of my worries. All around me in the dark, I see shadows moving among the trees. I stop for a moment and hide behind a mossy oak tree. A figure dressed in a dark cloak glides past causing my heart to beat fast. Do I dare venture forward? Down deep inside I think I know exactly what is happening. These are the people who drew the inverted pentagram. These people must be the Satan worshippers. Why else would anybody but us witches wear a cloak in modern day France?

Woden help me, these people do not know what they’re doing. They don’t understand the strength of the dark forces.

Just then, I hear the whispering of the trees, and it sounds as if they are saying “murder” in my native tongue.

A lump forms in my throat. I am a practiced witch, but could I stop a group of people bent on worshipping the dark forces? Could I stop them if they intend to kill someone, like they very well may have killed poor Hugo?

I follow along behind, darting from tree to tree and realizing that I may be putting myself in a dangerous situation. Unlike the more old-fashioned witches in my coven, I have embraced modern technology –I do have a cell phone. A cell phone that is neatly tucked inside the pocket of the raincoat that is hanging up in my shop. What was I thinking leaving everything behind?

Here in the deep of the woods, it grows darker and the figures divert from the river, heading towards a wavering light that is somewhere off to our right. I make my way moving cat-like from tree to tree, following them. As I creep closer, I notice the light flickers off and on, and there is the smell of wood smoke in the air. It would appear that despite the drizzle, the cloaked figures have been able to build a fire. I continue onward to the edge of a small clearing and stare down from my position on a small ridge at a dozen or so hooded figures gathered around the fire. A distinct chill runs up my spine. Should I turn and run to the police? But what if something bad happens while I’m gone?

Down by the fire, I make out the figure of the very thin Elise, silhouetted against the flames that roar ever upwards as one figure piles it high with stacks of wood. I watch as someone shuffles towards Elise and hands her a dark cloak. She wraps it around her body. As she does so, she turns to face my hiding spot and I catch the expression on her face; it is the ash gray color of someone who is deathly frightened.

Okay, so I can’t just leave her here alone. I hunker down behind a large oak and wait to see what happens. Several minutes pass. Just when I think things couldn’t get any spookier, the figures begin to chant in unison. The words are in Latin pronounced so poorly that I’m not sure exactly what’s being said.

Oh wait, now I think I understand a bit of what they are trying to say. It appears that they are calling for the devil incarnate.