Witches' Craft

by Morgana Best

Aunt Agnes tapped her forehead and shook her head. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you’ve got the DNA of my sisters rather than of me,” Aunt Agnes said, continuing to shake her head. “Obviously Valkyrie, you don’t drink the water. You crack the egg open in the water and we do a divination.”

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice. I felt foolish.

  I took off my shoes and socks and did as they instructed, rolling the egg over me downwards and in a spiral motion until I reached my feet.

  “And do under your soles as well,” Aunt Agnes said. ‘This also is an egg cleansing,” she informed me.

  “If it’s a tracking spell, she’s going to need more than an egg cleansing,” Aunt Dorothy said.

  “Obviously Dorothy, but it will help. It’s one of the tools at our disposal.”

  “Yes, Dorothy is right, Agnes. Valkyrie will need an Uncrossing work as well,” Maude added.

  Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes. “Oh, you two! Obviously, if there are any traces of the spell left at that point, then we’ll need to use Black Arts Oil on Valkyrie and take other measures.”

  I cracked the egg into the glass, and mercifully that stopped the aunts arguing. They gathered around and peered at the glass, muttering to themselves.

  “I take it that can’t be good,” I said, also peering at the egg. It simply looked like an egg in a glass of water to me, but apparently it meant a lot more to my aunts.

  “Yes, see those bubbles?” Aunt Agnes pointed to the top of the liquid. “Not good, and see the shape of a human figure? That represents the person who put the tracking spell on you.”

  I peered into the glass and could see the whites of the egg forming a figure. I gasped. “So, is this a traditional witchcraft or traditional vampire thing?” I asked the aunts.

  Aunt Maude answered. “Probably both. These days it’s more widely used in Mexico. It has been done for centuries in one form or another. Valkyrie, I need you to take the egg and flush it down the toilet.”

  “What do I do with the shell?” I asked her.

  “You need to flush it down the toilet as well,” Aunt Maude said. “Now you need to take an Uncrossing bath. Come with me to the altar room. I’ll give you some Uncrossing Oil and you can burn some Uncrossing incense too. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to do a Reversing work on you as well.”

  I meekly followed the aunts up the stairs to the aunts’ altar room. This time I was relieved to see the cage was empty. They had once kept a Shifter in there, and goodness knows who else over the years. I would have loved to ask, but I’m sure they would never tell me. Despite the arcane aspect, I in fact loved their altar room. To say it was fascinating was an understatement. The shelves contained grimoires and books about spells, and all sorts of bottles of powders and oils as well as baskets of herbs.

  “You’ve had cleansing baths before, but you need an Uncrossing bath now,” Aunt Maude explained. She handed me a bottle. “Tip the contents of this whole bottle into the bath and you can put your usual Epsom salts and sea salt mixture in the bath along with it. And as usual, no soap must go in the bath.” She shook the bottle.

  “What’s in it?” I asked her.

  “It’s a mixture of fire finger grass, patchouli leaves, sandalwood, and myrrh,” she said. “It’s an old hoodoo formula. Now, take this incense bowl.” She handed me a shell with a big chunk of charcoal in it.

  Aunt Maude shook some frankincense resin into the shell and then reached for the dragon’s blood resin. “Isn’t that Fiery Wall of Protection incense?” I asked her. “You just need to add myrrh.”

  Aunt Agnes waved her finger in my face. “As your great-great-great-great-great grandfather used to say, ‘There are two classes of people who shouldn’t see things half done, fools and children.’ No, my dear girl, I’m not adding myrrh to this. I’m adding sandalwood, gardenia oil, saltpetre and tincture of benzoin.”

  “Will that work?” I asked her.

  “We’ll do another egg reading after your bath,” Aunt Dorothy said. “Off you go, go and have your Uncrossing bath. And take this Palo Santo stick with you as well. Give yourself a very good smudging with it first.”

  “Aunt Maude, I’m wondering why you say to do an Uncrossing rather than a Reversing work. Whoever did it hasn’t actually harmed me, have they? Wouldn’t I need to be reversed rather than uncrossed, because doesn’t someone need an Uncrossing work after they’ve been hexed or something?”

  Aunt Maude patted me on my shoulder and beamed at me. “You’re learning quite a lot about the craft, Valkyrie. That would be right, apart from the fact that a tracking spell is akin to a hex by the very nature of it. That’s why you need to do an Uncrossing work rather than a Reversal work in the first instance. Now, while you’re in the bath, my sisters and I will do a work in the altar room to aid in the uncrossing.”

  “Do you think it will work?” I asked again.

  “Of course,” she said. “A witch never does anything unless the witch thinks it will work. That’s important. If it doesn’t work the first time, then we try a Reversal, and maybe even a Blockbuster or a Road Opener work.”

  Aunt Dorothy shooed me off in the direction of the bathroom while they went in to do goodness knows what ritual. I wondered why I didn’t have to be present for the ritual, but I supposed having an Uncrossing bath was more important.

  I climbed out of the bath and put on a white bathrobe. The aunts had taken my clothes to wash them in white vinegar and hang them in the sun. I went into the room opposite the bath, the room I used when I stayed at Mugwort Manor, and let out a scream.

  Chapter 13

  “You scared me!” Aunt Agnes had thrown some sort of powder all over me. “What’s that?” I asked her.

  “Why, it’s Uncrossing Powder, of course.”

  I sneezed violently. “What’s in it?”

  “Five finger glass, a bit of sandalwood, some frankincense, salt, rue, hyssop, and Devil’s Shoe Strings.” Aunt Agnes threw some more over me.

  “Please stop with all that,” I said. “I think I’m completely uncrossed now.

  Aunt Agnes held the powder over me. “You don’t feel like you’re coming down with the flu anymore?”

  “No, just with an allergy,” I said pointedly.

  Aunt Agnes pursed her lips. “After you air dry, come downstairs and we’ll do another egg reading.”

  While I air dried, I read the two messages on my phone. There was a text from Linda asking again if there had been any updates on the victim, and a text from Lucas telling me he would let me know when he made progress and asking me not to put myself in danger by investigating the murder.

  I dressed, put the phone in my jeans pocket, and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Aunt Agnes shoved an egg into my hand by way of greeting. I followed the ritual I had done a short time earlier.

  It looked like the same type of result to me, but this time the aunts were pleased. “She seems completely uncrossed now,” Aunt Agnes said. “That’s good.”

  “The tracking spell isn’t ongoing then?” I asked them.

  “I don’t quite get your meaning, Valkyrie,” Aunt Agnes said. “The Uncrossing has worked, so it can’t be ongoing.”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean—what if whoever it was uses my hair again after they realise this hasn’t worked, and do another tracking spell, using another bit of my hair.”

  “We have already thought of that,” Aunt Agnes said. “You have to take protective measures such a putting a eucalyptus leaf in your shoes.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Is there something else?”

  They named so many protective measures that my head spun. “What are we going to do now?” I asked them.

  “I think you and I should go and see Joyce Batson, the antique dealer,” Aunt Agnes said. “After all, she had a grudge against the victim, and she is a local person we’ve known for years.”

  “So, we’re going there under the pretext of you buying something, are we Aunt Agnes?” I asked.

  Aunt Agne
s’s eyes flickered strangely and it took me a moment to realise why. She wasn’t going there under the pretext of buying a valuable antique—she fully intended to buy a valuable antique.

  “If it is Joyce Batson, will she know that I don’t have the tracking on me anymore?” I said.

  The aunts nodded. “Whoever it is will know the tracking has been broken,” Aunt Maude said.

  I didn’t like that. It made me uneasy.

  “Well, let’s have a nice cup of tea and a glass of Witches’ Brew and then we’ll head off to see what Joyce has to say for herself,” Aunt Agnes declared.

  “I have to tell Linda what’s happened at some point,” I said and then added, “Of course I won’t tell her about The Other, just about the victim.”

  A knock on the front door caused us all to jump. Aunt Maude gasped. “I hope it’s not the police. Perhaps they’ve changed their minds and think you’re a suspect, Agnes.”

  “I really don’t think so, Maude,” Aunt Agnes said.

  Nevertheless, I followed her down the hallway and hid behind a marble statue of a Greek boy with a bow and arrow.

  “Are any of you ladies driving to town today?” the voice said. I recognised the voice as that of Euphemia Jones.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Why?” Aunt Agnes asked her.

  “Then you can give me a lift.”

  Aunt Agnes did not speak for a moment, and I knew she was angry to be put on the spot like this. “Is there something wrong with your car?” Aunt Agnes asked.

  “No,” Euphemia’s voice said. “But why waste petrol when you’re going anyway. I can give you my number and you can just text me when you’re leaving. I’m quite happy to come back when you’re ready.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Aunt Agnes said, her tone dripping sarcasm.

  “When are you leaving?” Euphemia asked.

  “Five minutes. Meet you at the front.” Aunt Agnes shut the door rather too loudly and stomped back in the direction of the kitchen.

  I stepped out from behind the statue, startling her.

  “Oh, my stars, Valkyrie! You nearly scared the life out of me.”

  “I heard what she said. Talk about a penny-pinching woman!”

  “There might be more to it than that,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “What do you mean?” Aunt Maude had appeared from the direction of the kitchen.

  “I know she does appear to be overly stingy, but isn’t she going a little too far? I’m seeing her more and more as a suspect now.”

  “But she can’t be the spy for The Other, who’s been keeping an eye on you for years, because she comes from Nelson Bay,” I said.

  “I believe Valkyrie’s right,” Aunt Agnes said. “But the point is, we still don’t know if the murder is related to The Other. If it isn’t, then she could well have murdered her husband.”

  I scratched my head. “Let me get this straight. Since she doesn’t live in town, then she can’t be the spy for The Other. Are we sure about that?”

  “We are not sure about anything,” Aunt Agnes said, “but yes. If your parents are right that the spy for The Other has been watching us for years, then she cannot be that person. She could be a completely innocent person, or she might have murdered her husband in a murder that had nothing to do with The Other. Still, I find it strange she has come to town to board with us. Be on your guard, Valkyrie, and see what questions she asks.”

  Soon we were on our way to Lighthouse Bay with Mrs Jones. She was sitting in the front seat and I was sitting in the back. She wasn’t one to talk, so an uncomfortable silence hung heavily over the car. It made me wonder if she was in fact the murderer because she certainly wasn’t asking any questions.

  “Where would you like us to leave you?” Aunt Agnes said as she turned into the main street.

  “Where are you going?” Euphemia asked Aunt Agnes. I wondered if she had gone with us in order to follow us, and I still wondered if she could somehow be working for The Other.

  “We have some things to do,” Aunt Agnes said, nicely deflecting the question. “Where in particular would you like to go, Mrs Jones?”

  “I’m just exploring. You go to your destination. I’ll just head out from there.”

  “Sure,” Aunt Agnes said. “We’re going to the library.”

  Aunt Agnes pulled into the library parking area. “Thanks,” Euphemia barked. “When you’re ready to leave town, just text me and I’ll meet you back here or wherever you want to meet me.” With that, she marched down the street.

  Aunt Agnes took me by my arm. “Let’s go into the library for a while,” she said. “I don’t trust that woman. She seemed awfully keen to know where we were going.”

  “I thought so too,” I said. “I was suspicious.”

  The library was bright and modern. Aunt Agnes and I wandered aimlessly around looking at books for a few minutes. “I think it’s safe to leave now,” Aunt Agnes said. “Keep your eyes open for that woman.”

  We walked out of the library and stopped for a moment behind a large planting of red and purple geraniums. “Can you see her?” Aunt Agnes whispered.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Let’s walk,” Aunt Agnes said. “We won’t go the direct route.”

  Aunt Agnes took me in a most roundabout way to Joyce Batson’s antique shop. She kept looking behind her and declaring that we weren’t being followed, but I wasn’t so sure. I was quite uneasy and still processing seeing my parents again. My head was spinning and I felt a little sick on the stomach. I hoped the tracking spell had not somehow come back.

  When we entered Joyce Batson’s antique shop, I realised we hadn’t discussed what we would say to her. I hoped that was because Aunt Agnes had it all under control.

  Joyce was speaking to a young man, but left him and hurried over to us as soon as she saw who it was. “How lovely to see you again, Agnes,” she gushed. I figured Agnes was paying most of her mortgage with all her purchases.

  “I have a lovely newly-arrived piece I wanted to show you,” she said. “Come with me.” She led us into a back room and pointed to a large wooden desk.

  “Beautiful,” Aunt Agnes gushed. “A nineteenth century Partners Desk.” She hurried over to it and ran her hand along it. “Australian cedar. How much is it?”

  “I was going to put over six thousand dollars on it,” Joyce said, “but for you, Agnes, and if you buy it soon, you can have it for five thousand dollars.”

  Agnes clasped her hands. “I’m certainly tempted, but I’m not sure I have room.”

  Joyce laughed. “That’s never stopped you before.”

  Agnes smiled. “Do you have any other new pieces?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Joyce gave us a guided tour of the new arrivals, which she variously described as a “definitely genuine” large pair of Mary Gregory vases, a Royal Doulton Peggotty jug, and a Wedgwood Dragon Lustre vase.

  I was completely bored and was also keeping an eye on Joyce to make sure she didn’t snatch a piece of my hair.

  “Of course, you know that Ethelbert Jones was murdered at our establishment yesterday,” Aunt Agnes said, out of the blue.

  Joyce looked shocked. “Yes. Do the police know who did it yet?”

  Aunt Agnes shrugged one shoulder. “If they do, they certainly haven’t told me. We’re not allowed back in that cottage yet.”

  Joyce’s hand flew to her mouth. “Don’t tell me the body is still in there.”

  “Absolutely not, Joyce,” Aunt Agnes said. “The police removed the body quickly. I don’t know why they won’t let us have full use of the cottage yet.”

  “Do they suspect you?” Joyce asked her.

  Aunt Agnes turned bright red. “Of course not. Why would they suspect me? Why does everyone think they would suspect me?”

  “I do have a new sterling silver snuff box,” Joyce said.

  The distraction seemed to work, for Aunt Agnes’s expression softened. She rifled through her handbag and produced a 10x l
ens. “Oh yes, I do like sterling silver.” She peered at the hallmark. “Chester, 1867. I’ll take that and I’m still thinking about the other piece.”

  Joyce beamed.

  “You knew the victim, didn’t you?” Aunt Agnes said while bending over the snuff box.

  Joyce nodded. “He was a terrible person. He cheated me.”

  Of course, Aunt Agnes already knew that, but she looked up with an expression of surprise on her face. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought her surprise genuine.

  “How did he cheat you, Joyce?” she asked.

  “It was a terrible thing,” Joyce said. “He sold me a painting, along with a certificate of authenticity and a receipt. I hung onto it for a while, and when the artist died, I put it up to auction. The auctioneer called me and said it was a fake.”

  “How long ago was this?” Agnes asked her.

  “It was quite recently,” she said. “I mean, I sent it to auction only recently, but I bought it from him years ago. When I told him about it, he said he bought it in good faith. When I kept pressing him, he turned quite nasty and said it was payback because I sold him a collection of ruby glass many years ago, and when he tried to sell it, they said it was worth only a fraction of the price he’d paid. He insisted I had ripped him off.”

  “But Victorian glassware was indeed worth a fortune years ago, but it’s not worth anything anymore,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “Exactly,” Joyce said, “but you try to tell that to the horrid man.”

  “Excuse me, I’m trying to process the information,” I told them. “So then, the victim said it was payback. Are you saying he bought something from you years ago that fell in value? He didn’t realise it had fallen in value, and he thought you’d ripped him off by selling it to him at too high a price in the first place.”

  “Precisely,” Aunt Agnes said, “but you’ve made it sound unnecessarily complicated, Valkyrie.”

  “And he threatened me too,” Joyce continued.

  “Threatened you, how?” Agnes asked.

  “He told me he was a powerful man, more powerful than I knew, and if I kicked up any fuss about the fake painting, he would see it to it that my business was shut down.”