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

by Sarff, Julie

  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.

  Chapter 12 (Noelle)

  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.

  Chapter 13 (Elfie)

  The Chocolate Surprise was supposed to have ren
dered me calm, yet at the appointed hour of midnight, I feel quite jumpy. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull on thick brown wool stockings and good solid boots. Standing up, I straighten out my robe, cinching the rope that serves as a belt. Then I pull the final trappings of my outfit out of my bag –my beautiful black hat. Unrolling it with flare, I smooth out the occasional wrinkle with my palm. Once returned to its original shape, I place it on my head.

  “How do I look?” I ask Camille.

  “Wonderful, Elfie. You look like a real witch!” she laughs. She should talk, she looks like a much bigger reflection of me, having replaced her wimple with her own pointy black hat.

  Down in the kitchen, we find Hatha and Hendra already at work burning incense. We form a small circle and link hands as the grandfather clock in the hallway strikes midnight. Slowly, Hatha begins to chant the oath we take as witches.

  “I am a witch of the Forest Fosse. I shall do no harm. I shall take care of the earth and my sisters who are goddesses of the earth. I shall love them and all creatures of the forest as I love myself.”

  We speak in Anglian, our tone rising, with each and every word.

  “I am a witch of the Forest Fosse…” I continue, becoming lost in the words.

  After twenty minutes of chanting our oath over and over, we let go of each other’s hands.

  “Perhaps the spirit is not brave enough to appear when we witches are together,” Hatha taunts.

  “Perhaps not,” Hendra joins in. “Any spirit who harms a child is a definite coward.”

  Their words make me frown. I’m not sure that taunting the dead Charlotte du Mont is the right way to go about things.

  “I said, any spirit who harms a child is a definite coward,” Hendra repeats.

  In a half a second, the temperature in the room plummets.

  “The presence moves among us,” Hendra whispers.

  “Charlotte?” Hatha calls, a look of compassion on her face even though we don’t know what to expect from this spirit. The smell of the incense in the room is strong, almost intoxicating. It smells of wet earth, decaying logs and green grass. Hatha calls it her “ghost incense.” She says spirits love it and it brings them out of the woodwork.

  Perhaps it was the chanting, or the taunting, or the ghost incense, but suddenly, floating through the air, comes the glowing torso of a women, with her hair in elaborate braids and a long, blue gown that closes tight around her waist before the skirt fans out to the floor.

  “You know my name?” Charlotte questions in a sickly sweet voice. A shiver runs down my spine and I shudder. Honestly, I don’t know how Noelle can take the ghost at her shop so lightly. I suppose after meeting a contingent of the dead, like she did one night in the Forest Fosse, one ghost doesn’t seem so bad.

  I stare at Charlotte slack-jawed. Will she turn violent? I worry that since she’s already harmed two girls, she’s going to harm us. Camille must feel the same way, because as soon as Charlotte speaks, she turns a very pale white and falls forward in a dead faint. It’s all I can do to keep her from hitting the floor.

  “That one’s got the heart of a lion,” Charlotte smirks as I try to keep Camille on her feet, tottering under her weight.

  “Charlotte du Mont,” Hatha begins as Hendra rushes over to help me with Camille. “You are hereby informed that you are dead. You are to seek the light and to go towards it post haste.”

  Above us, Charlotte laughs dismissively. “This is my home, and all of you are trespassing.”

  With Hendra’s help, the two of us are able to rest Camille gently on the floor. Quick as can be, Hendra moves over to Hatha’s bag and pulls out some smelling salts. Overhead, Charlotte bobs up and down, her face a fierce pall. As Hendra bends down to hold the smelling salts underneath Camille’s nose, I wonder, will Charlotte turn nasty? Will she turn demonic?

  “This is no longer your home, Charlotte du Mont, you have been dead for over 600 years. You are to seek the light and go on to your eternal reward,” Hatha persists in a calm but firm voice.

  “No!” Charlotte shouts, and in a rage of fury she flies straight at Hatha almost knocking her down. Then, she sails away through the kitchen wall.

  “She’s escaping,” cries Hendra.

  To my surprise, Hatha grabs up the long golden cross and rushes after the ghost. The rest of us follow with some reluctance. Even poor Camille comes traipsing along, having recovered from her fainting spell the moment she sniffed the smelling salts.

  Out in the hallway, we hear Charlotte’s booming laughter. It’s so loud and so disorienting, it seems as if it’s coming from several directions at once. From her pocket, Hatha pulls out a sprig of nightshade. She holds it aloft and regards its leathery leaves and thick wooden stem with satisfaction. Then she bends down, places it on the floor and lights it on fire with a matchstick that she pulls from her pocket and strikes against the wall.

  “Show us the way,” she calls to the puff of smoke that rises. The smoke curls around black as jet before it seeps underneath the door that leads to the basement.

  Sweet Woden, not the basement!

  “Quickly now, follow me,” Hatha directs. Like a hound following a scent, she pulls open the basement door and sweeps down the stairs. Hendra’s climbs down next. Even the ash-white Camille descends, ducking her head low on the corkscrew staircase. I watch them disappear, one, two, three, but I don’t follow. Instead, I glare at those stairs that lead to the basement with genuine loathing.

  Screwing my courage to the sticking place, which is a phrase Monique uses all the time having picked it up from some bard who lived 400 years ago, I place a foot on the top stairs. The air coming from the basement is stale and cold. With grand trepidation I follow my fellow witches downwards into the abyss, my head held low, my heart in my throat.

  Chapter 14 (Noelle)

  By the position of Polaris, which I occasionally spy overhead when the clouds clear, I think it must be well after midnight. How many hours have I been sitting behind this tree? I chew on my fingernails, and watch the figures below who act as if they are in some sort of trance. Originally, they spoke Latin, but now they seem to be singing, or yelling, or wailing as the case may be, in an entirely made up language.

  I watch as they use sticks to scrawl pentagrams into the dirt and wonder what special brand of lunatic have I run into? Who actually wants to meet Satan?

  By now, I’ve been here so long that my sweater is soaked from the misting rain, and the blouse underneath is damp as well. For the one hundredth time tonight, I think about making a break for it. After all, I am not only soaked, I am also sore from sitting still for so long. And although Elise is still here, quietly standing to one side, this chanting of nonsense has gone on so long that perhaps she isn’t in any real peril at all.

  I need to make up my mind. Should I stay or should I go?

  Since nothing bad has happened for the last several hours, I decide to sneak off. As soon as I reach Amboise, I’ll go straight to the police station and let them know what’s happening out here in the forest.

  I stand up, turning to leave, trying to be as quiet as possible, when crunch – I step on a twig and snap it in two. Instinctively I hunker down. Did anybody hear me? A hooded figure turns my way and my heart races wildly. He searches the woods as if trying to find the source of the noise, and I pray to the goddess Fray that he doesn’t find me.

  Wait a minute, his eyes aren’t looking towards my hiding spot. He looks past me toward the forest. Something behind me is making a strange noise. There’s a rustling of sorts, as if there’s a struggle going on somewhere. A few minutes later another hooded figure emerges, coming into the clearing from behind some sycamore trees. This person is taller and broader in the shoulders than any of the other figures, and, to my horror, she/he is tugging some poor creature into the clearing.

  The creature makes a horrible, desperate bleating sound. A goat? Why on earth is this person tugging on a goat?

  “Behold the sacrifice!” the fig
ure yells. Moving close to the fire, he/she pulls out something that I can’t quite make out. I lean way out from my hiding spot and I see the object gleam bright in the firelight. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I realize it must be a knife.

  “Behold the sacrifice!” the onlookers yell.

  Run! Run and call the police, a voice in my head tells me. Yet it would take me a good thirty minutes to bring somebody back to this spot. What to do? What to do?

  As a witch, I am a sworn defender of all living creatures. I don’t eat them. If need be, I will have to intervene to save the animal.

  I whisper my witch’s oath and immediately I feel my pulse quicken, I feel my blood thickening. I rise up from my crouched position. Every hair on my body feels as if it is standing at attention. I am strong. I am invincible. I am connected with mother earth.

  I have no choice but to walk straight into their circle and confront these depraved people.

  The poor goat, sensing danger, lets out a pitiful plea and tries to pull away. The tall figure tugs at its ropes harder, and it bleats again. Never in my life have I experienced a more evil scene. I’m beginning to think we led a rather sheltered life back in the forest, allowing the regular humans to duke it out while we stayed safe and snug in the woods making soap, or weaving wool blankets. We never involved ourselves in the war for good and evil that was raging all across Anglia. Suffice it to say, I’ve never done anything as brave as what I’m about to do.

  The goat bleats again pitifully and I realize it is time to show my true colors. I am just about to reveal myself when I hear a voice cry, “No stop!”

  It is Elise. She steps forward and pulls off her hood. “This has gone far enough!”