by Ritter Ames
“You’ve had trouble.” Nama said it as a statement, not a question.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Come and have a cuppa.”
I smiled and followed Nama into her house. I knew she would answer in her own good time. I sat in Nama’s kitchen as she prepared a concoction of herbal tea. I didn’t know what was in it, but it tasted good, if a little bitter. When I half-finished my tea, Nama spoke. “I have seen the Kurdaitcha man.”
I gasped. I knew Kurdaitcha men were very powerful healers who could also sing someone to death or point the bone to kill someone. While such an act would normally only be done in retaliation for wrongs, I knew the Kurdaitcha man had many other powers, including foretelling the future. “What does that have to do with me?” My voice came out as a squeak.
“Your house is on a dreaming track,” Nama said by way of answer.
I nodded. Nama had told me all about the dreaming tracks, or songlines as they were also known. The Aboriginal culture believes in ancestor creators, who traveled across Australia making the landforms. This happened in the Dreamtime, the time of creation. The places where the creation ancestors traveled are known as dreaming tracks, and today, the people were able to cross vast amounts of desert by singing the lines, the stories of each area, maps in song. My mother had told me these lines were akin to the ley lines of Britain, so I assumed they were lines of power.
Nama sipped her tea while I waited patiently for her to continue. “What happened?” she finally said.
I told her the whole story, from the changing of the sky, to the difference in my garden and my discovery of the Featherfoot, finishing with finding the murdered body of Jasmine Walters’ husband, a man who was supposed to have died ten years earlier.
Again, Nama sat silently. Finally, she nodded and pointed to a willy wagtail sitting on her windowsill. Her expression had not changed. “Yilpinji is powerful magic.”
“Yilpinji?” I repeated. “I thought that was love magic?”
Nama nodded. “Love magic can drive away husband.”
“I see.” I thought some more. “But Mr. Walters was dead.”
Nama’s eyes twinkled, presumably at my lack of understanding. “His wife used black magic of the Kurdaitcha man.”
Again, I had to process her statement. I had always assumed love magic was used solely for good. Clearly, that was a faulty assumption. “Do you mean Jasmine used black magic to kill her husband? But I saw a knife sticking out of his back!”
Nama shook her head. “Yilpinji is powerful magic,” she said once more.
GAXABARA
“ARE YOU SURE you really want to do this?”
I could tell my husband was reluctant—more than reluctant in fact. I plastered what I hoped was a pleading expression on my face. “Please, Wolff,” I said for the umpteenth time. “It’s a full moon tonight, and I’m sure Jasmine will be doing a ritual behind her house. You know as well as I do her yard extends right down to the bush. She could do any manner of ritual there, and no one would see her.”
Wolff rubbed his forehead, and then omitted a weary sigh. “But what do you hope to gain by spying on her ritual?”
“I wouldn’t call it spying, exactly.” I shrugged. “Okay, I suppose it is. But Nama said Jasmine had used magic, and I need to know what sort of magic it is. You agree she has malicious intent toward me, don’t you?”
Wolff nodded slowly. “I do, but surely there’s another way.”
“But what?” I asked him. “I can hardly go to the police. Jasmine would like to see me end up in a lunatic asylum. Anyway, you don’t need to come. I’m happy to go alone.”
“I need to go in case something happens.”
I’d figured there was no way Wolff would let me go alone, out at midnight, into the bush. “It’s a pity I can’t take the phone with me, because then you could stay here, and I could call you if I got into trouble.”
Wolff looked blank. “Whatever do you mean, Thelma?”
“Just an idle thought,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be good if one day they made phones that were transportable? It would be so useful. Just think, if they had them now, I could go and watch Jasmine and you could stay here, and I could call you and tell you what was happening.”
Wolff laughed so hard he doubled over. “Oh Thelma, you’re so funny. The cords would have to be miles long.”
And so, not long before midnight, both Wolff and I crouched under a bottlebrush bush, waiting for Jasmine to do her ritual. “What if she doesn’t show?” Wolff asked me.
“I’m sure she will. Nama told me ages ago that Jasmine does the ritual out here under every full moon.”
“Will there be others with her?” Wolff’s voice held concern.
I shook my head. “No, she’s a solitary witch, as far as I know.” However, Wolff’s words did give me pause. What if Jasmine was in fact part of a coven? At that moment, an earthly sound pierced the still air.
I jumped, but Wolff put a hand on my arm to still me. “It’s only a possum,” he said. I looked up at the eucalyptus tree towering above us, and indeed a large possum ran down the tree all the while making horrible sounds, and took off into the bush. Just then, Wolff clutched my arm again. This time, his touch was urgent. “Look!”
A figure, which I assumed was Jasmine, appeared at the back of the house and made its way slowly to the clearing where I’d heard she conducted the full moon rituals. And in fact, there were little stones laid in a circle on the ground in the clearing in front of us. My blood ran cold and I shivered. Little electric tingles ran through me, and I huddled into Wolff.
When the figure got closer, I saw it was indeed Jasmine. She was wearing a large bath robe, and I wondered why. I soon found out. She took off her bath robe, revealing she was completely naked underneath. I slapped my hand across Wolff’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“It’s something you shouldn’t see,” I said firmly.
“What?” he asked.
I looked at Jasmine’s naked body, an enviable figure, to be sure. I wished I had her curves. “It’s a hideous sight,” I lied.
Jasmine began her chanting, and danced around the stone circles, writhing this way and that. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, and my arm was tired from holding my hand over Wolff’s eyes. Yet there was no way I was going to release it.
“Can’t I look?” he pleaded.
“No, definitely not,” I whispered back. “It’s a ritual dance, gaxabara in the Koori language.”
“It is something a man shouldn’t see? A ritual thing?”
I tightened my grip over his eyes. “Something like that.”
KURDAITCHA MAN
THE NEXT MORNING after Wolff left for work, I did my best to get my thoughts into some sort of order. The previous night’s spying mission had done nothing except give me a sore arm. I hadn’t heard a word Jasmine said, and I hadn’t been able to ascertain the nature of her ritual.
Of one thing I had no doubt, Jasmine had used black magic to kill her husband. She was in Sydney at the time of his death. It gave her an iron-clad alibi, to be sure. But how was that possible? And how was it possible I had two days ago seen the body of a man who was murdered ten years ago?
I thought until my head ached, and then I thought some more. The conclusion I finally drew seemed absurd. Could time travel have been involved? She killed him now, but somehow made it happen in the past, ten years previous?”
It was incredible to think Jasmine planned a murder using time travel, but what other explanation could there be? It seemed impossible, but then again, I was a witch and so I believed in the manipulation of reality. Still, it was quite a stretch.
As I drew near Jasmine’s home, I decided on the spot I should confront her. I wasn’t expecting a good reception, but I had to try.
She flung open the door before I’d even had a chance to knock. “What do you want this time, Thelma?” She crossed her arms over her too-tight dress and put her ci
garette back in her mouth.
“I discovered your husband’s body two days ago.”
She smirked at me—not exactly the response I was expecting. “I’d be careful who you tell about that. Who will believe you?” She laughed. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Time stood still’?”
“So it’s true? You killed your husband today, but sent him back in time ten years ago.” As I said the words, the timeline at once became clear to me. I held up my hand. “No, wait. That makes no sense. Ten years ago, you sent your husband forward in time to two days ago, when you stabbed him, and then sent him back in time. The daisies and my garden, even my house, must have been caught up in the spell,” I added more to myself than to Jasmine.
She clapped slowly. “Well done. And I thought you were just a mousey little housewife. What Wolff sees in you, I’ll never know.” She snorted derisively.
“That gave you an iron-clad alibi,” I said, ignoring her statement about my husband. “But why me? Why did you murder him in my garden?”
Jasmine shrugged. “Why not? It seemed like as good a place as any.”
I knew she was lying. “Tell me the truth, Jasmine.”
Jasmine pulled a face. “Or what? You’ll have me arrested for time travel?” She cackled.
I just stood there, hoping she wouldn’t slam the door in my face. I wanted answers—sure, her husband was dead and no one could do anything about that, but I wanted to understand why Jasmine did it.
I suppose in the end she wanted to brag. “It was the perfect murder, Thelma. It took me a long time to plan, mind you, but it was genius, pure genius!” Her whole face lit up. “It all worked out well.”
“How did you get the Kurdaitcha man to help you?” That part puzzled me, almost as much as the time travel aspect. I knew money had nothing to do with it—Kurdaitcha men couldn’t be bought.
“So you know about him, do you?” She pouted, but pressed on without giving me time to answer. “He can sing rain, and he can sing people to death. I couldn’t have Tom waste away in hospital, though. That could’ve thrown suspicion on me. I needed him killed outright while I was somewhere else, with an alibi. Tom cheated the Kurdaitcha man out of some land, and had generally been nasty to him and his family. Tom wasn’t a nice person.”
“Lots of people aren’t nice, but that’s no excuse to kill them.”
“Whatever.” Jasmine threw her cigarette onto the ground and stomped on it. “I married him for his money, but he was too unpleasant an individual to keep around.”
I let that one pass. “Something’s bothering me, though,” I added. “You didn’t know me ten years ago, so why did you choose my garden?”
“This is where I got particularly clever,” she said with a smirk. “Ten years ago, I did a divination to see how the intended murder of my husband would go, and your name came up as my only adversary. The divination revealed you were a witch, so I got the Kurdaitcha man to send Tom to the place where you would be living in ten years’ time. The Kurdaitcha man can foretell the future, you know.”
I nodded. “I know. But has it occurred to you I only became your adversary, as you put it, for the very fact you murdered your husband in my garden?”
Jasmine looked confused.
“There’s nothing I can do about the murder of your husband,” I continued, “but no more murders. No more marrying rich men and killing them. I’ll keep a close eye on you, and I won’t hesitate to bind you from doing such things.”
Jasmine slowly shut the door. “I had the Kurdaitcha man do a little something to you and your husband, too.”
I gasped and went cold all over. “What?” I said weakly.
“Don’t worry, Thelma. I haven’t had him point the bone at you or anything like that.” She cackled once more. “Plus I can’t call on him again, because he’s gone walkabout.”
I was vastly relieved. The Aboriginal peoples had the ability to point the bone at someone to kill them, and that person subsequently would slowly and surely die. I held my breath, waiting to hear what she had in fact done to me and to Wolff.
“When you die, your spirit will be trapped in your house, and Wolff’s spirit will be trapped in your garden. He won’t be able to enter the house. You’ll be parted for eternity.”
I staggered backward in shock and then turned and ran, Jasmine’s maniacal laugher following me as I went.
THE BULK
I HAD SOLVED the mystery, but now I had to make sure Jasmine could do no more harm to anyone. She had murdered by magical means, so she could not be punished by natural means. She would never spend time in prison, or even face a court of law, yet she was a cold-blooded murderer. I myself was not judge or jury, but I certainly wanted to prevent her from harming another.
I returned to Jasmine’s house and taken her foot track, as instructed in the Spelled family’s ancestral Book of Shadows. I scooped up the dirt under her footprint, but had been careful to wait until she drove away before I had done so. Foot track work had a number of possible outcomes, but I was using it specifically to ensure Jasmine was bound from harming anyone else. This type of spell would not affect her well being, or even her luck. There were such spells in The Book of Shadows, however, and I was worried what would happen if it ever fell into the wrong hands.
First, I made a doll that looked like Jasmine. I hand sewed a figure into a rough shape from some scraps of fabric in my sewing box, and then stuffed it with twigs and the foot track dirt. I used sprigs of dead lavender for her hair, and painted on a mouth and rouge with beet. I used flour for foundation, and could not suppress a giggle as I did so.
I had a little aqua-colored tin canister that held spices. That morning, I bought a compact complete with a mirror. I snapped the hinge and, being careful not to look in the mirror, glued it to the canister lid. Next, I tied the doll’s hands behind her back and tied a piece of wool over her mouth, ensuring she would not say or do anything to harm anyone. I put the doll in the box, and filled the box with licorice, an herb of compelling. I then brought in some Koori magic. I placed a bulk, a black-blue stone that I enchanted for binding an evil person, into the box. I said words over the box and tied it with black string.
I walked along the bush track to a crossroads in the bush. There, I dug a shallow hole and buried the box, making sure to leave an offering of wattle seeds. After I buried it, I went home by another route and didn’t look back.
Once home, I wrote out what had happened on a hitherto blank page in the Book of Shadows. It was a beautiful book, ebony leather with a gold-embossed pentacle on the front. The pages were fragile, old paper and antique print.
I placed the Book of Shadows in a tin can, and buried it deep in the garden. I didn’t want anyone else to have access to that kind of powerful magic, and I was sure I would never need it again.
MIST
1982
JASMINE WAS STANDING on my front steps in the early morning mist. The Koori people feared mists, and seeing Jasmine enshrouded in one, I could see why.
It was a cold winter’s day, and my daughter, Angelica, was still asleep in bed. She had inherited my house from me.
Jasmine was stooped over from the waist, and clutching her walking stick with her old, gnarled fingers. After a moment, she shook the walking stick at the house, and I wondered how she didn’t fall over with the effort. “I’ve come to pay my respects,” she said sarcastically, and I was surprised to hear her voice come out as a croak. Had I sounded like that when I was alive, in my old age? Thank goodness, after death, I had reverted to my youthful form. I giggled.
Jasmine was still talking. “How romantic, you and Wolff dying in your sleep on the same night.” She struggled up the front steps with some effort. “Well, now you’ll be parted forever!” She tried to laugh, but her voice dissolved into a coughing spasm. In a fit of anger, she struck the front door with her walking stick.
I responded at once. Jasmine flew backward through the air, and landed next to a lilac tree. She let out som
e words unbecoming for a lady, and then tried to pull herself to her feet by seizing a branch for support. The branch smacked her behind. “What’s going on?” she screeched.
“Let me tell you,” I said, but the fact that the house spoke must have terrified her. She tried to hurry away, but caught her ankle in the tree branch. “I am the house now,” I called after her, “or rather, I can act as the house. Yes, you stopped Wolff going into the house, but you didn’t stop me going into the garden. So you see, Wolff and I can be together, forever.”
I blew Wolff a kiss, as Jasmine turned deathly white.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling Cozy Mystery author, Morgana Best, lives in a sunny beach town in Australia. She is owned by one highly demanding, rescued cat, and two less demanding dogs, a chocolate Labrador and a rescued Dingo, as well as two rescued Dorper sheep, the ram, Herbert, and his wether friend, Bertie.
Morgana is a former college professor who now writes full time. She is the director of an animal rescue charity.
In her spare time, Morgana loves to read and walk her dogs along the beach.
No Time to Witch is the prequel to The Kitchen Witch series. The first book in the series is Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch Book 1).
Would you like to receive an email when Morgana Best releases a new book or conducts a giveaway? Morgana always reduces the price of her books for the first 2 days. Click here to enter your email! (You will be at once sent a verification email—please click it. It might be in your Spam folder. If you have Gmail, it might be in your Promotions folder. Thanks!)
Contents
Kate McKenzie never dreamed when she started her business, Stacked in Your Favor, that she’d spend nearly as much time crime solving as organizing. But with Halloween approaching, and too many items on the to-do list, she and Meg Berman find themselves in another puzzling dilemma—where every answer leads to another question.
