The Witching Hour

by Morgana Best

  “You killed Aunt Beth!” My voice sounded hysterical. I tried to calm my breathing, and focus. Everything was swimming and I was afraid I would be sick.

  Cassandra snorted rudely. “No, she killed herself with a selenium overdose. The Keeper always uses selenium for such purposes. Cyanide is only for movies. After the cavern collapsed, she knew I was going to make her tell me where the page was.”

  Aunt Beth killed herself? Surely not. Aloud I said, “Weren’t you in the same society?”

  “Yes, and she was the Keeper of the Dashwood Trust. When she found out that I was also in the Black Lodge and wanted to use the ritual, she would have destroyed the paper, but didn’t have time.”

  “Didn’t have time for what?” As drugged as I was, I tried to put the pieces together. Cassandra said that Aunt Beth had killed herself, but also that she didn’t have time to destroy the page. Surely she would have destroyed the page before killing herself?

  That was when the penny dropped. I had finally figured out the motive for murder. Cassandra had been unable to find the page, and must have believed that Aunt Beth was about to destroy it. Cassandra must have figured she would murder Aunt Beth to prevent her from destroying the page, and then continue her search for the page with Aunt Beth out of the way.

  Cassandra walked over to me. “Misty, tell me where the page is. What’s it to you if I get it?” She raised the gun to Douglas.

  “All right, I’ll tell you. I put it in Alice in Wonderland on the bookshelf, bottom shelf next to the sofa.”

  Cassandra left hurriedly.

  Douglas spoke as soon as we heard the front door shut. “Misty, is that true?”

  I nodded, but that made my heart hurt and my vision cloud even more. “Yes. I couldn’t have her shooting you, Douglas, and really, who cares if she rejuvenates? Do you think she’ll let us go?”

  “I’m not too sure what she’ll do.”

  “Can you try to get out of the ropes?” I asked him. “Just in case?”

  “I’ve been doing my best.”

  Cassandra was back fairly soon, waving the page triumphantly. Luckily, the gun was not in sight. She ran over to Douglas and untied him. In my groggy state it took me a while to realise that something was wrong with this picture.

  It got worse. It seemed as if Douglas and Cassandra then kissed passionately. I found the sight disgusting, but then I wasn’t sure if they actually had kissed. I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, so wasn’t sure what was real and what was a dream. I was still too drugged to be fully in my senses, but the fog was lifting, if only slightly. I just lay there and tried to figure things out.

  Douglas was speaking. “Cassandra, you didn’t need to drug her. She would have told me where the page was, and there would have been no need for all this.”

  “I doubt it. I know you think you’re quite the ladies’ man, but there was that interfering fool, John Smith. Besides, I couldn’t wait another few days. I’m sick of looking like this.” Cassandra gestured to herself. “Now that I have the page, I can go back home. I’ve been living in this dump for too long.”

  At that point it dawned on me that Cassandra was not Aunt Beth’s long-term next-door neighbour after all, and I wondered what had happened to the actual neighbour. I could guess. The situation was rapidly looking worse.

  Cassandra was still speaking. “And now we have to get rid of her.”

  I spoke up. “Cassandra, I won’t tell anyone. I mean, like you said, the police would lock me up if I said that you could get younger. They would never believe me. You and your boyfriend take off, and I won’t say a word.”

  “Boyfriend?” Cassandra laughed, a horrible, nasal laugh tinged with madness.

  Douglas walked over and stood in front of me. “She’s right, Cassandra. The police will never believe her. We can just leave her here.”

  “No, she knows too much. She’s seen the page. She knows about the keys. Sure, the police won’t believe her, but she knows too much about what happened to her aunt. This evening I found that someone, obviously Misty, the meddlesome girl, had forced a window, and the selenium bottle had been moved from its place. She knows too much,” she said yet again. “We can’t risk it.”

  I was waiting for Douglas to argue, but he didn’t speak. Finally he turned and looked at me and shrugged. “Sorry Misty, she has a point. Nothing personal.”

  Cassandra put her hand on his arm. “Not here, Douglas. There will be too many questions. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. I’ll make a call and have them take her to London near a club. They’ll fix it.”

  While Cassandra was making the call, Douglas untied me from the bedposts and threw me over his shoulder. I was too weak and sick to struggle, but did the best I could to scratch and bite him.

  We were at the bottom of the stairs when John Smith burst through the door. Douglas tossed me at John and knocked him down. Despite being under my full weight and me being too feeble to help, John rolled me off him quite fast. I looked up to the top of the stairs, half expecting to be looking down the barrel of a gun, but there was no sign of Douglas or Cassandra.

  As John was scrabbling to his feet I warned him, “Gun, John, Cassandra has a gun.”

  John hesitated for a moment. “I’d better not leave you here and go after them, then.” He dropped to one knee, concern all over his face. “Are you okay?”

  “She drugged me and tied me up. They were going to kill me.” To my extreme embarrassment, I burst out crying, and not just polite weeping, but loud racking sobs. John at once picked me up and carried me to his car, and then he stood outside the car and made a call.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital!” I said as soon as he got into the car. I’ve had a fear of hospitals since I was a child.

  “Don’t worry. I’m taking you home and calling the doctor.”

  “No, I don’t want a doctor!” I was afraid of doctors too.

  John turned to me and smiled. “I don’t like doctors either, but you’ll like her. She’s a nice, elderly lady with a great sense of humour.”

  “Like Cassandra?” I said sarcastically. I thought about Cassandra. I had thought her a nice old lady. I had thought Douglas a friend too.

  John called the doctor while I tried to process the night’s events. It was all too much, and I had a nasty headache. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pounding in my head. “How did I near where I was?”

  “How did you near?” He sounded puzzled.

  I shook my head carefully and tried to find the right words. “No, I mean, how did you hear where I was? In Cassandra’s house?”

  When he didn’t answer for a moment, I looked across at him. “Oh, you have Cassandra’s house bugged?”

  “Something like that.” John looked straight ahead at the road.

  John drove out on the M40 and headed in the direction of London, as far as I could tell. I wondered where John lived, and that jolted my memory. “John! I know where Douglas lives.”

  “So do I, Misty, but nothing can be done. We can’t go to the police and say that Douglas and Cassandra have Paul Whitehead’s urn and heart casket, and that now they have a page with alchemical symbols on it that allows people to restore their youth, and that they attempted to murder you as a result.”

  That made sense, even in my drugged state. “If Cassandra and Douglas have the urn with the symbols, then why did they need the page?” Talking was an effort, but I needed to know.

  “The urn didn’t have all the symbols. It was a decoy. Do you know the story of Paul Whitehead burning all his records three days before his death?”

  I nodded, but that hurt my head horribly, so I said, “Yes.”

  “Paul Whitehead destroyed all evidence of the symbols, and also put false symbols on his urn as a decoy. He couldn’t have known about the cavern, which was already in use at that time by the Black Lodge. We can only assume he found out someone was about to use the symbols, so did his best to destroy anything that could be used, including hims
elf, so no one would be able to torture him to get what they wanted. He was Keeper of the Dashwood Trust, just as your Aunt was Keeper.”

  I still didn’t know how John knew all this and what his part in it all was. I was still wondering whether to ask him, we arrived at the end of a quiet lane and stopped at a set of tall metal gates, not unlike the gates outside Douglas’s house. The gates opened. As we drove along the impressive brick-paved drive and parking area in front of the house and garages, several security cameras swung around to track us. Is John in MI5? This looked like a house for James Bond.

  John’s house was every bit as impressive as Douglas’s, but while Douglas’s looked Georgian, John’s house appeared to be newly built in a traditional style. It was sleek and expensive. The white brick house was symmetrical, with the four huge windows on each side flanked by decorative dark blue shutters. A balcony with a balustrade overlooked the front garden.

  The Audi pulled up in front of the huge double doors, and before I could protest, John picked me up. I was awfully embarrassed, but I wasn’t sure I could walk, and felt slightly nauseous.

  John carried me through the generously proportioned reception room with ornate ceiling cornices, up the stairs and to the rear of the house into what I presumed was the master bedroom.

  My attention was drawn immediately to the magnificent Louis XV Fleur de Peche cheminee – an antique, marble fireplace with black granite slips and hearth. Even the bedroom afforded a great feeling of space. The huge windows allowed natural light to flood in. The wide bay and double doors led to a Juliet balcony which no doubt provided views over the garden.

  John lowered me onto the bed, but I objected. “No, don’t put me down here. I’ll get blood all over it.”

  “There is no blood.” John gently showed me my wrists. They were grazed from the ropes all right, but no blood. I had felt dirty and bleeding, but now I realised I’d had a bath just before Cassandra had drugged me. It must have been the wine. After all, it had tasted funny. I was clean after all, so no need to feel so guilty on the pristine bed. Just as well, as John insisted I get in between the covers.

  A buzzer sounded and John picked up a device and spoke into it. “The doctor,” he informed me.

  The doctor was, after all, a nice, elderly lady who put me at my ease rather quickly. She acted as if it were an everyday occurrence to be abducted by a couple of regenerating criminals. Unfortunately, her advice was that there was no instant cure for the drug I’d been given; it would simply wear off. I had to take things easy for a few days and stay well hydrated.

  Now that I was alone, I surveyed the room. Off to the left was a large dressing room and I guessed that an en suite bathroom was on the other side. From my position, I could see a range of closets, drawers and a central island, which appeared to have more drawers. The dressing room seemed as big as my bedroom back home.

  The bedroom itself was minimalist. There was no sign of a woman’s touch. The tones were solely masculine, silver and black against a neutral palette. Apart from the bed, the only pieces furniture were two bedside tables, each with an expensive looking glass and black lamp. I felt groggy and tired, and floated off to dreamland.

  Chapter 17

  I awoke the next morning to see John looking at me. “What are you doing here?” I said in alarm.

  John looked a little embarrassed. “Just checking to see if you’re okay. Breakfast is ready.” He disappeared out the door.

  I had a quick shower and then followed the heavenly and oh-so-welcome scent of good coffee downstairs.

  The kitchen screamed ‘expensive’ from the white granite work surfaces to the overwhelming surplus of appliances: two fridge freezers, a wine cooler, combination microwave oven and steam oven, two dishwashers, a faucet which I figured would dispense both boiling water and ice water, and a waste compactor, oversized double ovens and a plate warmer.

  “Coffee?”

  “Oh yes, please, I’d kill for a coffee.”

  “Coming up.”

  John guided me past the expanse of gleaming white through double doors onto a terrace overlooking the garden. Rather than the flowers, my attention was taken by the high brick walls and security cameras. I tried not to stare, and instead sipped my coffee. Oh, it was good, and not a gritty bit in sight. When my caffeine levels had risen to the minimum daily requirement, I spoke. “John, this house is very big for, um, one person, isn’t it?”

  “Not really, the style is deceptive. It only has four bedrooms and five bathrooms, and two reception rooms and several office rooms.”

  “Only four bedrooms, that’s huge! Is there just you?” I hadn’t wanted to ask straight out. I thought my initial question would have been enough to get the answer.

  “No.”

  I nodded and gulped the coffee.

  “I don’t own it,” he continued. “I just live here most of the time, and so do several of my colleagues from time to time.”

  I was relieved. “So it’s owned by your work?”

  John nodded.

  “Do you work for MI5—or Torchwood?”

  I thought John would laugh, but his expression turned serious. “We have to talk. Would you like another coffee?”

  John left to get my refill, and I was alone with my thoughts. I thought his trace of an accent had sounded Welsh. Goodness me, the drugs must still be in my system. Of course Torchwood, which had been set in Wales, was fiction. What was I thinking?

  John returned with my welcome second coffee and a bunch of papers in his hand. “Misty, you need to sign the Official Secrets Act.”

  I burst out laughing to the extent that I splashed some coffee on my knee. “Pull the other one!”

  He frowned. “Sorry?”

  “Oh, that’s an Aussie expression meaning ‘good joke.’”

  John’s frown deepened. “Misty, this is serious. I do work for, well, let’s just say, a government organisation, and Cassandra and Douglas have been people of interest to us for some time. You’re a journalist, and you have knowledge of Cassandra and Douglas, the alchemical symbols, and the Black Lodge. Read these documents carefully and then sign them. You cannot mention anything pertaining to these subjects ever again.” He handed me the papers and a pen.

  “People would think I was crazy if I did. Do you work for something like the Ministry of Magic, making sure we Muggles don’t find out what’s really going on?”

  John looked confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  It was my turn to shake my head. No wonder I hadn’t seen any bookshelves or DVDs in his bedroom. I shrugged. “Just a literary reference. Just one more thing, John, you’re not immortal and you don’t sparkle in the sunlight or shape-shift, do you?”

  I thought John was about to call the doctor back by the look on his face. “No?”

  “Okay, just checking.” I sipped my coffee and read the documents, which were full of legalese. They took about fourteen pages to tell me that I couldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone or I would suffer dire consequences. It would have been much simpler and saved a tree or two had they simply written, I, the undersigned, will not breathe a word of this to anyone or you will throw me in prison.

  John watched me sign the papers. “Misty, there’s more you need to know. The Black Lodge killed Beth.”

  I nodded. “I know. It was Cassandra herself. Merlin the cat was in Cassandra’s house yesterday and I had to force the window to get her back. I found a bottle of sodium selenite in there. Cassandra told me that Aunt Beth killed herself to protect the page, and that the Keepers of Beth’s society will kill themselves to protect things like the page, just like Paul Whitehead did.”

  John stared at me intently. “And did you believe that?”

  “No. I’d already figured it out. Cassandra believed that Aunt Beth was about to destroy the page, so she murdered her before she could. I can’t figure out why she’d lie to me, though, when she was obviously intending to kill me anyway.” I shuddered.

  John nodded. “Y
ou were right to think that Cassandra killed your aunt. Did Cassandra tell you that before you gave her the page?”

  I considered that. “Yes, I see what you mean. She was lying.”

  “Clearly. And I can’t speak for Paul Whitehead, but Keepers don’t usually kill themselves.”

  I chewed the edge of one fingernail. “I don’t know how Dr Spence figures in all this though.”

  John replied without hesitation. “He was in the same society as your aunt. He was simply covering things up.”

  I was about to ask John how he knew this, when he dropped another bombshell. “Misty, you’re the new Keeper.”

  I was stunned and made to object, but John held up his hand. “I don’t know anything much about the society, just that it’s a hereditary position, and that you’re the new Keeper. No doubt you’ll be hearing from them soon.”

  “The Keeper of the Dashwood Trust?”

  He shook his head. “No, another secret society entirely.”

  “What’s its name?”

  John shook his head.

  After a moment, I added, “Are they bad or good?”

  John swirled his coffee around in the mug before answering. “I suppose that depends whose side you’re on, if you want to get philosophical about it. All governments, for example, do things that the people would be shocked to find out, all for ‘the greater good.’ But don’t worry, Misty. You’re now the Keeper of a society that is generally considered good, just as the Black Lodge is definitely evil. But don’t feel bad about giving Cassandra the page.”

  “I don’t feel bad.”

  John looked surprised, but I continued. “I’m a researcher, you know. I made a copy of that page and hid it, knowing that they’d keep looking for it. I left out three of the symbols. I researched the way to make the paper look old, like the original. I won’t bore you with the details, but it involved coffee, lemon juice, and a hair dryer. There is no way Cassandra will get her youth back, if it’s even possible.”