by Morgana Best
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 furniture was two bedside tables, each with an expensive looking glass and black lamp. I felt groggy and tired, and floated off to dreamland.
Chapter 18
I awoke the next morning to see Jamie looking at me. “What are you doing here?” I said in alarm.
Jamie 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.
“Omelet?”
“Oh yes, please, but I’d kill for a coffee.”
“Coming up.”
Jamie 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. “Jamie, 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?”
Jamie nodded.
“Do you work for MI6—or Torchwood?”
I thought Jamie would laugh, but his expression turned serious. “We have to talk. Would you like another coffee?”
Jamie left to get my refill, and I was alone with my thoughts. I thought his 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?
Jamie 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’.”
Jamie’s frown deepened. “Misty, this is serious. I do work for, well, let’s just say, a government organization, 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.
“Well, 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?”
Jamie 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, Jamie, you’re not immortal and you don’t sparkle in the sunlight or shape-shift, do you?”
I thought Jamie 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.
Jamie 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. Diva 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.”
Jamie 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.
Jamie nodded. “You 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.”
Jamie replied without hesitation. “He was in the same society as your aunt. He was simply covering things up.”
I was about to ask Jamie how he knew this, when he dropped another bombshell. “Misty, you’re the new Keeper.”
I was stunned and started to object, but Jamie 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.”
“Are they bad or good?”
Jamie 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 which 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.”
Jamie 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.”
We both laughed, but then Jamie sobered up. “You’re booked to fly back to Australia tomorrow. Obviously you can’t stay here any longer as it mightn’t be safe. Cassandra, Douglas, and the Black Lodge mightn’t yet know that they don’t have what they want, but we can’t take any chances.”
The enormity of it hit me. Of course I couldn’t hang around the UK and that meant that I’d have to leave Jamie. But what about the cat? “Jamie, I’ve inherited Aunt Beth’s cat, Diva. I’ll have to get her back to Australia somehow. I’ll need time to arrange that. I’ll have to look into quarantine, and I imagine there’ll need to be vet checks first, and I’ll have to pay for her flight.” I drew a deep breath, suddenly worried about Diva.
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll organize it.”
“You’ll arrange it all? I’ll send the money over for her flight.” I wondered where on earth I’d get the rest of the money, as I was sure that Aunt Beth’s thousand pounds wouldn’t cover it all. Perhaps I’d have to get yet another credit card.
Jamie shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll a
ll be arranged. We’ll take care of it. We’ll have the cat delivered to your address as soon as possible.”
I wanted to insist, but it was better that way. If the undisclosed government agency would pay for Diva’s flight and quarantine, all well and good. I thought it would be better to stay silent.
I looked up to see Jamie regarding me. “And I’ll send someone over to your aunt’s house to fetch Diva now. She can stay with me until she leaves for Australia.”
“Thank you. That would be great!” I said with huge relief. I smiled at him in what I am sure would have appeared to an observer to be quite a sickening way, only there were no observers as the security had seen to that.
Chapter 19
I awoke the next morning exhausted after alternating between tossing and turning and being scratched by Diva, so I dressed hurriedly and quickly put on my make up. Diva, as well as my things, had arrived the afternoon before from Aunt Beth’s house.
Jamie was downstairs in the kitchen. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he was unshaven, dressed only in a bath robe. He had dark circles under his eyes. I assumed that Diva had slipped into his bedroom at some point in the night.
“Misty, we’re running late,” he said in an urgent tone. “Here’s your coffee.” He put my coffee down and frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t drive you to Heathrow. Our agents will be driving you. It mightn’t be safe for the two of us to appear together so soon in such a public place. It’ll only draw attention to you. I’m quite sure you should be safe at this stage, but we have to err on the side of caution.”
I simply nodded.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” By way of goodbye, I managed to stroke Diva’s fur before she swiped at me.
The three guys who drove me to the airport didn’t say a word, stiff upper lip and all that. I stared out the window trying not to cry. My whole time in England had been an emotional rollercoaster.
Thankfully, the journey wasn’t long. As we approached Terminal 3 at Heathrow, I was informed that I was to proceed straight to security and not to acknowledge the presence of the men, who, they also informed me, would be nearby keeping an eye on my safety.
I picked up my luggage and walked without incident through security, and then looked for coffee. I still didn’t feel one hundred percent, and the lack of sleep last night had left my head full of cotton wool. I usually would go straight to Starbucks, but this time walked into AMT Coffee, attracted by the signs boasting both fairtrade and organic. I handed over around three pounds for a large vanilla soy latte, and was surprised that I didn’t have to pay extra for the soy. The chocolate croissant looked good, but I knew that the food on Qantas flights was abundant and I’d soon have plenty to eat on the plane.
After a second tall vanilla soy latte, it was time to go to the bathroom. The men from Jamie’s unexplained government organization were still there, although inconspicuous, even to me. I wondered how they would feel about me going to the bathroom.
I was drying my hands when a tall, elegant woman approached me. She was holding a large envelope and I figured at first that she must have been one of those people who approaches gullible looking tourists and asks them to carry a package on a flight. She handed me the package, said, “Open it in private,” and gently pushed me back into the stall, all in one fluid motion. My time in England had been weird, and it looked like the weirdness was going to follow me right up to my departure.
I shut the door behind me and tore open the envelope. Inside was my silver chain, minus the keys and the seal. There was also a note, made from a piece of paper folded over. I opened it and read it.
I thought you’d like your chain back. We owe you a favor. Cassandra believed that the chamber had been destroyed. We lied to her as she was causing us too much trouble and we didn’t want her to rejuvenate. Your fake page will fix that.
Oh, and no hard feelings, I hope.
Douglas. xxx
P.S. Flush the envelope and this note.
I laughed despite myself. The nerve of that man! At least I could see the funny side of it. I put the chain around my neck and under my shirt, and flushed the envelope and the note in the toilet.
I walked back out and looked at myself in the mirror. In a couple of weeks I had acquired a cat of questionable temperament but lovable nonetheless, had solved a murder, had become the Keeper of a society about which I knew absolutely nothing, and had been thrust into a world of alchemy and secret societies.
I wondered what the next few weeks had in store for me.
* * * The End * * *
Book 2
A Reason for Murder
Chapter 1
The doll was lying on my doorstep. I knew better than to touch it. Its black eyes were fixed on me and radiated malice. It was made from black fabric and covered in black pins, and worse still, it was enclosed by a white gauze funeral shroud. A piece of my hair was tied to its hair, and a piece of my scarf was pinned to it.
Even if I hadn’t recognized this as a death curse, the objects in my driveway were a giveaway. A large pentagram was drawn in chalk on the pavement, and a skull glowed in the middle. Upside-down black candles burned at each point of the pentagram. The stench of sulfur and red peppers reached my doorway.
To most people, especially Australians, this would appear as nothing more than a prank by teenagers.
However, I’m a journalist, and I had interviewed an author for an article on New Orleans Hoodoo voodoo only last year. I had found out then that voodoo dolls were mostly for healing, but it was clear that this doll was made by someone with malevolent intent. The pentagram was a different matter. That was clearly intended simply to frighten me.
Chapter 2
I should backtrack to where it all started. I remember it well. It was only a few days ago, after all.
The piercing tones of my subeditor’s voice reached from her office and penetrated my eardrums. I’m sure she’d had servants in a former life. “Misty! I want you to do an article on Hunter Valley Ghost Tours.” I couldn’t hear the rest—I guess she wasn’t yelling as loudly as usual. I walked into her office.
“Sit.” The subeditor, known to her employees as Skinny Troll, barked out the command and pointed to a chair opposite her desk. I expect she thought she was Cesar Millan. “Some guys used to run Hunter Valley Ghost Tours and the newspapers say that something that happened at Morpeth made them shut down. It’s been a feature in a few of the local newspapers. Write one thousand words on it and source some photos. Get it right.”
I liked the ‘olde worlde’ town of Morpeth. I had passed through it several times. Morpeth was Australia’s first river port and at the navigable head of the Hunter River. It was as far from Newcastle in the state of New South Wales in Australia as its namesake, Morpeth, was from the town of Newcastle in England. That, and the fact that it sold wonderful pumpkin soup and good coffee, was about all I knew of the town. I was thinking I’d like to visit again when Skinny’s high pitched voice dashed my hopes.
“No need to go there. Call one of the tour guides and interview him, and just get the rest off the net. Make sure it’s well written. Take it to the next level.”
Skinny pointed to the door, so I dutifully got up and left, passing Melissa on her way in. We raised our eyebrows. Skinny Troll, or Daisy to her friends, not that she had any, was the subeditor of the paranormal magazine for which I was a journalist and blogger. Daisy had taken a dislike both to me and to my fellow journalist, Melissa, and as she was our subeditor, this made our workplace difficult. Our boss, Keith, was a reasonable man, but Daisy had his ear.
Daisy constantly complained that she couldn’t put on weight no matter what she ate, and remarked that it was a shame that the other female journalists at the magazine didn’t share her problem. She often met us in the morning with, “Have you put on a little weight?” or, “When are you going back to the gym?” while looking us up and down.
I sighed and walked back to my desk. Despite the b
usiness having shut down, the Hunter Valley Ghost Tours website was still live and had links to the newspaper articles about its closure, which I figured would make my life easier. If only I’d known.
I was still googling an hour later when Melissa carefully positioned a black coffee with a double shot of caramel between the files of paper on my desk.
“Oh Melissa, thank you. You’re a godsend.”
Melissa noisily slurped her coffee before speaking. “I have some bad news. I don’t know how to break it to you gently, so I’m going to come straight out and say it. Skinny wants Keith to fire you.”
I nearly spat out my coffee. “What? Why? How did you find out?” I was horrified. Jobs were hard to find in this economic climate, and I was flat out making my mortgage payments each month as it was.
“Pillow talk.” I knew this was a reference to Melissa dating Keith, the owner of the magazine. No one else at the paper knew, least of all Skinny. “Don’t worry. He has no intention of firing you, but you know what Skinny’s like. She actually doesn’t care which one of us gets fired, but of course Keith won’t fire me.” She winked. “The magazine’s figures have been down a little over the last three months, so Skinny suggested getting rid of one of us. Keith didn’t seriously consider it, but I’m just giving you the heads up. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”
I groaned. “Well, I’m in real trouble with this assignment she’s just given me. Some guys ran Hunter Valley Ghost Tours, which their website says was a huge hit and brought a lot of business to the local towns. Something happened in Morpeth that made them shut down the business. The newspapers barely mention it.” I took a couple of gulps of my coffee which was lukewarm but nevertheless welcome.