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  The Witching Hour

  Cozy Mystery with Magical Elements

  Morgana Best

  The Witching Hour

  Cozy Mystery with Magical Elements

  (His Ghoul Friday, Book 2)

  Copyright © 2019 by Morgana Best

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 9781925674934

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book may contain references to specific commercial products, process or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and/or trade names of products, which are trademarks or registered trademarks and/or trade names, and these are property of their respective owners. Morgana Best or her associates, have no association with any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and / or trade names of products.

  Contents

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Connect with Morgana

  Next Book In This Series

  Also by Morgana Best

  About Morgana Best

  Glossary

  Some Australian spellings and expressions are entirely different from US spellings and expressions. Below are just a few examples. It would take an entire book to list all the differences.

  The author has used Australian spelling in this series. Here are a few examples: Mum instead of the US spelling Mom, neighbour instead of the US spelling neighbor, realise instead of the US spelling realize. It is Ms, Mr and Mrs in Australia, not Ms., Mr. and Mrs.; defence not defense; judgement not judgment; cosy and not cozy; 1930s not 1930’s; offence not offense; centre not center; towards not toward; jewellery not jewelry; favour not favor; mould not mold; two storey house not two story house; practise (verb) not practice (verb); odour not odor; smelt not smelled; travelling not traveling; liquorice not licorice; cheque not check; leant not leaned; have concussion not have a concussion; anti clockwise not counterclockwise; go to hospital not go to the hospital; sceptic not skeptic; aluminium not aluminum; learnt not learned. We have fancy dress parties not costume parties. We don’t say gotten. We say car crash (or accident) not car wreck. We say a herb not an herb as we produce the ‘h.’

  The above are just a few examples.

  It’s not just different words; Aussies sometimes use different expressions in sentence structure. We might eat a curry not eat curry. We might say in the main street not on the main street. Someone might be going well instead of doing well. We might say without drawing breath not without drawing a breath.

  These are just some of the differences.

  Please note that these are not mistakes or typos, but correct, normal Aussie spelling, terms, and syntax.

  * * *

  AUSTRALIAN SLANG AND TERMS

  Benchtops - counter tops (kitchen)

  Big Smoke - a city

  Blighter - infuriating or good-for-nothing person

  Blimey! - an expression of surprise

  Bloke - a man (usually used in nice sense, “a good bloke”)

  Blue (noun) - an argument (“to have a blue”)

  Bluestone - copper sulphate (copper sulfate in US spelling)

  Bluo - a blue laundry additive, an optical brightener

  Boot (car) - trunk (car)

  Bonnet (car) - hood (car)

  Bore - a drilled water well

  Budgie smugglers (variant: budgy smugglers) - named after the Aussie native bird, the budgerigar. A slang term for brief and tight-fitting men’s swimwear

  Bugger! - as an expression of surprise, not a swear word

  Bugger - as in “the poor bugger” - refers to an unfortunate person (not a swear word)

  Bunging it on - faking something, pretending

  Bush telegraph - the grapevine, the way news spreads by word of mouth in the country

  Car park - parking lot

  Cark it - die

  Chooks - chickens

  Come good - turn out okay

  Copper, cop - police officer

  Coot - silly or annoying person

  Cream bun - a sweet bread roll with copious amounts of cream, plus jam (= jelly in US) in the centre

  Crook - 1. “Go crook (on someone)” - to berate them. 2. (someone is) crook - (someone is) ill. 3. Crook (noun) - a criminal

  Demister (in car) - defroster

  Drongo - an idiot

  Dunny - an outhouse, a toilet, often ramshackle

  Fair crack of the whip - a request to be fair, reasonable, just

  Flannelette (fabric) - cotton, wool, or synthetic fabric, one side of which has a soft finish.

  Flat out like a lizard drinking water - very busy

  Galah - an idiot

  Garbage - trash

  G’day - Hello

  Give a lift (to someone) - give a ride (to someone)

  Goosebumps - goose pimples

  Gumboots - rubber boots, wellingtons

  Knickers - women’s underwear

  Laundry (referring to the room) - laundry room

  Lamingtons - iconic Aussie cakes, square, sponge, chocolate-dipped, and coated with desiccated coconut. Some have a layer of cream and strawberry jam (= jelly in US) between the two halves.

  Lift - elevator

  Like a stunned mullet - very surprised

  Mad as a cut snake - either insane or very angry

  Mallee bull (as fit as, as mad as) - angry and/or fit, robust, super strong.

  Miles - while Australians have kilometres these days, it is common to use expressions such as, “The road stretched for miles,” “It was miles away.”

  Moleskins - woven heavy cotton fabric with suede-like finish, commonly used as working wear, or as town clothes

  Mow (grass / lawn) - cut (grass / lawn)

  Neenish tarts - Aussie tart. Pastry base. Filling is based on sweetened condensed milk mixture or mock cream. Some have layer of raspberry jam (jam = jelly in US). Topping is in two equal halves: icing (= frosting in US), usually chocolate on one side, and either lemon or pink or the other.

  Pub - The pub at the south of a small town is often referred to as the ‘bottom pub’ and the pub at the north end of town, the ‘top pub.’ The size of a small town is often judged by the number of pubs - i.e. “It’s a three pub town.”

  Red cattle dog - (variant: blue cattle dog usually known as a ‘blue dog’) - referring to the breed of Australian Cattle Dog. However, a ‘red dog’ is usually a red kelpie (another breed of dog)

  Shoot through - leave

  Shout (a drink) - to buy a drink for someone

  Skull (a drink) - drink a whole drink without stopping

  Stone the crows! - an expression of surprise

  Takeaway (food) - Take Out (food)

  Toilet - also refers to the room if it is separate from the bathroom

  Torch - flashlight

  Tuck in (to
food) - to eat food hungrily

  Ute /Utility - pickup truck

  Vegemite - Australian food spread, thick, dark brown

  Wardrobe - closet

  Windscreen - windshield

  * * *

  Indigenous References

  Bush tucker - food that occurs in the Australian bush

  Koori - the original inhabitants/traditional custodians of the land of Australia in the part of NSW in which this book is set. Murri are the people just to the north. White European culture often uses the term, Aboriginal people.

  Chapter 1

  I awoke with a start. Someone was shaking me gently.

  “Misty, wake up! It’s morning.”

  Cordelia had stayed overnight. We had binge watched The Wicked Adventures of Sabrina for most of the night. At some point in the night we had fallen asleep.

  “I can’t believe I slept on the sofa all night,” I said to Cordelia as I stretched and yawned.

  She rubbed her neck. “Well, I slept on the chair. We’d better hurry so we’re not late for work. We have a lovely day to look forward to with Skinny.” Every syllable dripped with sarcasm.

  Skinny was Daisy, the editor of the magazine where Cordelia and I worked. She did everything she could to make our lives a misery and filled the boss’s ear with tales of our incompetence. Daisy constantly commented on what Cordelia and I ate, which led to us calling her Skinny, not to her face, of course.

  “Things couldn’t get any worse,” I said with a laugh.

  Cordelia headed to the kitchen, presumably to make coffee, but she was only gone a minute or two before she hurried back, minus the coffee. “It’s that nosy mail lady! I just caught a glimpse of her coming up the path.”

  In my small country town, Julie delivers the parcels from her van direct to people’s doorsteps and her husband, Craig, delivers letters and small envelopes into letterboxes on his motorcycle. I apparently have one of those faces that encourages people to speak to me, and for months now, Julie has told me all her marital problems as well as all the town gossip, real or imagined.

  I tiptoed to the nearest window and peeked out. To my horror, Julie was waving a letter at the front door.

  “It’s not a bill for once,” she screeched. “I know you’re in there, Misty!”

  I sighed and opened the door. Julie made to push inside, but I kept my weight firmly against the door. “Thanks,” I said as I took the letter from her. “Where’s Craig?”

  “I told him I wanted to deliver this letter to you, seeing that it’s from England. Do you know anyone in England?”

  “No. Bye, Julie. See you next time.” I pushed the door with my shoulder and locked it. I waited for a while until she was out of earshot.

  “Has she opened your mail again?” Cordelia asked me.

  I inspected the letter. “I don’t think so. If she has, she’s done a better job than usual of gluing it back together. She’s right though, the postmark is from England.”

  “Maybe somebody died and left you a sizeable inheritance,” Cordelia said hopefully.

  “I wish! Oh, not that someone died,” I added lamely. I turned the envelope over, but water damage had ruined the return address.

  Cordelia looked over my shoulder. “What does it say?”

  I ripped the letter open. The letter was handwritten in a flowery scroll. I read it aloud.

  “My dearest Misty, I fear I am not long for this world. I am writing to you because I would like you to collect items pertaining to the family history. I have something very important to give you. I also have photos and charts, some back to the Domesday Book. These are too valuable to send to you, so I need you to visit me to collect them at your earliest convenience.”

  “What else did she say?” Cordelia asked.

  I handed her the letter. It was overpowered by the scent of violets with a hint of naphthalene. “Nothing else. Aunt Beth writes as if I can simply pop across the other side of the world to collect whatever she wants to give me,” I said with a laugh.

  We both shrugged and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. I wouldn’t have given it another thought or even replied in any hurry. It’s not as if she had left an email address.

  It’s only that, as I was throwing the letter down on the kitchen table, I saw the return address at the top of the letter, High Wycombe.

  Chapter 2

  My boss narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “No, of course we won’t pay for you to go to England! What do you think our budget is?” Red splotches appeared on his neck.

  I avoided his gaze and looked at the cheap print of sailing ships covering a large portion of the wall behind him. “I only want the airfare. Return airfare,” I added for good measure, just in case he got any ideas. “The accommodation won’t cost you anything. Surely you can claim the flights as a tax deduction?”

  He opened his mouth, so I spoke quickly. “My accommodation’s already arranged in High Wycombe, and it’s right next to West Wycombe. You could do the whole magazine as a UK feature. You’ve already assigned me to work on the Hellfire Club for the Haunted issue, but I could go there in person and make it a much bigger feature. You could do a whole issue on it.”

  His face turned from bright red to a paler pink, which gave me enough encouragement to press on. “West Wycombe is home not just to the Hellfire Club, but to West Wycombe Park and the Dashwood Mausoleum. Oh, and nearby there’s Medmenham Abbey and the Green Man of Fingest. I could do a whole bunch of articles for the one feature.”

  I said it all in one breath and then sat down in the rickety blue chair opposite his desk. I vaguely thought that the budget must be bad if the magazine couldn’t afford better chairs than this. And don’t get me started on the painting.

  My boss’s expression was continuing to improve, and I took him sitting back in his chair, tapping his pen, as a good sign. Keith was the managing editor of the biggest (not that that’s saying much, there weren’t many) paranormal magazine in Australia.

  Straight after my university degree, I had landed a job as a journalist on one of Australia’s most prominent newspapers. Unfortunately, at the same time I had started dating Steve, then a postgraduate law student. For the entire three years we dated, I had to pay for both of us at restaurants and even at coffee shops. Lending him money was a regular occurrence. When I finally complained, Steve said I was selfish and thinking only of myself.

  The previous year, Steve had landed a position with a prestigious law firm in Australia’s capital city, Canberra, and at the same time left me for a younger, thinner version of myself, but managed to turn it all back on me, as usual. Within a month I was fired from my newspaper job, which I found highly suspicious, and I’m sure Steve had a hand in it. After living on noodles and rice for some time, I finally managed to find a journalism position at the paranormal magazine.

  Keith’s voice brought me back to the present. “I’ll call the accountant and then call you later. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  With a wave of his hand, Keith dismissed me from his office.

  In my excitement about wanting to go to England and having someone else pay for it, I had forgotten to consider whether or not it was a good idea. I decided to consult the Oracle, a mysterious book given to me by a self-confessed vampire. I wasn’t even sure if vampires existed, but I had seen mermaids with my own eyes and so I had to keep an open mind. Besides, the Oracle book was miraculous in itself. The pages were blank unless I asked the book a question, and then writing appeared.

  As soon as I got home from work, I hurried to my desk and unlocked the single big drawer. I kept the Oracle book hidden there, wrapped in dark blue velvet. I picked it up and took it to the kitchen table, carefully unwrapping the velvet. I stared at the book with its ornate gold writing. I simply asked the book, “Should I go to England?”

  The book opened by itself, the pages flipping as if a strong wind had blown into the room. Of course, there was no wind. All the windows were shut, and the fan was not on. When the p
ages stopped flipping, I popped on my reading glasses and bent over the book. I gasped at the words.

  Yes. Someone will die.

  I scratched my head. The book said I should go to England, but also said someone would die. I sat down on a dining chair and considered the matter. Would there be a death if I didn’t go to England? Was there a deeper meaning to the prophecy? Or did the book simply mean I should go, and was merely mentioning in passing that someone would die?

  It put me in a head spin. I would have dearly loved to ask the book another question, but I figured it was like tarot cards—it wasn’t a good idea to consult the cards twice in a row simply because I wasn’t satisfied with the first reading. I wrapped the book back in the velvet cloth and returned it to my drawer.

  A knock on the door made me jump. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I flung open the door to see Aunty June. “This is a shock,” I said, followed by, “A nice one, though.”

  Aunty June was dressed all in red, as usual. I caught a flash of bright red jeans and a bright red shirt before she enveloped me in a big hug and pushed past me into the house.

  “I hardly ever see you, Aunty June, and now I’ve seen you twice in quick succession.”

  “Your life is getting more exciting now, Misty,” she said. “You used to lead such a horribly dull, boring life.” She smiled and nodded as she said it.

  “Err thanks, I think,” I said. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, and I bought some wine to wash it down.” She waved a bottle of wine at me. “It’s Moscato, your favourite. Now what news do you have?”