The Witching Hour (The Witches Pendragon Mystery Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

heard enough. She rises to her feet, her eyes steady as she meets Claire-Elaine’s. “Madam, we are not exorcists. I have convinced a few ghosts in my day to move on –some refuse to do it. We shall at the very least try to communicate with whatever presence lives in your home and bring it to some sort of understanding. Sister Monique sensed something sinister when we drove up.”
    From her seat on the sofa, Monique nods.
    Claire-Elaine looks both relieved and vindicated, the corners of her lips turn up into a weary smile.
    “Now if you don’t mind, we would like to have a look around.”
    “I’ll show you the way.” Claire-Elaine motions to the hallway.
    “No,” Hatha stops her. “The four of us should split up and go in different directions. We will need access to the entire castle.”
    “Is that really necessary?” the Count questions at the same time that Claire-Elaine says, “Absolutely, please have a look around, you may go wherever you wish.”
     
     
    *****
     
    When Claire-Elaine said, “You may go wherever you wish,” I didn’t think I would be given the task of searching the tunnels underneath the castle. Before I head down the stairs, the Count hands me a flashlight. “The wiring is old and the bulbs in the basement are dim,” he informs me with a grimace.
    Well, that sounds awful , I think, and brace myself for the unpleasant task of searching for a ghost in a dimly-lit medieval castle basement. I switch my flashlight on and swish it around. Before me the stone stairs are configured round and round like a corkscrew. The steps are so old that at the bottom they have simply melted away into a ramp. Here I lose my footing, and start to slide, ending up with a bruised tailbone after I hit the floor.
    “Ow!” I mutter, standing up and rubbing my derriere. The Count was right, it’s so dim it’s as if the electrical system cannot keep up. The wall-mounted fixtures are very faint, emitting small patches of light. They make a crackling noise as electricity hums along the aging wires. I swish my flashlight around the room, revealing hundreds of cast-off objects from eras past –mostly excess furniture covered in white cloths, but also baby items: a white cradle, a plastic washing tub, and a tricycle are all piled high in one corner.
    I am a pagan. I am a witch. And I am distinctly uncomfortable down here by myself.
    Come on, ole girl, how bad could it be? It’s just a basement . I give myself a pep talk as I walk along, my high-heels clicking on the stone under my feet. I stop and stare at what must be some of the world’s largest stone footers, running my hand along the rough stone. The footer is so old pieces of mortar chip off and fall to the ground.
    “Ah, but technically speaking you are not as old as me,” I whisper to the footers. “I was born in 520 A.D., so I have you beat by over half a millennium, I’m sure.”
    After the crowded first room, I duck my head under an archway and enter the next one. Here, the wall-mounted lights seem to have died some time ago. Without my flashlight it would be pitch black. I swish it around, watching the beam bouncing all over the place, not having the slightest idea what I’m looking for. Along one side of the floor I notice the stones form a little channel, probably a medieval system to collect any water that might enter the basement, but I’m not really sure. Nervously, I follow the narrow groove in the floor to a low stone arch.
    Hmm, I wonder what they used to store in there.
    I am just bending down to have a look when the lights on the wall flicker to life as if they have been hit by some sort of electrical impulse. When they go out again, I stare into the black void with my flashlight. In the hollowed out archway I see more wine barrels stacked choc-a-bloc.
    “Allo?” comes a high-pitched female voice from somewhere among the barrels.
    “Sweet Eostre!” I scream, invoking the name of the spring goddess. In my terrified state, I drop my