Bark Side of the Moon: A Paranormal Animal Cozy Mystery (Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 3) Read online

  Bark Side of the Moon:

  Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book Three

  by

  JEANNIE WYCHERLEY

  Copyright © 2020 Jeannie Wycherley

  Bark at the Moon Books

  All rights reserved

  Publishers note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and for effect or are used with permission. Any other resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  Bark Side of the Moon was edited by Christine L Baker

  Cover design by JC Clarke of The Graphics Shed.

  Formatting by Tammy

  Proofing by Johnny Bon Bon

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Have you enjoyed Spellbound Hound Book Three?

  Master of Puppies: Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 4

  Read the Wonky Inn Books

  The Wonky Inn Series

  Also by Jeannie Wycherley

  Coming in 2020

  More Dark Fantasy from Jeannie Wycherley

  Bark Side of the Moon

  is dedicated to the real Dom Lavery and his luscious Leonberger, Star.

  Unbeknownst to him, and thanks to his wonderful friend, Lorraine Phipps, he helped raise money for Mila’s Fund

  (an emergency fund for Bedlington Terriers)

  “How do you spell catastrophe?”

  Clarissa, frowning over the contents of her email folder, lifted her gaze from her keyboard. This morning’s inbox contained two rejections from well-known witchy journals. The editors of neither of these had been sufficiently taken by her journalistic scrutiny of Winifred Breazeazy’s formative years to buy the article she’d subbed to them.

  Toby’s tongue dangled out of the side of his mouth as he surveyed the ribbon of individual lettered building blocks that floated in the air in front of his face. He had the levitation spell down to a T. As Clarissa watched, two of the letters switched places.

  “It’s P, H and E. Not F, Y.” She peered over her spectacles at the grey and black dog in front of her, reining in her complete amazement at his magickal ability.

  It would never do to give him a big head.

  Nevertheless, his capabilities astounded her. Ever since he’d become a spellbound hound at the hands of the evil Miranda Dervish, or The Pointy Woman as they jointly thought of her, he had been on a journey of self-discovery. Miranda had hexed the little dog, intending that he would only ever talk to her, and yet somehow—and for some reason—the spell had backfired. He and Clarissa had quickly discovered that Toby could communicate with all witches, directly, using their common tongue. Soon, he’d begun to read and to pick out people in images and photographs, and quite quickly after that he’d begun experimenting with some spellwork. Now he’d become obsessed with working on his spelling and counting too.

  There seemed to be no end to his talents. Clarissa could only sit back and gawp at him in amazement and wonder where it would all stop.

  “I thought the ‘ee’ sound at the end of the word was a yuh,” Toby said, shuffling through the blocks at his feet with a paw. “Like spookily or witchily.” He located an E block and it lifted gracefully into the air, swiftly followed by a P and an H. They took their place at the end of the word and the F and Y dropped to the floor. “P. H. E? Is that right?”

  Clarissa checked. “Yep. Very clever.”

  Harrumphing, Clarissa returned her attention to the email on the screen in front of her. Seconds later she heard the sound of the blocks tumbling to the floor.

  “Are you in a bad mood?” Toby asked, his voice rising in surprise.

  “No.”

  “You are.” He pitter-pattered across the floor and placed his head on her knee. “What’s the matter?”

  She tried to avoid looking down at him, pretending to be busy, but he pawed at her gently until eventually, she was forced to take notice of him. “I’m a bit worried, that’s all. We’re almost out of cash,” she explained. “I can dip into my savings account, but unfortunately there isn’t a huge amount in there either.”

  Toby caught his breath, fully understanding the seriousness of the news. “What about Old Joe’s money?” Old Joe, or Joseph Page Silverwind, had been Clarissa’s grandfather and Toby’s master until The Pointy Woman had killed him. Clarissa had come looking for the old man at the cottage and found Toby instead.

  “He didn’t have a whole lot of money either,” Clarissa reminded the dog, “and we’re still waiting for the final probate of his estate, remember?”

  He did. They’d often discussed the length of time it took probate to be proven. “Estate? That sounds grand!” He wagged his tail in excitement.

  Clarissa snorted. “Yes it does, but it’s just an old-fashioned expression for what is, in fact, this dear little house and a small amount of money,” she smiled. “Bless him. I’m more than grateful for all of it.”

  Toby couldn’t disagree. Without Old Joe’s thoughtful bequest, Clarissa would not have been able to adopt him, and he would probably have ended his days at Ravi the vet’s hands, courtesy of the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary.

  “I’m trying so hard to find work. I’ve sent out articles to dozens of magazines, and only a handful have replied. None of them seem to be interested in my writing.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time,” Toby commiserated with her. “You’re a great journalist. Everyone said so.”

  “Said being the operative word there, I think. You’re quickly forgotten in this business.” Clarissa removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. “I may need to get a job to tide us over. Just something temporary.”

  Toby could hear a faint trace of fear in Clarissa’s voice, and he understood. She would be worrying that any temporary job she accepted would sap her energy, eat into her free time, and leave her unable to write. Eventually, she might have to make the job permanent, because it had become the only thing that would ever pay their bills. She’d be brainwashed into thinking that her writing would never sell. She’d give it up as a bad job.

  She’d detest that. Words were her life.

  Toby crossed his paws that it wouldn’t come to that.

  “McLoll’s need a cashier,” Clarissa continued. “I noticed this morning when we walked past them on the way to the park. The money wouldn’t be great but it’s close to home and it’s a busy little shop. I like meeting people. Maybe I should ask in there.”

  Toby whined. He would
absolutely hate it if she were out all day. While she’d still been working with the local newspaper she’d managed to take him with her on a few jobs. Since the paper had decided to ‘let her go’ he’d enjoyed all the time they’d been spending together.

  She reached out to stroke his head. “I know, babe,” she said. “But I need to keep you in sammiches, don’t I?”

  She had a point. He pricked his ears up. “Is it lunchtime?” he asked hopefully, and Clarissa laughed. It made his heart glad to see her face light up that way. Behind him, a number of blocks rose into the air and spelt out ‘cheese’.

  They’d had a rough time of it over the past few months. Old Joe’s death, Toby’s incarceration at the Sanctuary, and Clarissa losing her job. These were just the tip of the iceberg. She’d also been banished from her coven and—after their neighbour, Mrs Crouch, had been attacked—they’d realised they’d become immersed in a strange mystery involving a tree in Bucklebeare Wood and some magickal stones.

  Less than two weeks ago they had agreed to assist Grappletwigs, the leader of The Blackdown Hills Squirrel Community. She needed help locating The Four Stone, the only stone still unaccounted for from Jebediah Hornbrook’s magickal beech tree. Only by returning all of the stones to their place in the tree could the pure and ancient magick within be contained and utilised for the general good of the world at large.

  But in the days since then, they’d hit a wall with their investigations into The Pointy Woman and her friends. They had no idea where to find her or the missing stone. All they knew was that Miranda Dervish had The Six Stone in her possession, stolen from Old Joe’s carriage clock on the mantelpiece, and Clarissa had hidden The Five Stone, rescued from Mrs Crouch’s house, in Toby’s jar of dog treats for safekeeping.

  The whereabouts of The Four Stone remained unknown.

  “No sammiches. We promised we’d go around and visit Mrs Crouch for lunch, remember. She said she’s feeling up to talking to us again.”

  “She wasn’t much help last time,” Toby reminded Clarissa. He sounded a little grumpy. In his eyes, they had let down Grappletwigs and her gang of squirrels by not making more headway on locating The Four Stone. He’d been certain that Mrs Crouch held the key to the missing stone, but so far she’d claimed to be too poorly after her abrupt release from hospital to find much time to chat with them.

  For her part, Clarissa had remained wary of everyone. Until the death of Old Joe, she had imagined the world a more truthful and honourable place, but now she understood otherwise. People were not all they seemed to be. In his final will and testament, Old Joe had urged her to choose her friends wisely, and trust only those deserving of that gift, and now she feared betrayal from even the closest of her friends.

  “We should still hear her out,” Clarissa insisted. “Let me have a wash and do something with my hair and then we’ll go.” She pointed at the blocks scattered all over the floor. “You tidy those up. I don’t want to stand on those in my bare feet.”

  Toby gave a quick nod of his head in the direction of his levitated blocks. The individual letters were released and clattered to the floor. “Yes boss,” Toby replied, and proceeded to chase the letters around the bare wooden boards, pouncing on them with his front paws and sending them skittering around the room, whereupon he chased and pounced and repeated the process all over again.

  “Tidy them up!” Clarissa called over her shoulder as she disappeared upstairs. Toby paused where he was, wagging his tail, waiting until he was certain she was out of hearing and he could crack on with his game.

  “Come on in!” Mrs Crouch, leaning on a stick, greeted them at the door. Her face appeared unnaturally pale to Clarissa.

  The young witch reached out to hug the older woman. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m better,” Mrs Crouch smiled. “Honestly. Don’t look at me like that. I probably look a fright because I haven’t put any make-up on today.”

  Toby strolled into the hallway behind Clarissa, wagging his tail in what he hoped was a sedate and grown-up fashion. He had been told in no uncertain terms by Clarissa that he needed to behave himself and not be too boisterous. Mrs Crouch wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  “Greetings, my young mischief-maker. What have you been up to?” She stretched down and ruffled the fur on his head.

  “I’ve been learning to spell.”

  Mrs Crouch raised her eyebrows at Clarissa, who rolled her eyes and nodded. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. I’ve had to buy two sets of children’s building blocks because he likes to spell out long words, and the first set we bought didn’t have enough vowels.”

  Mrs Crouch laughed and her face lit up. “Wonderful. Well do come in, the pair of you. No need to stand on ceremony. You know that.”

  They followed her through to her living room and Mrs Crouch indicated the sofa for Clarissa. “I thought we’d sit in here today. The sunshine is so lovely I would have suggested we go outside, but I’m afraid I’ve been feeling the cold a little more than usual since my stay in hospital.”

  Clarissa nodded. “Have you spoken to a doctor since you discharged yourself?”

  Mrs Crouch snorted. “Goodness me, no! If it had been up to them, I’d have still been in there. No.” She gave her head a firm shake. “I prefer to recover in my own time, here at home.”

  Toby, still making every attempt to be well-behaved, lay on Clarissa’s feet. She wriggled her toes to get the great lump to move before he had a chance to fall asleep and leave her with a dead foot.

  Mrs Crouch moved back towards the door to the hallway. “I’ll pop the kettle on. Lunch will soon be ready.”

  “It smells lovely,” Clarissa told Mrs Crouch. “Have you been baking?”

  “Yes. I decided to do some while I felt up to it, you know? A nice chocolate cake, a bacon and tomato quiche and some cheesy snacks for young Toby there.”

  “My favourites!” Toby, head still on Clarissa’s foot, thumped his tail on the floor in approval. Clarissa prodded him again and he moved, albeit reluctantly.

  Clarissa jumped up too. “Let me help you,” she said, and although Mrs Crouch tried to wave her back, Clarissa pursued her into the kitchen. “At least let me carry things for you.”

  “Alright, thank you. You’re very kind.” Mrs Crouch busied herself arranging the tray for Clarissa to take through to the table next door. “Could you grab some cutlery for me, please? It’s in the drawer behind you.”

  Clarissa turned about and pulled open the drawer nearest her. It wasn’t the correct one. This was a drawer full of a motley collection of items; pieces of string, batteries, pens, pegs, a notebook, all sorts of odds and ends. This was the ‘man drawer’, the drawer The Five Stone had been hidden behind. She stared down at the contents, distracted from her task, remembering Jebediah’s Beech tree.

  And Grappletwigs waiting for them to locate The Four Stone.

  Reflecting on all that had gone on over the past few weeks, it might almost have been a dream. Except Clarissa knew it wasn’t.

  “The drawer next to that one.” Mrs Crouch’s soft voice broke through Clarissa’s thoughts.

  “Of course,” she said, refocusing and pulling out the correct drawer. Grabbing a handful of teaspoons, dessert forks and knives, she glanced back at Mrs Crouch. The older woman was watching her, her lips pursed. “Are these alright?”

  Mrs Crouch smiled. “Add a couple of ordinary forks for the quiche.” Clarissa rummaged among the silverware.

  They trooped back to the living room, where Mrs Crouch began to arrange the lunch items on her large coffee table. Delicate crockery, a three-tier cake stand containing chunky slices of chocolate cake, delicate rainbow-coloured macarons, hearty sections of quiche, a bowl of crisps and another dish containing cheery red mini tomatoes fresh from Mrs Crouch’s back garden.

  Toby had spread himself out on the rug beside the empty fireplace. “No need for a fire on such a warm day, eh Toby?” Mrs Crouch asked him. Clarissa stared into the firep
lace, remembering the night of the disturbance when she’d found Mrs Crouch on the floor of the bedroom upstairs. On first entering this room she had plainly seen the glowing embers of a fire. Someone had been burning something in the grate. But in between her leaving the room and returning the next morning with DC Edward Plum, who’d wanted her to walk through the scene and describe what she had witnessed, someone had taken it upon themselves to clean the grate.

  In fact, the whole room had been cleaned to such an extent that the only explanation had been magick.

  No evidence had been left behind at all.

  The cleaning up of the house after the event had always bothered Clarissa.

  “You look troubled.” Mrs Crouch handed Clarissa a pale pink napkin and a small plate and gestured towards the spread.

  Clarissa rearranged her features quickly. “This all looks delicious, Mrs Crouch. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

  “It will be worth it if you enjoy,” Mrs Crouch coaxed her. “Tuck in!”

  Clarissa leaned forwards and helped herself to a sizeable piece of quiche, four or five tomatoes and a large handful of crisps. Toby lifted his head from the mat and glanced her way, lifting his fuzzy eyebrows in expectation.

  Mrs Crouch intervened. “You can have some treats a little later, Toby. They’ve only just come out of the oven so I’m letting them cool down.”

  Toby thumped his tail on the floor. “Very sensible,” he said, and resumed his napping position.