The Grimoire Girls Again

The Grimoire Girls Again Midlife Magic in Moondip, Volume 2 Janet Butler Male Published by Janet Male, 2023. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. THE GRIMOIRE GIRLS AGAIN First edition. April 6, 2023. Copyright © 2023 Janet Butler Male. Written by Janet Butler Male. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page 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 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Short Epilogue Baking and Entering (Extract) About the Author Chapter 1 Moondip, Isle of Whye, Scotland.‘I can’t believe you’re opening Spellbound Books and Bakes tomorrow, Layney,’ my best friend Morag said as she topped up our glasses of Merlot. On a cold and windy late March evening, we were relaxing near the open fire in my decadent living room, rich with velvet seating, a chandelier, and a sandalwood candle’s exotic scent.Morag owned Celestial Cakes, around the corner from the premises Gran had signed over to me the previous year. They included a shop and living areas. ‘I can’t believe it either, Morag - my life has changed so much.’ ‘It’s fab to have you and Fleur in Moondip and not have to lie.’ For years, I’d lived a Stepford-like life with a bland but bossy husband because of a veiling spell Gran cast to shield me from a now-dead evil entity. Morag had been part of the coverup, albeit unwillingly. I’d been the first to suspect that the evil person was undercover as a downtrodden wife, and it’s hard not to be proud when you’ve lived like a little mouse and then discover you’re a witch with marvellous intuitive powers. In my new world, witches and wizards were Magicals and everyday humans Mundies. Some called me psychic, but I associated that with reading palms and staring into a crystal ball while wearing gipsy-style flouncy tops and multi-colour hippie skirts covered in mirrors. And saying, ‘I see a tall, dark stranger in your future. And you’ll cross water.’ That ‘water’ could be a puddle. I got strong vibes which often turned out correct. And, to be fair, many Mundies have powerful intuition. But my gradually improving magical abilities were the icing on a delightful gooey gateau. With the evil entity dead and me out of harm’s way (hopefully!) Gran had revealed some happy truths. The hot Highlander I’d loved and lusted after, Anson, was my teenage daughter Fleur’s biological dad - not the controlling bore I’d just divorced. Anson and I were madly in love and making up for lost time - in and out of bed. My biological dad was a handsome but weatherbeaten warm-hearted Texan wizard, Charlton Heston, not the Bible-basher who’d helped raise me. Anson was also a wizard. Charlton now resided with my lovely mum in Moondip, and they were about to open a hotel. To avoid confusion, Fleur and I mainly called the men we grew up with ‘Dad’ and our real dads by their Christian names. I’d never been happier, but I worried something would happen to spoil it all. ‘Spill,’ said Morag as her saucily sweet face creased with concern. ‘Spill what?’ ‘You look worried.’ ‘I’m too happy,’ I said, aware it sounded mad. ‘So what’s the worry?’ ‘That there’ll be another murder - like last year.’ ‘In a place this size?’ Moondip was a small inland village on the Isle of Whye off the northwest coast of Scotland. ‘Midsomer and Grantchester have loads of murders, and they’re small places,’ I said. ‘But fictional. Anyway, you solved the murder.’ ‘Not on my own.’ ‘But you had a hunch which set the ball rolling. What’s your vibe about tomorrow?’ ‘That it will go pretty well.’ And there might be another murder. I’d been excited about moving here, but encountered a dead body in the Murder and Mayhem section seconds after I stepped over the threshold. ‘That’s the spirit. Another top-up, Layney?’ Morag said, oblivious to my continuing maudlin thoughts. I tried to wipe the worry from my face and said, ‘Churlish not to.’ My sixteen-year-old daughter entered the room and sat on the opposite sofa. ‘Are you enjoying your new life, Fleur?’ said Morag. ‘No - I miss our boring dinners with Dad and my stuffy friends at that posh private school.’ Morag snorted as I said, ‘And I miss the exciting coffee mornings when I wore beige twin sets with pearls and discussed cleaning tips with other bored stay-at-home wives. Did you know it’s best to dust with a damp cloth?’ Morag groaned theatrically. Fleur rolled her eyes in the over-dramatic way perfected by teenagers. ‘Mum - you hardly ever dust.’ ‘My point exactly.’ Before we’d moved here last July, I was a dusting demon. But now I had a framed Phillis Diller quote on my kitchen wall... Housework can’t kill you, but why take a chance? ‘Shall we leave magical Moondip and return to Cheshire, Mum? I’ll buy you some cans of Pledge polish and a bumper pack of those yellow dusters,’ Fleur now teased. ‘Not on your nelly. I incant a cleaning spell once a week - I hate wasting magic on boring old housework.’ Like pocket money, wages or a salary, Fleur and I received a monthly spell allowance as ordained by Magical Central. ‘Why make me clean my room without a spell, Mum?’ ‘So you don’t become a spoiled brat.’ ‘Fat chance - you won’t even let me skip school for the grand opening.’ Morag said, ‘Ah, I sense a family row - my cue to leave. Besides, I have loads of baking to do.’ With enough to organise, I was taking an easy catering route for the cafe - getting my friend to do