The Boo Hag: A Midnight Gunn Novel, #4

By C.L. Monaghan

American civil war-  The Deep South

 

How did a noble mission to ensure the safe return of his daughter's governess to New York, end with Midnight Gunn being stranded on an island off the coast of South Carolina, alone and in the middle of a brutal conflict?

 

Listening to the dying screams of a village as it burns, Midnight faces a journey home to his beloved family under threat of discovery and death. A trail of blood and superstition have plagued his time in the dark forests and swamps of the south. He must escape before 'she' catches his scent once again. As he stands on the shoreline, ragged and exhausted, Midnight must risk everything and enter a strangely familiar world in an effort to escape what hunts him. The only problem being that what lay in front of him, may yet prove more dangerous than what he is running from.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Monaghan
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224210497

Book preview

PROLOGUE: NEW YORK- LATE JULY 1863

He stared out over the gently rippling water as the night sky bloomed with stars. Moonlight danced mockingly upon the waves which lapped at the charred skin on his feet. The salty chill stung. He winced, hissing through gritted teeth at the estuary’s bitter bite, and pushed his clenched fists deep into the pockets of his rolled-up trousers. The fresh sea breeze, still marred by the tang of smoke and flesh, left a bad taste in his mouth which he doubted would ever leave him. The events of this trip were seared into his soul forever, and he was glad of it, for this was not a journey to be forgotten.

He dug his toes into the wet earth and contemplated channelling the light of Selene, the moon goddess, to heal his wounds but he did not, knowing that he needed to feel this pain a little longer. For, his pain was nothing compared to the suffering he had witnessed these past months. He glanced back over his shoulder to where the fires still raged beyond the trees. The screams had subsided, now replaced by hauntingly woeful moans and he knew, that for him at least, it was over. Soon, he would be going home. Home to where his daughter must be waiting for news of him.

Soon sweetheart, soon. I am coming back to you. Midnight Gunn whispered to the stars, wishing that they could deliver his message. He had been away for too long, and now it was over, he must return with the creature at first light… and pray that they both survived.

He had nothing left. No safe passage home by sea at least. His only option now was to step beyond the realms of his own reality into the unknown.

1

MERITON, LONDON

EARLY JUNE 1863

Polly lay recumbent on the Persian rug, her head resting on a downy pillow, her dark curls framing her tear-stained face. She had been staring up at the intricately carved ceiling rose in her bedroom for hours now, churning things over in her mind and had come to the same conclusion time and time again, no matter how she approached the argument.

It’s all my fault. Gotta be ain’t it? If I’d ‘ave behaved meself and done me lessons for the others like Papa asked, Aggie would never have come to London in the first place and then Papa wouldn’t ‘ave had to take her back to bleedin’ America, Polly bemoaned in her strong cockney accent. Then there’s Laura. I kept tellin’ her how wonderful Papa was and then she went all gooey-eyed and ‘cause Papa’s gone and left, so has she! Now look at us, eh? Stuck ‘ere with just old Mrs P. and Mr Morgan for company and it ain’t no fun at all. What do you reckon? Polly turned her head towards the shaggy lump which lay beside her. Widdershins, Meriton’s resident Fae-born ‘watchwolf’ whined and hid his face beneath his paws. Polly tutted and shoved him with her elbow.

Some ‘elp you are, eh? She said in mock scorn, heaving a frustrated sigh. Shins rose suddenly, ears pricked. He sat up and cocked his vast head first one way then the other. Polly, vaguely interested, asked him what was the matter. The big Barghest loped over to the bedroom door and looked back at her, a twinkle in his bright yellow eyes. Polly shot to her feet at once, excitement burying her melancholy.

Someone’s here?

Shins whined and wagged his tail, his tongue lolling sideways out of his mouth and covering the long teeth set in his massive jaw. He appeared to gesture with his head and the little girl instantly understood. Climbing on his back, she giggled.

I knew she’d come back. I just knew it! The wolf rolled his eyes and Polly gave his fur a playful tug. Come on then, let’s go.

Under his charge’s insistent instruction Shins began to morph the air around them both until they were shrouded in the Fae’s glamour, invisible to the layman’s eye. The heavy oak door opened and a moment later swung silently shut behind the puckish pair as they softly padded their way downstairs, heading for the kitchen.

The sound of muffled voices mingled with the smell of freshly baked bread wafted towards them as they neared the rear hallway which led to Clementine Phillips’ domain. The large kitchen was the heart of Meriton House. It was where wonderful meals were lovingly prepared, where grazed knees were mended, where the latest London gossip was discussed and dismissed, where the day began with hot cakes, and ended with hot chocolate and warm smiles. It was Polly’s favourite place to be despite her earlier protestations of boredom, she adored the old cook and housekeeper, the affable Mrs P.

Polly’s stomach rumbled the moment she smelled the baked goods, but she held back a moan of pleasure as she slipped from the beast and crept towards the door, leaning to place one ear to the wood.

There’s been no word in weeks. Polly heard a note of concern in the old cook’s voice and she pressed her ear closer to the door in order to hear better. Oh, but no need to worry, my dear. I’m sure the master is just very busy, you know how he gets when he’s gotten his teeth into something. Now… Polly heard the scraping of a plate being pushed across the kitchen table, …get some of this down you and I’ll pour the tea. You look positively peaky. Are they not feeding you right at that place of yours?

Thank you, came the reply in an all-too familiar voice. Polly’s heart leapt as she prepared to burst her way through the door and throw herself at the one person she loved almost as much as her dear papa. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see a very stern-looking Giles Morgan standing behind her.

Did no one ever tell you that it is considered bad manners to eavesdrop on a private conversation, young Miss? Giles asked.

But… Polly glanced around, looking for Shins, but he remained glamoured, then she realised since she was no longer in close proximity to the creature, her glamour had faded and she was entirely visible. She fixed a frown of betrayal Shins’ way and scolded him telepathically, as they so often communicated. Polly sighed.

Goats butt Giles cut in. If I recall, you are supposed to be studying Latin in your room, he stated, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Latin! The little girl pulled a face, indicating her disdain for the subject. But, Mr. Morgan, Laura’s back! I just want to say hello is all. I’ve missed her ever so much, she pleaded, eyes wide and full of fabricated innocence.

"I am well aware of Miss Carter’s presence, young miss. I am also aware of the purpose of her visit and her request not to be disturbed… by anyone," he added with a note of finality. Now, let us have you—Giles guided her away from the door gently but firmly as he spoke—back up to your room and attending to your studies, as per your father’s instructions.

Polly frowned, not understanding why Laura would visit and not want to at least say hello to her. She glanced back at her shaggy companion who, still glamoured, had begun to follow her, ‘No! Stay. Listen?’ she asked him with her mind. Shins agreed and lingered by the entrance of the rear hallway while the old butler went back to his own parlour.

Polly hurtled up the stairs as soon as she heard the door to Giles’ room click shut. Once within the safety of her bedroom, she reached out to connect with her furry companion.

‘Shins? Tell me what’s ‘appening?’ Silence. ‘Shins? You there?’

‘Hush. Listening,’ came the reply. Polly huffed and began to pace the floor. A few minutes passed and then she felt the familiar tingle deep inside her brain that indicated he was ready to talk.

‘Took your time, didn’t ya.’

‘Much to learn.’

‘So you keep telling me. Well, go on then, whotcha find out?’

‘The Miss isn’t coming back,’ Shins informed her, and Polly’s heart sank.

‘Why’s she ‘ere then?’

‘Wanted news of the master.’

‘Is that all?’ Laura must’ve asked Mrs P about her, surely she must?

‘The Miss is going somewhere. To become.’

‘Where? To become what?’ Silence. ‘Shins? To become what?’

‘Better,’ The Barghest replied. Anger and hurt bubbled just beneath the surface of Polly’s control. The link between her and the wolf wavered slightly and she considered shutting him out altogether. ‘Do not be sad.’

‘I ain’t sad!’

‘Sad… and heart hurt. Shins knows.’

Stupid dog, she said, and sniffed. Moments later, the big black beast slinked inside her room, and curled up beside her on the rug as she sobbed into her pillow.

2

NEW YORK

MID-MARCH 1863

New York City was not at all how Midnight had pictured it in his mind. For a nation torn apart by civil war, men dying in their thousands, shipping blockades and supply issues, observing the hustle and bustle of the city and its people as they went about their daily business seemed about as ordinary as any day in London.

The Carmichael’s lived in Manhattan on the corner of Twenty Third Street and Seventh Avenue which was, Agnes informed him, a little ways from where they had disembarked at Liverpool Wharf on the great Hudson River. This meant that Midnight had time to enjoy the carriage ride from the docks through the streets to where his governess’s family waited to welcome them both.

Agnes Carmichael—face turned to the window of the carriage—still sported the slightly creased brow that she had born during the majority of their sea voyage, except that her eyes now glistened with the relief of being in her home city, and the anticipation of seeing her parents again after such a long time apart. Relief and concern rolled off her in palpable paradoxical waves, which Midnight found hard to ignore when they were in such close proximity. Whenever the wheels of the carriage bumped a loose stone, causing Agnes and himself to jar elbows, he was stung by the onslaught of her emotions. His ability to feel what others felt was beginning to wear on his nerves. Indeed, by the time they arrived at the Carmichael residence, Midnight found himself most eager to alight.

The red-bricked edifice of the three-story building, loomed over him as he turned to assist his charge from the carriage. The cabby jumped down and began unloading their trunks whilst Midnight fished around in his wallet for coin with which to pay the man. Agnes, meanwhile, had wasted no time in rushing up the steps of her family home to pull the door bell. Moments later, Midnight heard exclamations of joy peppered with relief and intermittent sobbing. He turned just in time to witness the tail end of this long-awaited and mournful family reunion. As he ascended the steps, Agnes turned to formally introduce her employer to her family.

Lord Gunn, a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr Carmichael said, shaking Midnight’s hand firmly. I am most grateful to you for bringing our daughter home safely.

Before Midnight could reply, Mrs Carmichael, dabbing her eyes with her lace handkerchief, began fussing and ushering everyone back inside the house whilst calling for tea to be served immediately in the drawing room. Agnes and her mother linked arms and made their way down the hall, Midnight started to follow when Mr Carmichael laid a hand on his arm, preventing him. Midnight’s senses exploded with the force of grief and concern that exuded from Agnes’ father in waves, so fierce were the man’s emotions that Midnight almost recoiled in shock. How he wished he could turn off that particular skill at will, especially when he had not been prepared for it.

If I might intrude on your time for a moment, good sir? I understand that you must be travel weary, but I think I can offer you a more fitting refreshment than tea and gossip.

Certainly. What did you have in mind?

Brandy, perhaps? My daughter tells me you are fond of it?

I enjoy a good vintage, it is true, Midnight replied, hoping that Mr Carmichael did not have him pinned as some kind of alcoholic, wondering what else the governess had told her family about him and his personal vices.

What say you then to a small snifter in my study and we let the ladies catch up on some mother-daughter time alone?

Lead the way, sir. Midnight indicated with his hand.

He followed the head of the household along the hall and to the left, the opposite direction to where the two women had retreated, and up a small flight of stairs to the second floor. Carmichael’s study was at the rear of the house, seemingly away from the noise of the daily goings on. The room, decorated and furnished in the dark shades and heavy wood of the Gothic revival style, contrasted starkly with the ornate and glamorous—if a little ostentatious in Midnight’s opinion—popular French Rococo style downstairs. Midnight had to admit that he preferred the former, it reminded him of his own library and study at home and he felt at ease from the shock of his hosts emotional turmoil as he settled into the green leather armchair.

How was your journey? Carmichael asked, reaching for the decanter and glass on the side table and pouring a large measure.

We were fortunate to have had good weather for the most part. Only one bad storm, Midnight said, engaging in the necessary social niceties and taking the proffered glass of