The Poof is in the Pudding: Hex Falls Witch Cozy Mystery Series, #7

By Ruby Rivers

A little Poof.

A little Christmas Pudding.

A lot of trouble. The FINAL book in the SERIES.

How are Sotherby and Violet doing in their new life together back in Victorian times?

Violet's family takes a chance and zips through the seam in the universe to crash Violet's first-ever Victorian Christmas dinner and well...things don't turn out so well.

A special surprise awaits lovers of Sotherby and Violet, in this...the final edition of the original Hex Falls Series.

An extra special Christmas Murder Mystery completes this beloved series.

Strap in, sit back, and enjoy.

 

The Poof Is In The Pudding, book 7, the final extra edition to the Hex Falls Cozy Mystery Series, is a humorous full-length paranormal cozy mystery, with no swearing or sex on the page, but plenty of magic and romance!

The Hex Falls Cozy Mystery series is now complete.

Read more Ruby Rivers Series:
Who Loved I Dream of Jeannie? Try out Ruby's Newest Series...a modern look at an old classic concept.
Join Hayley and Dick for some old-fashion magical genie adventures.

The Magic Genie Series:

Murder & Magic, Book 1
Murder & Mischief, Book 2
Murder & Mayhem, Book 3 ~ Coming Soon.

Missed a book in the Hex Falls Series? Check the list here:

Hopeless Pocus, Book 1
Bedknobs & BroomHilda Sticks, Book 2
Witchity, Glitchy, Boo, Book 3
Abracastabra, Book 4
In Charm's Way, Book 5
Witchity, Glitchity, Glamour, Book 6
The Poof! Is In The Pudding, Book 7

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookMarked
• Release date: May 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224644131

Book preview

Chapter One

C urse this corset. I pull at the whalebone guts of it, trying to un-adhere it from my chest. How did women of the day ever put up with these things? Better still... I yank at it again, gasping. How did they ever breathe! At last, I resort to the one thing I know best. Magic. I know I shouldn’t, but…

Conjuring a little sparkle between my fingertips, I reach around behind me and wiggle my fingertips, undoing the corset’s wretched ties. Then, with an intense flicking of my fingers, I begin working up the strings like a harpist, plucking them loose one by one. Oh, at last. Air! I draw in a big breath just as the door swings open at my back.

Behind me stands a very startled and bewildered looking Mrs. Coventry—my new lady’s maid—otherwise known as Anise. She’s been arranged for me by the incredibly generous and extremely helpful…not to mention astonishingly attractive…Master Darlington III. Otherwise known as Sotherby. Of course, I cannot presume to call him by his first name yet. We are still only on a formal name basis. Which apparently, in this era, could last forever. Something about the appropriate amount of time or hours of courting being a necessary prerequisite to becoming that familiar.

I tell you, the more time I spend in this era, the more I understand why Sotherby was the way he was. Or should I say, is. He continues to be such a prude about the simplest things. Honestly, you’d think hand holding was a federal offense. Or the main precursor to, you know…nookie.

Having to wait this long to call each other by our real names is driving me mad. And the lack of touching…well—I raise a saucy brow—it’s just barbaric. Although, I do not want to upset the balance of Victorian nature, nor the delicate fabric of the space-time continuum. Or whatever the hex it’s called that I burst through to get here. Goblin knows, I've tempted fate once already by crossing those lines in order for us to be together. I must be sure not to misstep now I’m here and alert the universe to our scandalous doings, or I could find myself thrown into universal jail. Being sent back in time like I have, is a dangerous thing.

Especially for mortals.

Good thing I’m not one.

Again, being a witch has its advantages.

And its disadvantages. As I’ve just been caught literally with my corset down.

Oh, so sorry, Miss, Mrs. Coventry gasps, staring at me blankly, no doubt wondering how I’ve escaped this contraption without her assistance. Just come to see if you needed help undressing. But apparently…not. She scowls at the still sparkle-lacquered laces floating suspended in mid-air behind my back, then blinks at me and starts backing up.

Oh that. It was nothing, I say, lowering my fingertips, making the sparkles crackling from them quickly dissipate. Honest, it was, I insist as I swing around, her expression fearful.

Oh now look what I’ve gone and done. I stare back at Mrs. Coventry, staring back at me, confused-like. I know not to do magic in a mortal’s presence.

That’s right. Now you’re going to have to perform a memory eraser spell.

Reggie? I muse, hearing his response in my mind. Where are you? I glance around. You know you shouldn’t be here.

Oh don’t get your pantaloons in a twist. I’m in transparent state. Only you can see me. He appears on the bed, licking his paw.

Oh, well, make yourself scarce anyway. We can’t have you suddenly materializing by mistake.

Like I’d make a mistake like that. He tuts. You act like I’m a novice.

Something wrong? A bewildered Mrs. Coventry glances between the bed and back.

Oh, no. Nothing. I gulp.

Strange, there seems to be an indentation, there. She marches over and swipes at the spot in the coverlet.

Ouch! Reggie squalls.

Would you get out of here!

Excuse me, Miss?

Oh, not you Mrs. Coventry. I curtsy toward her. I don’t know why.

She looks around, terrified.

The poor thing. I’d better get to that memory spell quickly. I chew on my bottom lip whilst mentally tapping my chin. Now, how did Aunt Kat always do that? I love the word ‘whilst,’ don’t you, Reggie? I muse as he trots out the door.

You told me to leave! Now which is it, go or stay? He whirls back around.

Oh yes, go, of course. I shoo him.

Miss? Mrs. Coventry gulps, blinking first at me, and then the door, looking like she’s swallowed a bird.

Oh yes, the memory spell. I wince my eyes shut trying my best to recall the words, but all I can think of is…’whilst.’ It’s such a jolly sounding thing, and they use it so often here, I’ve decided to steal it for my own. Perhaps I could work it into a spell someday. I mentally tap my chin again. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the spell.

I stare into the air next to Mrs. Coventry’s head and perform a quick search of my magic memory files, spinning them around in my mind like a Rolodex, searching for one marked E.S.E. Eraser Spell Extraordinaire—Aunt Kat’s Special. Or at least I think that’s what it was called.

Perhaps I should leave, Mrs. Coventry suggests, turning, about to burst out the door. She moves so quickly, she nearly twists right out of her corset.

No! Wait. Stay! I throw out a hand and catching her hard by the elbow. It was all just luck, I explain. Honest, it was, I lie to her.

She looks more confused than ever now.

What happened earlier, I explain, my voice wavering as I drag her back across the bedroom floor. You see, I was just scratching my back against the bed post here when I caught the laces on the spindle.

You’re so bad at this, Reggie says from somewhere in the aether.

You such up!

Pardon me, Miss.

Nothing, I smile. Anyway, as I was saying, my laces got tangled up on this spindle here. I quickly conjure up a spindle where there was none. From there I was easily able to pick apart the knot and begin loosening the strings with my fingertips. You see… I demonstrate, twisting my arms around behind my back …I was born double jointed. At the elbows and shoulders. I show her, contorting them. At least that part is true. It does have its uses. I smile warmly at her again.

Being born double jointed, that is.

But that was not how I got my corset loose. That was magic.

I see, she says, staring at me nervously, though the tremble in her voice tells me she does not. Not really. Drabbits! I will require that memory erasure spell after all.

Told you! Reggie sings from the aether.

Oh…what were the words again? I squint hard and return to my mental Rolodex.

Well, if there’s nothing more I can do to assist, I’ll just be going. I’ve a lot of things to do. Mrs. Coventry curtsies, looking wide-eyed, and scuttles off toward the door.

Actually, there is! I hook her by the elbow and sling her around in front of me, again. I’m having the darndest time with these skirts, I say, my face flushing red when I realize I may have actually just sworn in this era. Darndest? Is that a Victorian swear word or not?

Most definitely, Reggie answers from the aether.

I scowl at the ceiling. Mrs. Coventry looks too. They are quite the bother. The skirts, I mean, I say, looking back down at her. I find them so puzzling. Would you mind? I gesture that she help me.

And I really mean that, for to this day, three weeks into my appearance here in 1889, I still don’t understand the proper layering of all this clothing. Nor its uses.

Oh, by all means…let me, Miss. Mrs. Coventry happily comes to my aid, but not without checking the air around me first.

This time I try to memorize the sequence of the articles she takes off my person in order to layer them back on the same way in the morning, but alas, I still don’t understand why half of them are necessary. Like what, for instance, is the use of a butt bustle? Why any woman would want their butt to look bigger, I’ll never understand. I glower at the bum cushion with strings she discards onto the bed.

Would you look at me. The articles she takes off my person… What kind of talk is that? One thing that hasn’t taken me long to pick up on here is the lingo. And all the hoity-toity pomp and circumstance of it. I wish I could say the same for the mannerisms. To this day, I cannot curtsey with grace. Nor know when I should or shouldn’t offer my hand to be shaken. Never without it first being gloved. I’ve figured that one out. But the vile practice of letting strange men go about kissing the back of it still perplexes me. Yee-uuuck! Just thinking of it makes me shiver.

Unless, of course, it’s my fair Mr. Darlington whose lips grace my skin. That gives me shivers of a different kind.

I wait for a smart response from the aether regarding what I’ve mused, but nothing comes. So I guess it’s safe to say Reggie has finally left the building. I giggle at my 21th century joke, then return to my 19th century way of thinking.

Anyway, I do suppose allowing men to kiss the back of the hand is better than lending them all a cheek.

I shudder at that thought.

Will you be attending the Dowager’s annual Christmas Fixin’ Up Ball, Miss? Mrs. Coventry asks.

Fixin’ Up? What on earth? What exactly is that? I ask.

Oh… The Dowager Hufflemoore throws a Formal Goose and Gander Ball every year around this time. I’m surprised you ’aven’t ’eard. She mumbles the last of that, circling around the front of me as I stand now in just my underwear, my arms outstretched awkwardly at my sides. It’s a real tradition round these parts, she smirks, looking up at me as I stare down at her blankly.

Sotherby has mentioned nothing of any such event to me, I say.

And here I thought sure he’d be asking you, she mumbles again and looks away, her cheeks flushing red.

I’m unsure what she’s trying to get at here, but clearly something’s amiss. Not that there’s been a lack of formal soirées since my arrival in this timeframe on the planet. I’ve attended more formal get-togethers here than I ever did in my former life. I can’t believe how often people throw parties in this age. It’s like that’s all they have to do in this era. At least in the upper classes. Sotherby and I have attended four formal events in just this last week alone. One of which consisted of shrill harpsichord music being played throughout this enormous parlor, as we sat at opposite ends of it, forced to make small talk with members of our own sex instead of each other, amid the disappearance of several snifters of brandy.

I swear I exchanged no more than four words with Sotherby that whole evening.

And then there were the three formal dinners, each stuffier than the next, in which I struggled to figure out which silverware to use. Which, by the way, is called flatware in this era, and includes the use of far too many spoons. I have received invitations to two upcoming Christmas balls, but I have yet to hear any word of this Gander Goose thing. Though, ‘tis the season for parties, I suppose. What with the big day fast approaching.

Tell me more of this Goose and Gander business. I stare at Mrs. Coventry, perplexed.

Oh, it’s nothing, dear. She smiles and waves the thought off, her cheeks pinking.

Clearly it’s not, or she wouldn’t have brought it up. Come on, you know something. Spill, I say.

She bites her lip and twists her hands, then finally says, Well…it’s a formal dance, held by the Dowager Hufflemoore every Christmas. Specifically to accommodate the needs of the younger ones.

Needs? I ask.

You know, in case they might want to…marry up. She jerks up her thumb, glancing sheepishly up at me through lowered lashes.

Marry up? My eyebrows clash together.

You know, out of their class into a better one, she explains, grinning awkwardly.

Is that what she thinks I’m hoping