Roxanne Smolen's Blog, page 22

April 2, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

I love to write, but with writing comes marketing, the bane of my existence. I began gathering tips about writing and marketing from various blogs for easier reference. One day I thought why not share? So here we go. Follow me on Twitter @roxannesmolen for more tips.

Writing The First Draft: The No-Nonsense Guide For Authors https://buff.ly/2QOWZ64 #writers #writetip #writingadvice

How Overthinking Sabotages Writing Creativity and How to Stop – Writing and Wellness https://buff.ly/3qcIzz1 #writers #writerslife

How To Overcome Writer’s Block – https://buff.ly/3IBuH8d #writers #writetip #writersblock

Manage your expectations – Build Book Buzz https://buff.ly/3txQB7O #writingcommunity #writerslife

Weaving Flashbacks Seamlessly into Story | Jane Friedman https://buff.ly/3Js51Mi #writers #writingcommunity #writetip

Adrian Nathan West — ADVICE TO WRITERS https://buff.ly/3wuNwqV #writingcommunity #writetip

COMIC BOOK WRITING 101: THE HONEST TRUTH • Career Authors https://buff.ly/3JCsbzR #writingcommunity #writers

The Secret Ingredient of Successful Openings | Jane Friedman https://buff.ly/3tAmoFo #writers #writetip

Life Lessons & Writer’s Burnout – Part 1 by Raven #writingcommunity #writer #author https://buff.ly/3qGLbWl #writers #writingtips

Write an Active Main Character with These 5 Tips https://buff.ly/35i5lhX #writingcommunity #writingtips

Blatant Self Promotion

Do you like #witches, #unicorns, and #fairies? You’ll love my new Brittany Meyer series. In eBook, print, and audio. Buy today! #kindle #kindledeals #kindlebargains https://amazon.com/gp/product/B0957TPH55

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Happy April Fool's Day! April Fool's Day dates back to 1582 when France switched from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar. People who were slow to recognize that the start of the new year had moved to January 1 and continued to celebrate it during the last week of March became the butt of jokes and hoaxes. #aprilfoolsday2022 #aprilfoolsday #happyaprilfools #aprilfooljokes #justkidding

April Fools’ Day dates back to 1582 when France switched from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar. People who failed to recognize that the start of the new year had moved to January 1 and continued to celebrate it on April 1 became the butt of jokes and hoaxes.⁠

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Published on April 02, 2022 02:59

March 26, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

Using Book Templates: Advantages & Disadvantages – Written Word Media https://buff.ly/3Kb3lGP #writingcommunity #writetip #writingadvice

Cemetery Gates Media: Now Seeking Novellas https://buff.ly/3IfRbvf #writers #writingcommunity

How To Bring Humor To Tough Topics https://buff.ly/3InsHAe #writers #writetip #writingadvice

How to Start Writing a Nonfiction Book – Write Nonfiction NOW! https://buff.ly/3ifG7n9 #writers #writetip #nonfiction

Is My Story A Mystery, Horror or Thriller? – WRITERS HELPING WRITERS® https://buff.ly/3MTESrI #writers #writetip #writingadvice

Why Writing Success Remains Elusive for Many Writers – Writing and Wellness https://buff.ly/3u5nZSp #writingadvice #writerslife

Book Marketing Strategies to Improve Your Website Performance https://buff.ly/3w5OTfL #writingcommunity #indieauthor #bookmarketing

Book Publishers to Avoid (and Other Shady Author Scams) https://buff.ly/3Ik0071 #writingcommunity #writerslife

How to Reorganize Book Chapters with a Click https://buff.ly/3w6cInE #writingcommunity #writingadvice

Facebook Advertising for Authors https://buff.ly/34MDF4z #writingcommunity #bookmarketing #advertising

Blatant Self Promotion

[image error] " src="https://scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277256657_3053530234866283_3197734824111146668_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=5qvhlLWXA0wAX9HnBcY&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT9Jck7wj9OXAlh-Ux_Y0IhXvOehVIe7auEHcZxDSVb3vA&oe=62447DFB" /> [image error] " src="https://scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277237427_530758811798801_7380896043733815596_n.jpg?_nc_cat=102&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=MW2iok7LJFUAX95ycQM&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT-0WT6HqVw2cRD4LMfL7iy7lvtp-rnoAzIJyGYm-Y3H7g&oe=62443C1B" /> [image error] " src="https://scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277247892_1118926258948965_6652707179226665577_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=RxLNh-nSg0UAX8KpCC1&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT__h6cQbyFm837scM6WeJaJ3ybY1fn81YI5OjzCrwYl5A&oe=6243BAC0" /> [image error]⁠" src="https://scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277216612_120260987088287_1748915607930570341_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=jQ3nEEM9Ju8AX-_P66H&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT_-Spqx41VKQ8w7goOdOvP4CISQtL-Ojvwz3Fk12Sn0fA&oe=62431BAC" /> [image error] " src="https://scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277110184_670527620825868_7704827622248020453_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=fRJqalXf4OoAX9CVP9-&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT_bBYiDZmjYlZcAUAF6piGXQIfqWs8fK2kGKy7dFk0YTQ&oe=6243DA00" /> [image error] When I think of all the time I wasted, I want to cry." src="https://scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/277138851_1107177019825087_4891042036843991206_n.jpg?_nc_cat=107&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=wkXyJ0HIRt4AX-UuS3H&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-2.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT_zL6XB9aQcfKFyNVVgLPpOEoI-PNBCF28S-jBTCd5ASg&oe=624335C3" />

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Published on March 26, 2022 02:41

March 19, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

A New Book Marketing Plan for 2022: Book Marketing Podcast Recap https://buff.ly/3FFXoA8 #writingcommunity #bookmarketing

BookTok for book marketing – Build Book Buzz https://buff.ly/3BofvJi #writingcommunity #bookmarketing

Need a Better Book Title? https://buff.ly/3CxtXzs #writerscommunity #writerslife

Opening Lines #WritingTips #AmWriting https://buff.ly/3CAYYm3 #writers #writetip

Overwriting in fiction | Clare Black Editing https://buff.ly/3J43LyF #writers #writetip

8 Ways Creative Types Can Increase Focus and Productivity – Writing and Wellness https://buff.ly/3MxQReC #writerscommunity #writerslife

Sarah Polley Explains Writing for the Page vs. the Screen https://buff.ly/3CxJajZ #writingcommunity #screenwriting

Update Your Website with These Spring Cleaning Tips https://buff.ly/3pZ4UAi #writingcommunity #writerslife

The Heroine’s Journey with Gail Carriger https://buff.ly/3heqjBH #writerscommunity #writetip

The Ultimate Guide to Social Media for Writers 2022 https://buff.ly/2F5Qp7R #writingcommunity #bookmarketing #socialmedia

Blatant Self Promotion

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Published on March 19, 2022 02:22

March 12, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

Make More Money With an Audiobook https://buff.ly/3pExKWt #writingcommunity #writerslife

Every Writer Needs an Editor (Guest Blog by Meredith Phillips) – Writing Across Genres https://buff.ly/3sw50Rr #WritingCommunity #writetip

13 Ways to Freaking Freak Out Your Horror Readers | Jane Friedman https://buff.ly/35HfbtC #WritingCommunity #writetip #amwritingfiction

How to Write Unique Horror Fiction When Every Trope Has Already Been Used https://buff.ly/3hvEYaD #WritingCommunity #writetip #amwritingfiction

How I Landed My Literary Agent at the Annual Writer’s Digest Conference Pitch Slam https://buff.ly/3KcBia5 #WritingCommunity #writerslife

Write Angry: Pratchett and Gaiman Teach Anger (and writing) Management https://buff.ly/3C7wrnX #WritingCommunity #writetip #witerslife

Dream Symbols Part 1: Dozens of Story Prompts for Writers https://buff.ly/3IRGdwM #WritingCommunity #writetip #writingprompt

Zig Zag Plot Arc – WRITERS HELPING WRITERS® https://buff.ly/34rkYTN #writers #writetip

How To Write A Weird West Story https://buff.ly/3tIsDFP #writers #writetip

The Two Halves of the Inciting Event https://buff.ly/3D8ETCQ #writingcommunity #writetip

Blatant Self Promotion

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Published on March 12, 2022 02:26

March 5, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

Getting Motivated #WritingTips #AmWriting https://buff.ly/3BL7iPN #writingcommunity #writersblock

How to stay motivated when writing your novel https://buff.ly/3fpXn89 #writingcommunity #writingtips

What Procrastination Can Do For You https://buff.ly/36CiWRv #writingcommunity #writersblock

How Can I Test My Website? https://buff.ly/35sQbWL #writingcommunity #indieauthors

If You Can’t Stand the Sight of Your Own Blood, Don’t Step Into the Ring | Jane Friedman https://buff.ly/3BLf7oC #writers #writingcommunity

Writing Wednesday — Staying Creative and “The Rules” https://buff.ly/3BTcC3z #writingcommunity #writingtips

5 Kindle Vella Tips For Authors – Book Brush https://buff.ly/3pkAHeq #writingcommunity #indieauthors

Infographic: March Observances to Bolster Your Author Branding https://buff.ly/34zxxw4 #WritingCommunity #bookmarketing

A Toolkit for Managing the Anxiety of the Publishing Process https://buff.ly/3MlJcQe #WritingCommunity #writerslife #publishing

The Rewards of Writing Epic Fantasy Fiction (After Writing in Another Genre) https://buff.ly/3MejA7X #WritingCommunity #amwritingfantasy

Blatant Self Promotion

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" src="https://scontent-dfw5-2.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/275199460_328805922531478_8348377046759241849_n.jpg?_nc_cat=109&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=zNWpu7NnEGcAX_NnJYw&_nc_ht=scontent-dfw5-2.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT_C2Ae8SctXDDDxB4bX86Oj9bYX_G9TsuQOoHvwLPXvpg&oe=62281D36" /> [image error] " src="https://scontent-dfw5-2.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/275036238_981240702819150_421287114837255611_n.jpg?_nc_cat=108&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=u-BE4xuvD74AX90LAEQ&_nc_ht=scontent-dfw5-2.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT8mWzv0bTAKgatUrt-dMTZqbQnBEyKlPuT7_DoHdOkOHQ&oe=6227F5BE" /> [image error] " src="https://scontent-dfw5-1.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-15/275055490_1119057725580622_2050330661815277943_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8ae9d6&_nc_ohc=PGCbUw1WZm8AX-L0FoW&_nc_ht=scontent-dfw5-1.cdninstagram.com&edm=ANo9K5cEAAAA&oh=00_AT9z8zCKBUL6bhPluSCDydA1OiVDG2TWMWW92FP4ARaqFA&oe=6227EFE6" />

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Published on March 05, 2022 02:24

February 26, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

Writing Romance: Advice from 8 Authors and Agents | Now Novel https://buff.ly/3oSbOXg #WritingCommunity #amwritingromance #writetip

4 Tips for Writing Fantasy Romance https://buff.ly/2T9652H #WritingCommunity #writingtips

The Importance of Knowing What You Want from a Publisher https://buff.ly/359igSH #WritingCommunity #writerslife

How to Pitch Like a Hollywood Pro | Jane Friedman https://buff.ly/3uYJTZI #WritingCommunity #writersconferences

How to Write a Synopsis for Your Book https://buff.ly/3iGWDLO #WritingCommunity #Writer

BookTok for book marketing – Build Book Buzz https://buff.ly/3BofvJi #WritingCommunity #bookmarketing

Top 10 Writing Tips by author S Lee Manning @SLeeManning1952 #TuesdayBookBlog #Top10WritingTips #WritingTips https://buff.ly/3pa2Ogq

A Step-By-Step Authors Guide for Attracting Media Attention https://buff.ly/3m6DFiN #WritingCommunity #bookmarketing

How to Copyright a Book or Novel (and Keep to Fair Use) | Now Novel https://buff.ly/3p5PuJT #writingcommunity #indieauthors

21 Popular Horror Tropes for Writers https://buff.ly/3HhJaVY #writingcommunity #writingtips

Blatant Self Promotion

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Published on February 26, 2022 02:26

February 20, 2022

Sample Sunday – Troll Call

Troll Call, the fifth book of the Brittany Meyer Novellas, is about trolls. Trolls are misunderstood in modern society. Some people think they are rather small with wild hair and big feet. Others believe they are lumbering giants who use tree trunks as clubs. Whichever camp you find yourself in, there is one prevailing fact.

Trolls despise humans.

With good reason. Trolls were once known as the Jotnar, a race of giants who were banished from Asgard by the Norse gods. Their existence predates mankind. But instead of treating them with respect and learning from their accumulated knowledge, early humans hunted them down and killed them with spears. Today’s trolls keep to themselves unless provoked. Their numbers are currently on the rise.

There are four main types of trolls.

Mountain Trolls live in, er, the mountains. They are 15-20 feet tall. Their names reflect nature, such as Reed, Moss, Leaf, or Glen. There are also Upper Mountain Trolls who live where it is cold all the time. They are reportedly 80-100 feet tall. Their names reflect the winter, such as Frost, Rime, Sleet, or Hail.

Cave Trolls live in caves because they will turn to stone if touched by sunlight. They are the only trolls known to live in communities. They are 15-20 feet tall and take names that reflect their Norse ancestry.

The trolls we meet in Troll Call are Earth Trolls. They are petite at 10-15 feet tall and use their malodorous stench as a defensive measure. They live mainly in forests. Their names reflect the ground, such as Stone, Slate, Ridge, or Rim. You’ll find them tucked away beneath bridges or viaducts.

Trolls are all around us.

Depending upon where you live, you will encounter one type or another at some point in your life. What? You’ve never seen a troll? That’s because they’re invisible. Or, they can be when it suits them. Do you know how you can get a whiff of a skunk when there can’t be any around? You’re probably smelling a troll.

You can learn more about trolls in my book, Troll Call, which is available in both eBook and audiobook formats. Here’s an excerpt.

CHAPTER ONE

3/11/2009 Loxahatchee Florida

Brittany Meyer tromped through the woods surrounding her house, a basket slung over one arm. Leaves crackled and twigs snapped beneath her feet. In contrast, her companion moved as silently as a ghost. Which made sense. Tusks was the ghost of a demon. He stood about seven feet tall, semi-transparent, reddish with bristly black hair from his waist down. His piglike face held small red eyes and a twitching snout. The remains of two broken tusks jutted from his jaw. She’d freed him from bondage to the tyrant queen a month ago, and more recently, from a demon master in a hell dimension. Since then, he’d attached himself to her like a puppy, happily following her lead—which made her feel responsible for him. Brittany didn’t want to feel responsible for anyone. Even if they were dead.

“I’m just saying,” she continued. “You’re not enslaved anymore. You’re allowed to think for yourself. If you see something you want to do, do it. Exercise free will.”

She stopped walking, waiting for his response, but he avoided her gaze. With a sigh, she pushed damp hair out of her face. It wasn’t hot, not like it would be in May, but the humidity made her sweat.

A bush drew her attention. “There’s something.” She angled toward it, ground cover dragging at her footsteps like she was wading in muck. From her basket, she took out a knife and clipped a twig. “This is a beautyberry bush. You can crush the leaves and mix them with olive oil to make an insect repellant. Works better than DEET.”

In a voice too high-pitched for a creature his size, Tusks asked, “What is DEET?”

She grimaced and repeated, “An insect repellant.”

A grunt escaped him. “Remind me again why you are tasked with gathering such flora.”

“It’s a quest. Aunt Lynette wants to see how many wild plants I can recognize.” She motioned with her basket of samples. “Although now that you mention it, it does seem like wasted effort. I can get all these things on the Internet.”

“Perhaps she fears your zombie apocalypse.”

“Yeah, that might be it.” She gave him a sidelong glance, reminding herself to watch what she told him. He took everything she said as fact. “Let’s go this way.”

She pushed through the brush and came upon a small, green pond. Dragonflies darted across its surface. A willow drooped from the bank, its long, corkscrew branches dipping into the water.

Brittany made her way toward the tree over slime-coated rocks and snipped off the tip of a branch. “Carolina Willow. You chew the stems, and it acts like aspirin. Great if you come down with a fever while hiking.”

“That sounds important.”

“It’s rubbish.” She tossed the branch into her basket with the others. “Any responsible hiker would have a first-aid kit. How much do you want to bet that she throws all this in the trash?”

He scrunched up his piggy snout. “Bet?”

“Bet. Wager.” Brittany sighed and glanced around. The woods continued farther than she cared to explore. Her aunt had inherited acres of land around the house, all of it wild and woody. “I’m done with this. Can you lead me home?”

“Of course, Miss.”

She was using him, and she wasn’t proud of it. But they’d been wandering around the forest for hours, and it would take hours to get back—except Tusks had no concept of time. Within five minutes, they broke through the tree line at the edge of her yard.

She crossed the wide lawn toward the white clapboard house her grandfather had built. Newly planted herbs dotted a garden under the kitchen windows. Her dog, Haff, wriggled out from beneath the porch, wagged his tail a few times, then crawled back under. Haff never went near Tusks the Demon.

Brittany stopped at the kitchen door. “Thanks for keeping me company. And… Thanks for the shortcut home.”

Tusks bowed his semi-transparent head, shimmered, and disappeared.

She went inside and set her basket on the kitchen counter.

Aunt Lynette stepped out of her room. “Howdy. Learned a lot, did you?”

“I found some stuff.” Brittany pulled out a stem with narrow leaves. “This is horsemint. It helps with stomach ailments. And this is from a pinod tree. The fruit is high in vitamin C. And this is wild blackberry.” She lifted a branch, avoiding the thorns. “If you dry the leaves and make a tea… And you’re not really interested.”

“Of course, I am.” Aunt Lynette gave her a one-armed hug. “Glad to see you out and about.”

So, the quest was a trick to get her out of the house. Brittany snorted and pushed the basket away.

“Big plans this evening,” Aunt Lynette said. “We got us an invite to West Palm Beach to celebrate Esbat with Theodora and Zoe.”

Brittany nodded. Both Theodora and Zoe had covens in West Palm. “When are we leaving?”

“Well, let me see. The sun sets at seven-thirty, but the moon won’t rise until eight. Let’s say we leave at seven o’clock to be sure we have plenty of time.”

“All right.”

“There are cold cuts for dinner if you’re interested in making yourself a sandwich.”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll go upstairs and meditate for a while.” Brittany smirked inwardly. Her aunt never bothered her if she thought she was communing with the goddess. She dumped her samples into the trash then headed toward the stairs.

“Don’t forget your ritual bath,” Aunt Lynette called after her.

Brittany sighed. She hated ritual baths. She could never remember the words. Ritual baths purified bad energy and thoughts so the bather could focus on casting a spell. However, although Brittany was taking part in the Esbat Ceremony, she wouldn’t be performing the rite, so it wouldn’t matter if she got the bath wrong.

She went up to her room, grabbed her headphones, and stepped into the bathroom. From the cupboard beneath the sink, she took out a chunky cluster of amethyst and a pink candle. The amethyst would help her relax and get into a meditative state. Pink candles promoted forgiveness and self-love. This was a bath-only candle, and she changed it frequently. Because candles absorbed the energy of where they were lit, bath candles picked up the negative energy she wanted to wash away.

Brittany set the amethyst on the rim of the bathtub and lit the candle. When the tub was filled with hot water, she tossed in a cheesecloth bag filled with rosemary, sage, and sweetgrass. She stepped inside and slowly lowered her body into the fragrant warmth.

She cupped handfuls of water over her shoulders and intoned, “I cleanse myself of critical thought and self-condemnation. I purify myself of selfishness and judgment. I bathe myself in generosity, self-appreciation, and acknowledgment of my power. So mote it be.”

Snapping her headphones over her ears, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

At seven o’clock, Brittany was dressed and smelling like sweetgrass. She skipped downstairs with her white, ceremonial robe draped over her arm. In the kitchen, Aunt Lynette stacked two dozen molasses cupcakes into a box. Powdered sugar speckled their dark tops like a dusting of stars.

“Yum.” Brittany leaned over her shoulder. “That smells phenomenal.” Her stomach growled, and she wished belatedly that she had eaten something for dinner.

Myra, Aunt Lynette’s partner, stepped through the dining room. Like Brittany, she carried a white robe. “Ready to go?”

“All set.” Aunt Lynette closed the lid of the box and led them outside.

The sun was low, and the shadows were long. They approached Aunt Lynette’s car—a Ford Fiesta hatchback with a My Kid’s an Honor Student bumper sticker leftover from the previous owner. Brittany sat in the backseat next to the cupcakes. She slouched, allowing her head to loll as she gazed out the window.

What would it be like to celebrate Esbat with two other covens? Esbat took place during the full moon. The rite was all about personal growth and releasing any emotions that might hinder that growth. She didn’t want to air her secrets before a group of women she barely knew.

West Palm Beach was less than an hour away, but it seemed longer without music to listen to. She stared at the passing shops and streetlamps, then sat upright. “Are we going to the beach?”

Aunt Lynette nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. “Theodora planned an oceanside meeting.”

“Great.” Brittany smiled. Despite living in South Florida, she rarely got out to the ocean.

As they pulled into a parking lot, Brittany gazed out at the water. The other witches were already on the beach, dressed in their white robes. Theodora’s coven had seven members. Zoe’s coven had five. Aunt Lynette headed the three-person coven Brittany and Myra were in, but Brittany knew her aunt wished there were more in their group. She didn’t blame her. Aunt Lynette had studied for years to become a Wiccan priestess, and it seemed her knowledge was being wasted on just the two of them.

Brittany tugged her robe over her shorts and T-shirt then kicked off her shoes. Barefoot, she stepped onto the sandy pavement. Her hem fell around her ankles. Myra got out, her lightweight robe rippling in the salty breeze. Aunt Lynette’s garment barely stirred. Like Theodora and Zoe, she wore a heavy, red cloak and had her athame, a ceremonial knife, tucked in her belt.

They crossed the street onto the beach. Aunt Lynette held the box of cupcakes under one arm and Myra’s thin shoulders under the other. Brittany followed. Sand enveloped her toes as she walked. The surface was day-warmed, although the air was cool. A sea breeze gusted and swirled. Ocean waves struck the shore with a rhythmic roar.

The setting sun underscored the twilight with dark purple clouds. Early stars speckled the sky. The moon was about to rise.

They joined the group of witches. Theodora scurried among them, passing out paper and pens. Even in the growing darkness, Theodora’s mass of curly ginger hair clashed with her scarlet robe.

“Good. You made it.” Theodora approached them with her usual grin. “You remember everyone?”

In truth, Brittany didn’t remember many of their names, but she smiled and nodded at the familiar faces.

Theodora handed Myra and Brittany felt-tip pens and thick pieces of paper torn from a sketch pad. “Write down what you intend to release from your life. What emotions need to be healed and forgiven. Be as eloquent as you like. The more detail, the better. Then sign and date the paper and hold onto it.”

Brittany blew out a pent-up breath. She’d imagined herself standing before everyone and confessing her failings. Writing it down was way better.

Theodora ushered Aunt Lynette to where Zoe waited for them. Zoe wore her hair in a blue buzz cut. She stood next to the altar—an old, wooden lectern decorated with dangling crystals and silver garland. On the altar was a white pillar candle. There were also four smaller candles: a yellow one for air, a red one for fire, blue for water, and green for Earth. On the sand in front was a little iron cauldron. Its belly was perhaps ten inches across.

Aunt Lynette placed the box of cupcakes into the lectern, and the three priestesses put their heads together.

Myra turned to Brittany. “How about I use your back to lean against? Then you can use mine.”

“All right.”

Brittany held still as Myra wrote against her back. She wrote for several minutes, most likely ranting about Queen Imogene. Brittany wouldn’t be surprised if all the witches were releasing residual anger toward the recently deceased witch queen of South Florida. Imogene had been a tyrant who held hostages in an abandoned hospital guarded by ghouls. Aunt Lynette was one of those hostages, and Myra had been terrified that she would never see her again.

But Brittany had a different wound to heal. Cody, her ex-boyfriend, had left her. He said that it was for her own good and that she should go on with her life. Part of her understood why he felt that way. He was on the run from some very bad people, and he wanted to protect her from all that. But when he told her to go home, when he said he didn’t want her with him, he’d hurt her deeper than words could express. She’d been wracked by conflicting emotions since—anger that he would presume to make decisions about her life and confusion because she still loved him.

“Your turn.” Myra stepped away, breaking into her thoughts.

Brittany pressed her paper against Myra’s back. There was barely enough light to see, but she wrote down her resentment, disappointment, and uncertainty about Cody. She needed to let it go.

Aunt Lynette, Theodora, and Zoe stepped away from the group and huddled together at the water’s edge as if deciding who would preside over the Esbat Rite. After a few moments, Aunt Lynette stepped into the waves holding a crystal decanter. She filled the container with seawater then strode back onto the beach. The bottom of her robe was soaked. Damp sand clumped to the hemline.

Zoe and Theodora took their places on either side of the altar.

Aunt Lynette pulled a bag of salt from a shelf inside the lectern, poked a hole in the burlap with her athame, and marked a white circle around the altar. The circle had to be large enough to hold twelve witches. As she drew the circle, she chanted, “This is a place which is not a place, a time which is not a time, halfway between the world of gods and mortals.”

Over the ocean, the moon rose, large and full. Its light shimmered on the water. Brittany stood outside the circle side-by-side with the other women, watching the ceremony. She noticed other people watching as well. Joggers slowed their step. Passersby stopped to gawk. Families with small children hurried them to the street.

Oblivious to her audience, Aunt Lynette took the four smaller candles and set them on the compass points. With a long wooden match, she lit the yellow one. The flame danced with the breeze. “Guardians of the east, guided by air, we ask that you keep watch over our circle tonight.” She lit the red candle. “Guardians of the south, guided by fire, we ask that you keep watch over our circle tonight.” Then the blue. “Guardians of the west, guided by water, we ask that you keep watch over our circle tonight.” Finally, the green. “Guardians of the north, guided by Earth, we ask that you keep watch over our circle tonight.”

She moved behind the altar where Zoe and Theodora still stood and ran her gaze over those in attendance. Raising her voice above the crash of the waves, she said, “Let all who enter this circle do so in love and trust.”

Together, Brittany and the witches intoned, “In light and love of the goddess, we enter this circle.” Lifting her robe so as not to disturb the line of salt, Brittany stepped forward with the others.

Aunt Lynette took a bowl from the shelf and set it on the altar. She poured seawater inside then raised it toward the moon. “The moon is the symbol of the mother who brings the changing tide and the shifting night. Keep your watchful eyes upon us, great mother, and bring us to the next full moon in your light and love.” She set the bowl of water next to the cauldron on the sand. With another long match, she lit the white pillar candle on the altar. The flame flickered but held. Then she stepped to the front. “Tonight, I choose to reflect your light and open myself to radiant clarity. I light this pyre in the name of the moon.”

She lit the cauldron. Its contents caught fire so quickly, Brittany wondered what was in it. She smelled sprigs of dried lavender. Cinnamon sticks. Maybe some thyme leaves. She took a deep breath, breathing in the fragrance.

With Brittany a beat behind the others, they intoned, “Mother Moon shines upon us. We heal under her glow. May we shine ever so bright. Blessed be.”

One by one, the women stepped forward to drop their papers into the little cauldron. When it was Brittany’s turn, she approached self-consciously, aware of many eyes upon her. Carefully, she placed her paper into the flames. The paper blackened and curled. Smoke rose, sending her words to the goddess. She stepped back into line.

When everyone’s papers had burned and the witches had returned to their places in the circle, Aunt Lynette said, “Goddess and Guardians, you have heard our voices. Depart with our thanks and our love. By the power of the Goddess and of the Guardians, this circle is undone but not broken. So mote it be.” She snuffed out the candles.

A small broom made of twigs leaned against the back of the lectern. Theodora used it to scatter the salt over the sand. As she did, she sang, “As I sweep, sweep, sweep the ground, all negativity shall be bound. I banish all that is profane. Only love and blessings shall remain.”

The witches hugged one another. Brittany smiled with a sense of relief as if a great burden had been taken from her.

From inside the lectern, Aunt Lynette withdrew the box of cupcakes. She walked around, offering the cakes and murmuring, “May you never hunger.”

Theodora and Zoe followed, each with a bottle of wine. They murmured, “May you never thirst.”

Brittany ate her cupcake. Sweet nutmeg and ginger burst over her tongue. She washed it down with a swig of red wine.

The flames in the cauldron went out, but the cinnamon sticks continued to smolder, smelling homey and familiar. The waves crashed. Stars twinkled, gathered around the ascending moon. Brittany glanced around the mingled covens, everyone laughing and talking quietly, and for a time it felt like they were all one coven, all one people with a single purpose: growth. Personal growth and the growth of the coven.

Too soon, it was time to leave.

Aunt Lynette poured the moon water from the bowl over the coals in the cauldron. “Who does this cute little cauldron belong to?”

“That’s mine.” Theodora grinned. “I got it at an estate sale. The altar, too.”

“Let me help you carry everything back to the van,” Aunt Lynette said.

“No need. The girls will help. That is if they want a ride home.”

The members of Theodora’s coven laughed.

And just like that, the witches broke apart into three separate groups. Brittany wished she could reunite them, wished that a single coven encompassed all of South Florida with a witch queen holding it together. A queen who was known for love and compassion. Not the power-hungry hag that Queen Imogene had been.

Brittany crossed the street with Aunt Lynette and Myra then got into the car. She pulled off her robe, brushed the sand off her bare feet, and put on her shoes.

“That was nice.” Myra smiled and took Aunt Lynette’s hand. “We should consider oceanside rites more often.”

“Something to think on.” Aunt Lynette started the car. She honked and waved as Zoe’s coven streamed by, then she pulled out into traffic.

Before long, they were back in Loxahatchee. As they drove up the long, dirt road that led to their driveway, an eye-watering stench greeted them. It smelled like a mixture of rotten eggs and ammonia.

“Ooh-wee, what a stink.” Aunt Lynette hurriedly rolled up her window. “We got us a skunk in the area.”

But Brittany recognized the smell as that of a troll. Most people couldn’t see trolls—but Brittany had the Sight. In the light of the full moon, she spotted the troll named Stone standing at the edge of their yard where the forest began. He was at least twelve feet tall with gray, pebbly skin and a knobby, hairless head. According to Aunt Lynette, trolls were violent, vicious creatures. Brittany flashed on images of Stone ripping ghouls’ heads off during the infamous Battle for the Hostages.

Aunt Lynette parked in the carport beside Brittany’s dirt bike and her little VW Bug.

Brittany left her robe on the backseat as she got out of the car. “I’m going to stay outside for a while,” she said. “I want to make sure Haff is all right. We don’t want him tangling with a skunk.”

“Good thinking,” Aunt Lynette said. “That dog is too friendly for his own good.” Arm-in-arm, she and Myra went into the house.

Brittany gulped, straightened her back, and walked toward the troll.

CHAPTER TWO

Brittany crossed the wide yard. Stone watched her, his beetle-black eyes glittering in the starlight. The skunky smell diminished as she approached—a sign that she didn’t make him feel threatened.

“Hello, Stone,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He sat on his haunches, but even scrunched down, he was taller than she was. “Good evening, Friend Brittany,” he said in a gravelly voice. “It is with a heavy heart that I visit you this night. I request your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Rim is missing.”

“Oh, no.” Brittany frowned. Rim was the first troll she met. He had a dry sense of humor. She’d liked him immediately. “Could he have wandered off, gotten lost? Or gone someplace else to live?”

“I know only that he would not have left us voluntarily.”

“Kidnapped? That’s impossible. No one’s strong enough to kidnap a troll.”

“And yet I, myself, was once kidnapped by your witch queen. Held hostage against my will.”

“Yes, but she was using demons.”

As if on cue, she sensed Tusks the Demon materialize behind her. Stone stood and stepped back, looking like he might bolt.

“This is Tusks.” She glanced at the demon. “A friend. He was also held prisoner by the queen. Tusks, this is Stone of the Earth Trolls.”

Tusks inclined his head. Stone’s face relaxed, but he remained standing. Brittany’s neck cricked as she stared up at him.

“Stone, why did Queen Imogene kidnap you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I lived alone at the time. She sought me out with the intent to recruit me as a guard at her dungeon. No doubt as a forerunner to recruiting more of my brethren. I refused by throwing a rock at her. It was a rather large rock. The next thing I knew, I was a prisoner in the aforementioned dungeon. An ironic twist of events.”

“Yes, that sounds like her.”

“Friend Brittany,” Stone said, “I formally request your assistance in locating Rim.”

Formally? “But what makes you think that I—”

“You are the Queen of the Humans.”

“Me?” she yelped. “Oh, no no no.”

“But you must be. I saw you kill the witch queen. You have no choice but to replace her. That is how it is done.”

“How it is done,” Tusks agreed.

Brittany gave him a you’re-not-helping look. She did not kill the witch queen. Queen Imogene died of a heart attack. But this wasn’t the time to argue that fact. She blew out a breath. “Where did you see Rim last?” she asked Stone.

“At our camp. In his special place.”

Under the viaduct. “All right. Go home. I will meet you there shortly.”

“Thank you, Friend Brittany.” He stepped back into the forest then disappeared under the trees, surprisingly stealthy for such a large being.

Brittany hugged her arms against a sudden chill. Queen of the Humans? Why did people keep thinking she was more than she was? She looked at Tusks. “Are you up for a road trip?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Brittany pulled her dirt bike from the carport and walked it to the road. She didn’t want to start it up too soon and announce she was leaving. It was better to apologize than to ask permission and be told no. When she was away from the house, she strapped on her helmet, hopped onto the bike, and headed into town.

Loxahatchee was a small town known for its horse farms. It also had a drive-through safari zoo and a naturist resort. It was located in the northernmost portion of the Everglades, complete with alligators, panthers—and a secret society of trolls. Normally, trolls were solitary creatures, but after their experience with the witch queen, these had banded together for protection.

Despite that, Rim was missing. Who was capable of kidnapping a troll? Who would want to? Trolls had no worldly possessions. They couldn’t pay a ransom. Besides, trolls were invisible.

She got onto the Beeline Highway and sped toward the preserves. The cold air clothed her bare arms in goosebumps, and she wished she’d worn more than shorts and a T-shirt. Traffic was light, and the road was dark. Sawgrass stretched out on either side. The Beautification Committee had planted occasional rows of palm trees, and they stood like silent sentinels marking the entrance ramps.

She caught a whiff of a skunky smell long before she reached the overpass that the trolls called home. She pulled onto the shoulder of the road then drove carefully through the rough grass. The little engine buzzed like a chainsaw. She saw more trolls than the last time she’d visited. They hid in the shadows thrown by her headlight, peering at her from beneath the bridge.

They made her nervous. Stone had been held hostage by Queen Imogene, a human and a witch. If any of the trolls wanted retaliation, Brittany would be in trouble. Not helpless, exactly. She still had her magic, but she didn’t want to use it against them. That would validate their distrust of humans.

She stopped the bike but kept the engine running, light spearing the darkness. Like magic, Tusks the Demon materialized beside her. He wasn’t as tall as a troll. But he was muscular, like a boar on steroids, and made a good bodyguard.

“Thanks for having my back,” she murmured.

“Are we expecting trouble?”

“I hope not,” she told him, then called, “Stone? Are you here?”

“Yes, Friend Brittany.” The troll stepped toward her.

“How did Rim act the last time you saw him? Was he upset about anything?”

Stone shook his head. “Rim was never upset.”

That was the way she remembered him, too. “Where did you see him last?”

“In his shelter. His special place.”

“Let’s have a look.”

She edged the bike beneath the overpass. The stanchions were massive, great concrete pillars with mounds of gravel at their feet. Behind one, they found Rim’s special place. Brittany remembered seeing him there, his long limbs unfolding as he got to his feet. He’d chuckled at the look on her face, putting her at ease. And now he was missing.

She angled the headlight, lowered the kickstand, then dismounted. The bike lit the area like a floodlight. She scaled the gravel incline, pretending she knew what she was doing, searching for something amiss, but she had no idea what to look for. Where could Rim be? What could have happened to her giant friend? She needed a clue, but there was nothing. Nothing.

Then she noticed an object on the ground. She picked it up. A dart.

Dread and fear coursed through her. She tossed down the dart as if it were a poisonous snake. Someone had shot Rim. A human someone. Someone else could see the trolls.

She backed away, eyes on the ground. The gravel was scattered along one side. And now that she knew what to look for, she saw a depressed track through the grass. Drag marks. She grabbed her bike and followed the tracks to the highway.

And there on the pavement was a smear of blood. And another. How had she missed it?

“Someone hooked Rim to a heavy-duty truck and dragged him out onto the road,” she told Stone. “They took him that way.”

“Who took him?”

“Humans. Evil humans.”

“Like the queen.”

She stared at the blood. “The queen is dead.” But then, who dragged away a thousand-pound troll? Apprehension ran through her. She shook herself then mounted the bike.

Tusks appeared at her side. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to follow that trail,” she told him. “Stay close to me. It might get ugly.”

With a roar, the bike raced down the highway.

Blood marked the pavement. Then more blood. Then one horrendously long streak that could only mean his skin was being torn away. At the next mile marker, tire tracks left the highway. They led to a stand of broken pine overrun by kudzu.

Brittany pulled off the road. She stopped outside the gathered trees and turned off the engine. Insects chirruped like a scream. The heavy air was thick with the cloying stench of rotting meat. Oh no, oh no.

She dismounted—and realized that Stone and five other trolls had followed her. “Stay back,” she told them.

They pulled together as if propping one another up.

Brittany pushed through the prickly brush. Steeling herself, she forced her way past the curtain of kudzu. The moonlight cut out. She could barely see. Then she trod upon something squishy.

The thicket held a mound of shredded flesh. Four thick chains were attached to stakes.

Brittany swayed. She covered her nose and mouth with her hands. She must have made a sound because the trolls burst in behind her. They cried out, looking around as if horrified.

Stone let out a wail. He fell to his knees, weeping.

She stood beside him. “I will find whoever did this. I promise.”

But Stone didn’t seem to hear her. “My friend. My friend,” he wept.

The trolls pulled Stone to his feet. Two of them tucked their shoulders beneath his beefy arms and walked him out of the trees. The others followed soundlessly.

When they were gone, Brittany circled the blood and gore trying not to step on anything in the darkness. This wasn’t a body. There were no arms. No legs. It might not be Rim. But she knew it was.

Tusks leaned over the pulpy mass. “The bones are missing. Ribs, spine, skull—all gone.”

“Someone took Rim’s bones?” It was too much. Brittany burst out of the thicket and rushed to her bike, gasping, head spinning. The trolls were gone. Even their skunky smell was dissipating, overshadowed by the stench of the corpse.

Tusks appeared beside her.

“Do you know of any reason why a person would do this to a troll?” she asked him.

“No, Miss. I do not.”

“This is terrible. Horrible.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “And do you know what the worst part is? Whoever it is must be able to see them. They have the Sight. Like me.”

“Another witch?”

“I don’t know.” She groaned, trying to push the image from her mind. “I have to get out of here. Do me a favor and keep an eye on the trolls to see if they are attacked again.”

Tusks didn’t respond. Brittany got on her bike and rode home alone. She snuck into the house then took a long shower, feeling soiled and stained.

That night, she stayed wide awake. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Rim’s shredded remains. Who would do such a thing? How did they overpower a troll? After hours of tossing and turning, she got up, booted her laptop, and cleared a spot for it on her desk. You could find anything on the Internet—you just needed to ask the right questions. But all her questions about trolls and troll bones led her to fairytales. She read until her eyelids grew heavy, and she had to blink to dispel double-vision.

And that concludes this excerpt of Troll Call, the fifth book of the Brittany Meyer series. I hope you will pick up a copy for yourself or for the young adult reader in your family. It’s available at Amazon or other fine retailers.

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Published on February 20, 2022 03:43

February 19, 2022

My Top Ten Tweets for #writers

My Top Ten Tweets

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Bonus: Looking Ahead 2022

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Blatant Self Promotion

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Write a terrible first draft. Then tell yourself

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Published on February 19, 2022 02:42

February 13, 2022

Sample Sunday – Scheming Demon

You never know how much someone means to you until you need to travel to a different dimension and bail them out of jail. That’s exactly what my main character, Brittany does in Scheming Demon, the fourth book of the Brittany Meyer Novellas.

What would you do for a friend?

Brittany has befriended Tusks, the ghost of a demon. Their relationship has gone from wary to friendly to inseparable. But one day Tusks disappears, and Brittany learns that he’s been taken to a demon dimension for trial about a broken contract. She decides to save him.

But first, she has to figure out how to get to different dimensions. Her research takes her to Cassadaga, Florida. If you’ve never been to Cassadaga, I have a good description of it in Scheming Demon. But descriptions don’t do it justice. Cassadaga is truly a magical place.

Is Cassadaga for real?

Cassadaga, a small town in east-central Florida, is known as the Psychic Capital of the World. Yes, it’s a real place. Some people avoid it, saying it’s gotten too touristy, and I suppose it has in a way. It has ghost tours and historical tours which cater to tourists. But for me, it’s more than crowded streets and thrill-seekers. It is the embodiment of feminism, a last stand against oppression and overwhelming odds.

I remember seeing a photograph of the original town, row after row of tents with faces peering out from beneath the flaps. Most of the Cassadaga settlers were female. They were not witches with potions and spells. These were women who could speak with the dead or see the future. They came from all over the world seeking safety in numbers and freedom from persecution.

Just a little touristy.

Today the town is still predominately female. Nearly everyone is a psychic or a certified medium. The homes are historic, the sidewalks are cracked, and the trees are ancient. Where the tents once stood is now the tranquil Horseshoe Park and Fairy Trail. Okay, the Fairy Trail is a little touristy with its pretend fairy houses and the wishing trees draped with Mardi-Gras-style beads. It’s all in good fun though and well worth a trip to see it.

But I digress. The purpose of this post is to introduce you to Scheming Demon, the fourth book of my young adult urban fantasy series. So, without further ado, here is an excerpt.

CHAPTER ONE

2/17/2009 Loxahatchee, Florida

Tusks the Demon lay beside Brittany on the roof of her two-story house. His hands were behind his beefy neck, and his cloven feet were crossed in a disturbingly human manner. “Are you able to try again?” he asked.

Brittany sighed and looked up at the fading stars. What did it say about her that her mentor wasn’t human? Tusks was the ghost of a demon who became enamored of her when she accidentally dosed him with a love potion. However, that had been a week ago. It would be unusual for him to still be ensorcelled.

And yet, here he was.

A cool breeze drew goosebumps down her arms, and her back itched upon the gritty wood shake tiles. She yawned. “Tell me again why we have to be up here so early in the morning. I’m half asleep.”

“That is good, Miss,” he said. “Astral projection is often attained at dawn when the body is still in deep relaxation. Do you have your quartz crystal?”

She showed it to him.

“This time, place it on your stomach below your breastbone. Do you feel the weight?”

“Yes,” she whispered, although saying it had weight was an overstatement. It wasn’t a large crystal. It was teardrop shaped and spent most of its time hanging by fishing line at her bedroom window.

“Close your eyes and focus on the stone’s heaviness. Feel nothing but the crystal. Hear nothing but my voice. Do not fear. The crystal will protect you from negative energies because quartz has an elevated vibration rate. Anything negative has a lower frequency.”

Normally, his voice brayed like the squeal of a pig, too high-pitched for such a large creature. Now, he lowered it. Softened it. His voice became soothing. It flowed around her in waves—a stream keeping her afloat.

“You are connected to your body by a silver cord,” he crooned. “The cord cannot be weakened no matter how far you roam. It is pure energy, and energy cannot be removed. It cannot be broken. Time and distance are void in the astral plane. You can go where you wish. See what you wish.”

She bobbed and swirled in the current of his voice. Buoyant.

“With your eyes closed, visualize your hands. Use your mind to flex your fingers. Not physically. Flex them in your mind.”

She moved her fingers. They thrummed like a violin string—vibrating in the same frequency as the crystal.

“Shift your focus until you can move your arms, your legs, your head. Now, using only your mind, stand up.”

Brittany stood. The motion sent her gliding through the air. She looked down at her body. Her body.

Tusks rose to one elbow, gazing at her. A pale blue nimbus encased him. He smiled, and with his pig snout and broken tusks, he looked frightening. “I see you.”

Oh. My. God.

She snapped back into her body and wheezed in a breath.

“Miss?” Tusks asked. “Are you well?”

“I did it. I actually did it. I saw my body. And the silver cord. And you.” She stopped. “But you didn’t have a cord.”

His smile fell. “The tyrant queen destroyed my body, and when you freed me from bondage by disintegrating the remains of my tusk, I became… untethered.”

“Does that mean you can get lost in the astral plane?”

“Indeed. But do not concern yourself. I am very old. I know my way around.” The look he gave her was loving and protective. “Are you able to try again?”

She slipped the quartz crystal into the pocket of her shorts. “Instead of astral projection, can we practice controlling that white light that comes out of me?” The light that turns vampires to dust, that disintegrates magical talismans and the remains of tusks? She wanted to be able to call forth the light at will—and also block it at will.

“Of course. But remember what I said. You are made of star fire. The light of creation burns within you. I consist of hellfire.”

“Like matter and anti-matter. I get it.”

“Very well, Miss. Close your eyes. Deep breath. Your aura is shining bright. It is energy escaping. Draw that energy into yourself. Imagine it as a ball. Deep in your center. In the third chakra. Excellent. Now, channel a tiny portion through the chakra into your right hand.”

Brittany sensed the force within her—cool and calming, like moonlight. She nudged a glimmer of light from her stomach through her chest and down her arm.

“Open your eyes.”

Brittany looked. Swirling white fire filled her hand. She lifted her arm and stared at her fingers. They were encased in silver flame.

“Now, put it back.”

She sucked in the light like drawing breath through a straw. The flames extinguished. “I did it.” She sat up, holding out both hands to compare them. They looked normal. “I can’t believe I did it. I can’t wait to tell Ravyn.”

“Ravyn Crowe?” He frowned. “You wish to tell her because you are rivals?”

“No. Because she’s my friend. At least, I want her to be my friend.”

“Why?”

“She’s just as messed up as I am.” Brittany shrugged. “And it’s nice to have someone your age to talk to. Someone who won’t judge.”

“There is no one else here who is your age?”

“Not anymore. There was Cody. He said he would always be there, but he left. And there was Eileen, but she’s gone now, too.”

“She is deceased?”

“Worse. She got married. Every time I call her, she says she only has a minute to talk. Busy with this. Busy with that. Both my friends went on with their lives and left me.”

“So, you cling to your rival in the hope she will not leave?”

Was that what she was doing? “Aunt Lynette says Ravyn can’t be trusted.”

Tusks made a chuckling sound. “The only thing Ravyn Crowe can be trusted to do is serve herself.” He looked into the distance. “The sun is rising.”

Brittany followed his gaze. The sky was pink. Rays of sunlight peeked through the trees. “You’d better pop me back to my room before my aunt realizes I’m gone.”

“Very well.” He stood.

She frowned up at him. “How are you able to pop me here and there when we aren’t allowed to touch?”

“We do not touch. Like you, I have an aura.”

She squinted. She’d seen a blue nimbus around him when she was out-of-body, but now… “I don’t see your aura.”

“Nonetheless, it is there. A sphere of influence, as it were. When I… pop you to other places, I merely enclose you in my sphere before I travel.”

She stood beside him. “Do you ever include unwanted things? Passing butterflies? The dirt beneath your feet?”

“There are no butterflies up here.” He chuckled. “And I no longer stand upon Earth.” His hooves hovered above the rooftop.

“Because you’re dead.”

“Just so. However, when I was young, I sometimes carried unexpected substances across the planes. I am more experienced now.”

“I see.” She fished for something else to say. She was procrastinating, delaying the queasy sensation she always got when she traveled with him.

“Are you prepared?” Tusks moved closer, his huge red body towering over hers.

POP! She appeared in her bedroom. Head swimming. Stomach roiling.

Tusks stepped back. “You accomplished much today. I’m sure your next lesson will be even more productive. Until that time.” His semi-transparent image faded further.

“Wait!” she blurted. “Where do you go when you’re not with me?”

“I am always with you.”

“But don’t you have a place to rest? A home?”

He smiled, and his piggy snout twitched. “If ever you should call me and I do not appear, then know that something ill has befallen me.” He bowed his head and disappeared.

“Always with me. That’s not creepy at all,” she called after him. Then she muttered, “Keep out of my room.”

Brittany flopped onto her bed and squished a pillow beneath her neck. She yawned, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. The recent lesson was too exciting. She actually had an out-of-body experience. Astral projection took her one step closer to seeing Cody, her ex-boyfriend.

Cody broke up with her—not because he didn’t love her, she always stressed to herself, but because he was trying to protect her from the government goons who were after him. Tusks promised to take her spectral body across the astral plane to the Artic Circle where Cody was hiding. Cody wouldn’t know she was there, but at least she could see him.

She dug into her pocket and pulled out the crystal. Her aunt taught her that quartz was about clarity, light, reflection, and amplification. Aunt Lynette, a bona fide Wiccan priestess, knew a lot about ritual magic. Tusks taught Brittany the metaphysical side.

Aunt Lynette was aware of Tusks, but she didn’t know he was giving Brittany lessons. She disliked the demon and would never approve. Fortunately, Brittany had the entire second floor to herself, allowing her some privacy. Her aunt stayed on the first floor with Myra, her partner. Brittany and Myra made up the coven under Aunt Lynette.

Brittany placed the crystal on her chest and concentrated the way Tusks had told her. She tried to make her arms feel both heavy and light like they had before, tried to move her spectral fingers. Once she felt a little dreamy, but perhaps she had just dozed off.

After a while, she heard movement in the kitchen below. The blessed aroma of coffee drifted through the air. Brittany set the crystal on her desk and bounded downstairs. “Good morning,” she said to her aunt.

“Well, ain’t you bright as the sunshine,” Aunt Lynette said. “What’re you doing up so early, sugar?”

“Studying.” It wasn’t a lie—she just didn’t specify what she was studying. On top of everything else, Brittany was taking online college courses for herbology.

“I’m making omelets,” her aunt said. “Want one?”

“Mmm, yes, please.” Brittany poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

Myra came out of the bedroom. “Morning, Brit. Did you sleep well? You look a little pale.” Myra was a healer, and she always noticed stuff like that.

Brittany sipped her cup. “I got up early to study. I have a test on medieval folk remedies this week.” Again, not a lie.

“If I can do anything to help, let me know.” Myra poured a cup and sat across from her.

“What do y’all want in your omelets?” Aunt Lynette asked. “Veggies or meat?”

“A little of both?” Brittany said.

“And don’t forget the fresh goat cheese we picked up at the market,” Myra said.

“Ah, yes.” Aunt Lynette retrieved ingredients from the refrigerator.

Soon three steaming omelets sat before them, golden brown and garnished with sliced tomatoes and sprigs of rosemary.

“I’ll say grace,” Aunt Lynette said, reaching for both their hands. “Lord and Lady, bless us as we eat. Bless this food, this bounty of Earth. So mote it be.”

They ate with smiles and silence.

When they finished, Aunt Lynette asked, “What’s in store for you today, Brit?”

Brittany took a last gulp of coffee. “After I straighten the kitchen, I’m going back to studying.”

“I’ll clean up,” Myra said.

“But, it’s my job.”

Myra shook her head. “Your job is to get good grades and graduate. Go ahead. I’ll take care of this.”

“In that case, please excuse me.” Brittany headed out of the kitchen. “Thanks, Myra. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she called back.

Brittany carried her laptop to the front porch and sat in her favorite wicker chair. The screened-in porch was like an extra living room—filled with furniture and cushioned by a thick sisal rug. Two ceiling fans stirred the air into a gentle breeze.

She opened the laptop and pulled up her review pages. Online college courses were a godsend. She loved being able to study in her own home without having to people. However, the course syllabus didn’t warn her that she would have to memorize so many dates.

Her sanity was spared when, with a crackle of tires on gravel, a jade green Mercedes drove up the driveway. Brittany gasped with shock before realizing that it couldn’t be Queen Imogene. The queen was dead. This was Ravyn Crowe, the queen’s ward and protégée—and Brittany’s former rival.

Ravyn got out of the car. Her dark hair was twisted into thin locs. They draped her shoulders like a cape. Brittany set down her computer and went out to greet her.

Ravyn looked subdued.

“Is something wrong?” Brittany asked.

She shrugged. “I just came from having her cremated.”

“Oh.” Brittany looked away. “That must’ve been hard. I mean, I know you didn’t like the queen, but she was your mentor, and…” She hesitated. “I’m sorry I got your mentor killed.”

Ravyn scrunched her face. “You didn’t get her killed. All you did was destroy her fetishes and set her demons free. Trust me. If she hadn’t treated them like slaves, they wouldn’t have turned on her. Anyway, the official report says she had a heart attack. She died of fright.”

“Still. I feel responsible.”

“Well, don’t,” she said. “Listen, it will be two weeks before they’ll mail out the cremains. I was hoping I could have them sent here.”

“Why?”

“I thought the covens might want them. She was their queen, after all. They could have a ceremony and scatter her ashes to the wind. I don’t care what you do. I won’t be around to see it.”

Brittany went cold. “You’re leaving?”

Ravyn sighed. “She left everything to me. I shouldn’t be surprised. She didn’t have a family. Or friends. So, I got the condo on the beach, her stock holdings, her car.” She motioned at the Mercedes. “Of course, there’s a snag. There’s always a snag. The state is contesting the will because I don’t have a normal birth certificate. But it turns out that I have a midwife birth certificate. Who knew? The lawyers say that should be good enough.”

“You have lawyers?”

“Her lawyers. A whole team of them. They told me the money will probably go into a trust fund since I’m only seventeen. In the meantime, I thought I’d take what cash she had in the house and go to Texas. It feels more like home than this place.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to Brittany. “I bequeath to you my dirt bike.”

“What?” Brittany looked at the title. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Want to. I won’t take no for an answer, either. And there’s more.” She moved toward the back of the car. “The queen had a whole wall filled with potions. I have no idea what most of them are. I can’t flush them down the toilet because I don’t know what’s in them. Can’t bury them for the same reason.” She opened the trunk to reveal two cardboard boxes filled with dozens of small decorative bottles. “I thought you’d like to have them. Maybe you can deconstruct them and figure out what she did.”

“Wow.” Brittany goggled at the treasure trove. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll help you carry them up to the porch, then I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t you want to come in for lemonade?”

“Nah. I’ve got a long drive ahead.”

Brittany picked up one box, and Ravyn picked up the other. They carried them inside to the wicker coffee table where Brittany had left her laptop.

“Well,” Ravyn said, “we’ve been through a lot together.”

Brittany didn’t know what to say. Another friend was leaving. She wanted to hug her.

But Ravyn turned and skipped down the porch steps. “Take care of yourself, monkey,” she called over her shoulder.

“Goodbye.” Brittany watched Ravyn drive away. And just like that, her good mood soured.

Brittany opened the front door and carried a box inside, setting it on the kitchen table with more force than was prudent. The bottles clinked and rattled.

Aunt Lynette and Myra came out of their bedroom.

“Was that Ravyn Crowe I heard?” Aunt Lynette asked.

“Don’t worry. She’s gone. Like gone to Texas.”

“Good riddance.”

Brittany swung her arm. “Why can’t I have friends?”

“We’re your friends, sweetie,” Myra said.

“You’re my guardians,” Brittany countered. “If I did something crazy, you’d get mad and send me to my room. A friend helps you do the crazy stuff.”

Aunt Lynette gave her the beady eye. “Are you saying you got something crazy cooked up?”

“See?”

Myra chuckled then turned her attention to the box. She picked up a cobalt blue bottle. “This is pretty.”

“Be careful not to get anything on your hands,” Brittany told her. “They belonged to Queen Imogene. I don’t know what’s in them.”

“The queen?” She set down the bottle like it was a bomb.

“I’ve got another box of them on the porch.”

“Glory be. You left the door wide open.” Aunt Lynette hurried out of the kitchen.

Myra smiled. “So, why Texas?”

“She used to live there.” Brittany groaned and plopped onto a chair. “Why does everyone leave me?”

“You’re thinking about Cody.”

“We were supposed to be planning our wedding.”

“Everything happens for a reason. Trust your path.”

The front door slammed, and Aunt Lynette carried in a box of bottles. She set it beside the first one. “Why would Ravyn give you all this?”

Brittany shrugged. “She also said she’s having the queen’s cremains sent here.”

“What?” Myra stiffened. “I don’t want her ashes. You know how I feel about that vile, evil—”

“That was right thoughtful of her,” Aunt Lynette said. “We’ll send Imogene off to a better place.”

“I doubt it.” Brittany scoffed. “I heard she was being tormented over a lake of fire.”

“Did your demon tell you that?” Aunt Lynette snapped. “You know how I feel about that vile, evil—”

“These bottles are so pretty,” Myra said. “All cut glass and sparkly. And look… Some of them are tagged with people’s names. Winifred. Chandrelle. And… Oh, no.” She looked up, stricken. “Lynnie, this one has your name.”

“Where?” Aunt Lynette stepped forward.

Myra lifted a bottle from the box. The glass was pink and cut into diamonds. A tag fluttered, tied to the stopper with a ribbon. Lynette.

Aunt Lynette cupped it in her hands. “It’s vibrating.”

Myra gasped. “Black magic.”

“But how would she get my blood? I would never. You know that.”

“Looks like she found a way,” Brittany murmured.

Her aunt stared at the bottle. “May I keep this? I just feel… I think I’m supposed to have it.”

“Of course,” Brittany said.

“There’s one here for Theodora,” Myra said.

Aunt Lynette held out a trembling hand. “I’ll see that she gets it.” She accepted the bottle then stumbled toward her room.

Brittany’s gaze followed her aunt’s departure. “Was she crying?” Aunt Lynette had been held hostage by the queen for three days. Did the memory still upset her?

“Even in death, Imogene hurts us.” Myra shook her head. “I’m glad you killed her.”

“I didn’t kill her. It was a heart attack. The coroner said so.”

Myra lifted another bottle. “I wonder if all these people would want their bottles back.”

Brittany nodded.

CHAPTER TWO

As Ravyn had promised, the box containing Imogene’s ashes came through Priority Mail two weeks later. Brittany carried it in from the mailbox and set it gingerly on the living room coffee table.

Myra looked up from her book. Her face fell. “Oh, no. Imogene’s here.”

“What should we do with her?” Brittany asked.

“I’ve decided on funeral rites,” Aunt Lynette said from the hallway.

“She doesn’t deserve it,” Myra said.

“No.” Aunt Lynette entered the room. “We do. All of us whose lives she touched. We need closure. We need to forgive.”

Brittany sat on the couch beside Myra. “That might be too much to expect.”

“I don’t expect anything. I’ll offer, and all who come are welcome. I’ve already contacted a park in the city of Hollywood. It’s off I95, so it’s easy to get to. They said I can scatter the ashes there without a permit.”

“You’ve given this some thought,” Myra said.

Aunt Lynette nodded. “I want to make this a joyous occasion. A get-together. We’ll have it on Wednesday for the first quarter moon. I’ll reserve a gazebo, and we can have a big barbecue.”

Brittany laughed. “A funeral barbecue.”

“I don’t know, Lynnie,” Myra said. “How can I forgive her for taking you from me? If it hadn’t been for Brittany—”

“And Ravyn,” Brittany said. “We wouldn’t have found the hostages without her.”

“And Ravyn.” Myra nodded.

“That’s why we need to come together,” Lynette said. “We need to vent. Or our anger and resentment will explode.”

“How will we reach the other covens?” Brittany asked.

Aunt Lynette tapped her nose. “I think Zoe might know how to get in touch with ‘em.”

For the next two days, Aunt Lynette and Myra planned the funeral. To Brittany, it sounded like they were planning a family reunion minus the volleyball game. But perhaps all funerals were family reunions. There was to be a ceremony, however, and Brittany recited her lines until she knew them by heart.

On Wednesday, the three of them hopped into Aunt Lynette’s Ford Fiesta hatchback and drove to Hollywood. The funeral food was in containers on the backseat with Brittany. Imogene’s ashes rode in the cargo area. Brittany wondered if Tusks hovered above them as they sped along the turnpike. She hadn’t seen him yet that day. He could become invisible, and she couldn’t always sense him. Despite her aunt’s misgivings about the demon, Brittany was glad he was her mentor. She was learning so much from him. And she enjoyed his company.

The public park Aunt Lynette had chosen was enormous. Brittany goggled out the window at multiple baseball fields, soccer fields, picnic areas, and playgrounds. It had a dog park, a water park, an RV campground, and a lake stocked with fish. Although the day was cool and blustery, there were plenty of joggers, cyclists, and even boaters.

Aunt Lynette pulled into a parking lot and motioned at a gazebo. “This one’s ours.”

The gazebo sheltered several picnic tables. To the side, three blackened grills stood in a row. Behind the grills was a large, flat field, the perfect size for an impromptu football game or, in this case, a funeral.

They got out of the car. Myra and Aunt Lynette walked around, happily appraising the area. Brittany hung back, glancing at the clear, blue sky. No Tusks. So much for always being with her.

While Aunt Lynette cleaned the grills and set the fires, Brittany and Myra lugged food from the car. Aunt Lynette had baked eight chickens—all they needed was a quick turn over the coals and a slathering of her spicy barbecue sauce. They also brought six packages of hot dogs and the accompanying buns, five bags of potato chips, and three tall stacks of heavy-duty paper plates.

Minutes later, Theodora arrived. She waved at Aunt Lynette. They had been close friends growing up and were renewing their friendship now that Aunt Lynette had moved back from Georgia. Theodora parked her van next to the Fiesta, and her coven of seven witches disembarked.

“Hi, Brittany,” one woman called.

Brittany was surprised at being singled out until she recognized her. Susie. She’d been at the battle for the hostages.

The troop carried Publix grocery bags. Brittany laughed at her aunt’s horrorstruck expression as they unpacked containers of store-bought potato salad, coleslaw, and baked beans. They also brought condiments in squeeze bottles.

Zoe came next. She and her coven of five brought two coolers on wheels—one filled with hamburger patties, buns, and sliced tomatoes, the other with soft drinks. They also brought large blankets.

Two women carried the blankets behind the gazebo to spread them on the soft grass.

“Hi, Brittany,” one called.

“Hello, Brit.” The other waved.

Brittany blushed, uncomfortable with the attention. They had also been at the battle. “Do you need any help?” she asked them.

“No, we’ve got it.” They both smiled at her.

Brittany smiled back then busied herself putting chicken on the grill.

A few minutes later, Aunt Lynette took over for her. It was four o’clock, the designated time for their barbecue, but no one else had come. Brittany walked down to the parking lot. Just as she began to fear the person that she most wanted to see would be a no-show, another van arrived.

Jenna drove up from Key West. As she parked, Brittany hurried over. Jenna’s gaze met Brittany’s, and she gave a curt nod. They’d met once before, and Brittany found her to be cold and unfriendly.

But Jenna wasn’t the person Brittany wanted to see. Jenna had a coven of nine witches, and they piled out of the back, laughing and chatting. The last woman to exit was Winnie, Jenna’s predecessor, who had been held hostage by the queen for over a year. Winnie looked up and smiled—and Brittany was struck by how frail she looked. Her hair had gone prematurely gray, and she was thin. Even thinner than when she had been rescued three weeks ago.

“Hi, Winnie. Do you remember me? My name is Brittany.”

Winnie gave a breathy “Oh,” and looked painfully embarrassed. “I should know you, of course. The girls told me what happened. But…”

“The Draught of Forgetfulness.” Brittany had concocted a potion for the hostages that would erase the memories of their imprisonment. Winnie had volunteered to take it first.

“It worked well. I don’t recall a queen or a battle, but I remember the rest of my life just fine.”

“That’s good. That’s what we wanted.” Brittany nodded. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you. Can you come over here for a minute? I’d like to show you something.”

“Anything for you.”

Brittany ushered her to the Fiesta and opened the hatchback. “This was found among the queen’s possessions. I think it’s yours.” She handed Winnie a small bottle—yellow with gold filigree. The tag held a single word: Winifred.

Winnie gasped as her fingers closed over the glass. “Yes. This is me.” She clasped the bottle to her heart, and a flush crept over her pale skin. “You saved me twice.”

Brittany’s face heated. Before she could think of something to say, yet another van pulled into the parking lot. The driver stopped behind them, honked, and waved through the open window.

Winnie grinned. “Well, if it isn’t Anna Marie from Fort Lauderdale. How’re you doing, darling?”

“Better now that I see you,” Anna Marie called back. She parked then hurried over to hug Winnie. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Winnie said. “Do you know Brittany?”

“I know of you,” Anna Marie said. “Bright blessings.” Behind her, six women climbed out of the van. They unloaded a sheet cake that took two people to carry.

A pair of cars rolled in, one after the other.

Anna Marie said, “Oh, that’s Trynn and Hilda. They both have covens down by Miami. Hi, Hilda. Bright blessings to you.”

“Bright blessings,” a woman answered as she jumped from the passenger seat. Her long, graying hair flew in wisps around her face. She dressed like an old-fashioned hippie in a paisley broomstick skirt and puka shell necklace. A black cat rode on her shoulder. “I’m Hilda, priestess of the Kendall coven.” She jutted out her hand as she approached.

“Brittany.” She shook with her.

“Ah, the woman of the hour. A hard burden to bear.”

Brittany liked her immediately.

“Hi, Trynn,” Anna Marie called to the driver of the second car.

Trynn smiled and waved. She led her coven of five to the gazebo.

Winnie, Anna Marie, and Hilda walked with Hilda’s two other coven members to where the growing group of witches milled about. They greeted each other like long-lost sisters. It was the noisiest funeral Brittany had ever attended. She closed the hatchback and circumvented the crowd, trying to keep out of the way—but Theodora snagged her arm and pulled her to one of the tables where Zoe, Aunt Lynette, and Myra were deep in conversation.

“Don’t be so shy,” Theodora whispered to Brittany.

“Everyone’s staring at me,” Brittany muttered.

“That’s silly. No one is staring.”

But Brittany imagined eyes upon her as she sat. After all, she was the one who organized the rescue of the hostages from the tyrant queen. She was also the one who lost control of her powers during the subsequent battle. A flash of light had exploded from her, incinerating the attacking ghouls as well as the vampires who had chosen to fight with her and the totem necklaces the queen wore as wards. At least, the witches were content with staring at her back instead of demanding answers as to how she could do such things.

The last priestess to arrive was Bella from Miami. Her coven of seven brought sliced Cuban sandwiches from a local restaurant and three cases of hard lemonade in cans. Aunt Lynette took the chicken and hot dogs off the grills, and Zoe moved in to cook the hamburgers. Moments later, a line formed around the designated serving table where the attendees grabbed a plate and hot food. There weren’t enough seats, so some people sat on Zoe’s blankets.

Halfway through the meal, Aunt Lynette stood up. “I want to thank y’all for coming today. It’s good to have everyone together. Only we ain’t all together, are we? I hear there are singles out there practicing in solitude without guidance or support. I’d like to bring them into the fold, so’s to speak. If any of you have names or phone numbers to help me contact these singles, I’d—”

“And how much is this going to cost us?” a woman called out.

Aunt Lynette looked flustered—which brought out her southern accent. “What’cha all mean?”

“You’re proposing driving all over South Florida. Gas isn’t cheap. And you’ll probably need a new car.”

There came nods, and a few people said, “Yeah.”

Aunt Lynette’s eyes flared. “Listen here. I don’t expect nobody to pay for my gas or my car. I am a Wiccan priestess. Have been for years. I took an oath to teach and support those what want to learn.”

“Then the smaller groups take the brunt of it,” Hilda called out. “I for one don’t want more people in our coven. Our rituals are set for three. We’d have to sit people out and rotate everyone.” She shook her head.

There was an uproar of conversation.

“These singles need covens in order to learn,” Aunt Lynette said over the noise. “But that don’t mean change to the existing covens. I aim to encourage them to coven up their own selves. Then I or someone else can oversee them, keep them moving in the right direction.”

“For how long?” someone asked.

She shrugged. “A year is tradition.”

Theodora leaned close to Brittany and whispered, “Those are a queen’s duties. She’ll be queen in everything but the name.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not a bit. I love her like a sister, and I think she’d make one heck of a queen.”

“Then it’s settled.” Aunt Lynette raised her voice. “You give me your contacts, and I’ll take it from there.”

“Queen Lynette.” Brittany smiled. “I like the sound of that.” Maybe if her aunt was queen, she’d stop pushing so hard for Brittany to be a Queen Potential. Brittany didn’t want to be queen. But in the back of her mind, she heard Alyssum say Your coming was foretold. You will be queen.

“Thank y’all for your time,” Aunt Lynette called over the chatter. With a disgruntled huff, she sat beside Myra. “These ladies have the wrong impression of me.”

Myra hugged her arm. “They’ll come around.”

Aunt Lynette smiled and patted her hand. She nodded at Brittany. “Eat up. There’s work to be done.”

Brittany loaded her hot dog with store-bought coleslaw and took a bite.

When she finished her dinner, Brittany followed her aunt to the car. The sun was low, and the chilly breeze turned cold. Many of the joggers had gone, making it seem like the witches were the only group left in the park.

From the hatchback, Brittany and Aunt Lynette hauled out a wagon filled with fist-sized rocks and wheeled it into the field behind their picnic area. They stacked the rocks a foot high and a foot across forming a makeshift altar then placed a white votive candle and the box of ashes on top. Next, they wheeled out a fiberglass cauldron filled with potting soil and a dish of sunflower seeds. They set the cauldron fifteen paces northeast of the rocks.

The setting sun turned the clouds pink and blue. The moon shone high overhead, half of it light, half dark. It was called the first quarter because the moon had traveled a quarter of the way around Earth since the new moon.

Brittany and the rest of the funeral party returned to the parking lot to slip on their robes for the ceremony. Aunt Lynette was garbed in crimson. Zoe, Theodora, Myra, and Brittany wore black. They walked in single file onto the field.

Aunt Lynette poked a hole in a burlap sack of salt and used it to draw a large circle around the altar, all the while chanting, “This is a place which is not a place, a time which is not a time, halfway between the world of gods and mortals.”

The other witches streamed onto the field but remained outside the line of salt. Zoe, Theodora, Myra, and Brittany stood inside the circle on the compass points.

Facing west, Zoe called out, “As the sun sets, so has Imogene left us. Our tears, like the salt water of the sea, bless this circle.”

Standing south, Theodora said, “As life is a day, Imogene has passed into the night. The fire of her life and our memories of her bless this circle.”

On the easterly point, Myra said, “As all that falls shall rise again, Imogene will be reborn. The air we breathe and the compassion we give one another bless this circle.”

From the north, Brittany said, “As the Earth forms us, so shall Imogene return to the Earth. In the end, the Earth takes back our bodies. And the Earth blesses this circle.”

Aunt Lynette looked down at the box of ashes. “Imogene, you are dead. None should ever die alone. Although you had wronged me, I am here to help you with your death. For there is no resentment. There is only love. The love of the goddess gives birth to the universe. The love of our parents gives birth to us. The love of our friends and family sustains our life.” She ran her gaze over the onlookers. “Behold a woman who has been two women. First a girl full of hope and dreams. Then an elder, rich in knowledge and experience. Her journey is ended and a new one has begun. Let us bid her farewell. Please come up now and speak to Imogene. Tell her whatever you need to.”

Like a shot, Hilda was first in line. She strode across the circle and stood before the altar, hissing at Imogene’s ashes. She stood for a full minute, and Brittany wagered her words were not forgiving. Then she walked to the cauldron and planted a sunflower seed. Instead of exiting the circle, she stood there holding the dish to offer seeds to the other women. The line was long, although not everyone joined in.

As the witches paid their last respects, Zoe, Theodora, Myra, and Brittany chanted, “We all come from the goddess, and to her we shall return like a drop of rain falling to the ocean. Birth and death. Birth and death. All that falls shall rise again.”

When everyone who needed to had spoken to the departed queen, Aunt Lynette knelt, opened the plastic bag inside the box, and spilled the ashes in a layer on the grass.

As she did, she said, “Journey on now, sister. May you find the love you so desperately seek.”

Zoe said, “The sun will rise again.”

Theodora said, “Life continues.”

Myra said, “Love is all we can be sure of.”

Brittany said, “Only the mother is eternal.”

Aunt Lynette placed the altar stones over the ashes before they could blow away. She lit the white candle, dripped some wax onto a stone, and set the candle firmly in place. She stood and said, “I thank the Lords of Water, Fire, Air, and Earth for attending our rite. Go in peace.”

At that, Zoe, Theodora, Myra, and Brittany stepped off the compass points. With a small broom made of twigs, Brittany moved to sweep the salt, breaking the circle—but Hilda took the broom from her and finished the job.

The witches hugged one another. There were no tears for Imogene. But Brittany had a sense of camaraderie and a restored hope for the future. Anna Marie served the cake, and Aunt Lynette produced several bottles of wine.

The temperature dropped further with nightfall. The first quarter moon shone directly above them in the starry sky. Brittany frowned. Still no Tusks. Where could he be?

As the attendees said their final farewells and drifted toward their vehicles, several called goodbye to Brittany. It surprised her. She didn’t even know them.

Then Winnie appeared before Brittany and caught her in a fierce hug. “Thank you for my gift,” she whispered into Brittany’s ear. “I feel better already.” With a smile and a nod, she backed away then strode to her van. Brittany watched her leave.

Aunt Lynette gave the area a final inspection for trash or forgotten items. Using the wagon to wheel the cauldron full of planted sunflower seeds, she led Brittany and Myra to the car. By the time they left, the candle they had lit for Imogene had gone out.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of Scheming Demon. You can find Scheming Demon and the rest of the series at Amazon. Or if you prefer audiobooks, look for it at your favorite audio bookstore.

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Published on February 13, 2022 03:24

February 12, 2022

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