Roxanne Smolen's Blog, page 22

March 5, 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.

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

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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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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Published on February 12, 2022 02:06

February 6, 2022

Sample Sunday – Rebel Rabble

*** Trigger Warning ***

My Brittany Meyer Novellas touch upon many subjects pertinent to a teenage girl’s life such as teen depression, lack of self-confidence, physical abuse, and abandonment. Rebel Rabble, the third book in the series, tackles a crime that is too prevalent in today’s society—date rape.

A Taboo Subject

The term date rape refers to the forcing of a victim into unwanted sexual activity by a friend. Because the victim knows the assailant, they often feel bewildered and betrayed and take the blame onto themselves. But sexual assault committed by an acquaintance is still rape.

I have never experienced date rape, but I know many who have, one of whom is dear to me. Brittany, the main character of Rebel Rabble, is strong enough to protect herself. But in real life, there is no magic wand to protect innocent girls from such predators.

Nearly eleven million women in the United States have been raped while drunk or drugged with date-rape drugs—but those are the victims we know about. It is estimated that only five percent of victims report the assault. The rest suffer in silence, blaming themselves.

Help is Out There

If you are a victim of sexual assault, it is never your fault. Date rape is a conscious decision made by the rapist and planned out in advance.

I urge you to call the National Sexual Assault Hotline, 800-686-HOPE, or visit their website, www.rainn.org.

Now, without further ado, here is an excerpt from Rebel Rabble.

*** Trigger Warning ***

CHAPTER ONE

2/4/2009 Loxahatchee, Florida

Brittany Meyer was a seventeen-year-old witch. Her aunt had taught her amazing things over the past year. But what was the use of having magical powers if she couldn’t protect the people she loved?

She huffed out a breath and curled deeper in the corner of the couch. The television was on, but she was barely listening. Her thoughts were on Cody, her ex-boyfriend—the way he looked, the way he took her hand. She understood why he broke up with her—he was on the run from some dangerous people, and he wanted to protect her from that.

But it wasn’t fair. Cody could be cold and hungry at that exact moment. He could be hurt—and she wouldn’t know. If only she could see him again.

At least, she was able to live with her aunt. If she were still at home, her mother would meddle. She’d be setting her up with blind dates and trying to get her to be sociable. Brittany didn’t want to be sociable. She just wanted to watch whatever this was on the television.

Aunt Lynette came into the living room. “There you be,” she drawled. “Watching something?”

“It’s a show about flipping houses. The woman likes to restore old things to their former glory.”

“Learning a lot, are you? Got flipping houses in your future?”

“Hardly.”

“Good.” She picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “Me and you are going to the Farmers’ Market.”

“What? In public?”

“You don’t gotta talk to no one,” Aunt Lynette said. “Get up.”

“I don’t want to. I was watching that.”

“You ain’t seen daylight in a month of Sundays.”

Which wasn’t strictly true. Brittany had taken a trip to Key West less than two weeks ago. “It isn’t Sunday, it’s Wednesday.”

“Just an expression. Come on.”

“Why can’t you leave me alone? I don’t want to go outside.”

“Girl, I’m not taking no for an answer. Now, let’s go.”

Brittany sat up and gave her pillow a good smack. She followed her aunt out of the living room with her arms crossed and her lips pursed.

Brittany lived with Aunt Lynette and Myra, her aunt’s partner and the third member of their coven. They shared the big creaky house Brittany’s grandfather had built. It had an enormous screened-in front porch which Myra called a lanai.

Myra sat there on a white wicker rocking chair with a book and a tall glass of sweet tea. She looked up. “Have fun, you two.”

“Oh, we’re going to have us a good time,” Aunt Lynette said. “I can already tell.”

Brittany turned her glare from Myra to her aunt. Did they think this was a joke? “Let’s just get it over with.”

Aunt Lynette skipped down the steps and headed toward her car. It was a used, new-to-her Ford Fiesta hatchback with someone else’s My Kid’s an Honor Student bumper sticker on the back. Her old Impala had been squashed flat when a tropical storm uprooted the orange tree.

Brittany grimaced at the blue sky and bright sunlight. It was another warm, breezy day—normal for February in South Florida. Shading her eyes, she climbed into the passenger seat. Her aunt started the car, and they were off.

There were several Farmers’ Markets in and around town. Loxahatchee was rural—not much to see but horses and farmland. Of course, Aunt Lynette preferred the market farthest away. She said they had the freshest produce. So, they rode in silence for twenty minutes.

Aunt Lynette pulled onto the grassy parking area and looked for a spot to park. The market was crowded even on a weekday—winter was Florida’s best growing season. They left the car on the end of a row and trekked back toward the striped awnings and milling people. Halfway there, Brittany noticed the many scents of the market—fruits and vegetables and flowers all smelling green and vibrant and fresh. Her spirits rose despite herself.

“Lynette!” A paunchy man with sweat-plastered hair waved to them.

“Morning, Rodrigo,” Aunt Lynette called back.

“Morning? It is nearly noon. You are running late today, my dear. Come. I’ve saved some fresh eggs just for you.” He led Aunt Lynette away.

Brittany wandered in the other direction. When her grandfather was alive, she used to go to a market with him. It was bigger than this one—even so, she knew everyone there, called everyone by name. She didn’t know any of these people.

A cart filled with zinnias and snapdragons drew her like a charm. Brittany strolled along the colorful blooms. Her mother always had cut flowers in the house. Maybe she should buy a couple dozen—might brighten her mood. But flowers always wilted and died. She couldn’t bear that.

Across from the flower cart was an arts and crafts display of garden pinwheels. They spun lazily in the breeze. Next came a variety of windchimes, some clicking and clattering, others making melodic gongs. One had bells interspersed with cherubs. The cherubs reminded Brittany of the pixies she saw on Fairy Island—but without the bushy eyebrows.

A whiff of citrus drew her next. Brittany ambled down an aisle of lemons and early grapefruit, dodging distracted shoppers. A cart filled with jars of honey caught her eye. She loved fresh honey on warm biscuits. Maybe she should take up beekeeping, start a hive in the back of their property. Myra could use the wax to make candles and—

“Excuse me. Coming through.”

Brittany stepped out of the way of a tall boy with a crate of oranges on his shoulder. He set down the crate, flipped back his long blond hair, and looked at her. His eyes were light brown, almost caramel-colored, and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Brittany cleared her throat and hurried away.

“Girl, where’ve you been?” Aunt Lynette caught up to her. Canvas sacks swung from her elbows showing eggplant, broccoli, and snap beans. “I need me some help with the squash.” She led Brittany to a stall filled with crates of butternut squash. “Pick out a few of these. Remember, not the shiny ones.”

“I know.” Brittany rummaged through the bin. She chose three that felt heavy for their sizes. From the corner of her eye, she watched the caramel-eyed boy deliver another crate of oranges.

They paid Farmer Ben for the squash, lugged their sacks through the parking lot, and returned home.

As they climbed from the car, Myra stepped outside, the screen door banging behind her. Haff, Brittany’s half-breed dog, crawled out from under the porch and greeted everyone enthusiastically. His collar jangled, and his feathery tail whipped the air.

Myra patted his head then asked Aunt Lynette, “Need help carrying in?”

“You can take this one.” Aunt Lynette handed her a sack.

“Ooh, butternut squash,” Myra said. “Reminds me of the winter vegetable stew you used to make. Remember that? We haven’t had it in ages.”

“That does bring back memories. But we’d be missing some sweet potatoes and parsnip.”

“I can go back,” Brittany put in. “It’s no problem.”

Aunt Lynette scrunched her face as if she was considering it. “No, it’s past noon. They’ll be cleaning up for the day.”

“Then I’ll go in the morning. Just give me a list of what you need.”

Both Myra and Aunt Lynette grinned, but Brittany couldn’t tell if it was at the prospect of stew or at getting her out of the house.

The next morning, Brittany climbed out of bed with the song The Farmer in the Dell stuck in her head. She put on blush and lipstick before going downstairs to pick up the shopping list. The main ingredients for Aunt Lynette’s Famous Winter Vegetable Stew were squash, sweet potatoes, gold potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and onions. Brittany climbed into Baby, her little, lime-green VW Bug. It felt good to be driving, good to have somewhere to go.

She got to the market early hoping to avoid the crush of late-morning shoppers, but if anything, it was more crowded than before. She chose the ingredients she needed, dawdling over the potatoes and parsnips as if she were a discerning chef—all the while keeping a look-out for the caramel-eyed boy.

Why did she want to see him again? He meant nothing to her. She didn’t even know his name. It didn’t matter anyway—he must have Thursdays off.

She paid for three large onions, slipped them into her canvas shopping bag, stepped back—and bumped into someone crowding in behind. It was him, standing so close she could see flecks of gold in his yummy eyes.

“Excuse me,” she murmured.

“Ah, hi,” he said. “You were here yesterday.”

“Forgot a few things.” She motioned with her bag. Just then a shopper jostled her and sent her right into his chest. “Oh, sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy here today.” He grinned, showing off his dimples. “How about we go somewhere quieter? I’ll buy you a coffee. There’s a stand right over there.”

“Well, all right. But I only have a minute.” What was she doing?

“Great! Come on!”

Brittany followed him through the crowd. Was she crazy? She didn’t even know him.

Relax. It’s just coffee. You can have a conversation, can’t you?

They reached the coffee stand.

“Morning, Missus Maxwell,” he chimed. “Two please.”

“Of course. Coming right up.” An older woman poured two cups of coffee and set them on a counter.

“Here you go.” He handed one to Brittany. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Brittany glanced at the woman. “You didn’t pay.”

“My little joke,” he said. “It’s free because I work here. Let’s sit down.” He walked to a picnic table and sat.

Brittany juggled the hot coffee and the heavy sack of vegetables. Cody would have helped her, a voice inside complained. But not everybody could be like Cody.

She sat across from him. “So, you work for the market?”

“Nah, I work on a farm. My boss owns Citrus Acres.” He said it like the name should mean something to her. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”

“I’m Brittany.”

“Where do you work, Brittany?”

“I don’t. I’m in school. South University. You know, in Royal Palm. I’m studying herbology. I’m going to be—”

“Herbs like in cooking? Aw, man. I bet you’re a great cook. My mom has gotta be the worst cook in the world.” He chortled. “There was this one time. Thanksgiving, right? And we’re doing the big family thing with lots of people come to eat. And she takes this humongous turkey out of the oven and sets it on the kitchen counter. Just then, a chunk of plaster falls from the ceiling and puts a big dent in the turkey. I kid you not.”

Brittany gasped. “Oh, no.”

“Well, my mom doesn’t blink an eye, just dusts off the turkey with her oven mitts. And she says to me, Jackson, go upstairs and see what’s amiss. So, I go up, and there’s water all over the floor, and there’s my brother’s teddy bear in the toilet with just its face showing. I had to reach in with both hands to yank it out. And I knew where that toilet had been.”

Brittany chuckled. “Do you live with your mother?”

“Me? No. I have an apartment. You should come over. We could watch Netflix.”

“That would be nice.”

“How about tonight?”

“What?”

“Are you free tonight? We could go out for dinner then go to my place for a nightcap and a movie. Do you like Mexican?”

“Well, yes, I do, but—”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven. Where do you live?”

“It’s a little tricky to get to…” What was she doing?

“No problem. My car has a Magellan GPS. It can find anything. Just give me your address.”

She recited her address.

Jackson wrote it on a napkin with a mini-golf pencil he pulled from his shirt pocket. “Okay, then. See you tonight.” He regaled her with his dimpled grin and strode into the crowd.

Brittany looked at her cooling cup and shook her head. She must be insane. She tossed the coffee into a nearby garbage can, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and left the market.

By the time she got home, she was in a thoroughly bad mood. Why on Earth would she make a date with a stranger? He manipulated her. Trapped her. With his disarming smile and his yummy eyes. She hauled the sack into the house and plopped it onto the kitchen counter.

Aunt Lynette appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Get everything all right?”

“Fine.” Brittany sighed. “Are we having the stew today?”

“I thought I’d let it simmer all night and have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“Good. Because I have a dinner date for tonight.”

“Met someone new, have you? What’s his name?”

“Jackson.”

“That a first name or a last?”

Brittany shrugged, keeping her gaze turned away.

After a moment, Aunt Lynette said, “Well, why don’t you help me cut up these veggies? I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“I know how to cut up veggies.” Brittany stomped up the stairs to her room.

What was she thinking, making a date with another boy? Okay, he was cute, but he wasn’t that cute. Besides, she had a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who told her to get on with her life. A boyfriend she would probably never see again. She folded her arms and huffed out a breath. This was Cody’s fault. And he probably didn’t even miss her.

She spent the day in her room, grateful that both Myra and Aunt Lynette left her alone. She couldn’t explain to them why she agreed to go out with someone she’d just met. Couldn’t explain it to herself. In a fit of panic, she went so far as to look up Citrus Acres on the Internet and dial the number listed there, desperate to call off the date. But it was a business phone—the office closed at two o’clock.

As the sun went down, she dressed for her date. She chose a beige dress with a modest neckline and a row of pearl buttons down the front and swapped her boots for a pair of lace-up sandals. She even wore eye make-up—something she hadn’t bothered with for a while. Clutching an off-white silk purse barely larger than her cell phone, she went to the porch and waited.

Jackson drove up in a gleaming black car. The engine rumbled so loudly, it vibrated in her chest. As she approached, he leaned over and popped open the passenger door.

“Told you I could find you,” he said.

“Yes. You have a very smart car.” She strapped herself in.

“She’s more than just smart. This is a genuine 2006 Pontiac GTO. You ever been in a muscle car before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He pulled a three-point turn in the driveway. “She’s one of the last ones made. I almost cried when they discontinued production. I mean, GTO. They’re a classic, am I right? I found her in a used car lot. Needed a little work.”

“You like to work on cars?”

“Absolutely. They speak to me, you know? Besides, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life on a farm.”

He drove down Okeechobee Boulevard to West Palm Beach, talking the whole time about his car, how beat up it had been when he bought it, and how difficult it had been to get the parts he needed. Brittany nodded appropriately, although she didn’t understand half of what he said. She was glad when they reached the restaurant. Maybe they could talk about something else over dinner.

The restaurant he’d chosen was called Amigas y Amigos. It was a small place with an even smaller parking lot. Jackson opened the bright red door and ushered her inside. An aroma of refried beans and corn chips greeted her. The yellow walls were decorated with sombreros, silk plants, and mock graffiti.

“This is nice,” she said as they were seated.

“Yeah. The food’s good.”

“Anything you’d recommend?”

“Get whatever you want. Money’s no object.” He dimpled at her.

A server approached. “Drinks?”

“How about a margarita?” Jackson asked Brittany. “It’s their specialty.”

Brittany’s cheeks warmed. He must think she was older than she was. She didn’t want to admit to being only seventeen. Neither did she want to embarrass herself by being carded on their first date. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. One margarita. It will relax you.”

She looked up at the server. “Just an iced tea for me. And I’ll take the Loco Tostada.”

“Your loss.” Jackson blew out his breath as if disappointed. “I’ll have water and a beef burrito.”

The server smiled and walked away.

“So,” Brittany said, “you like movies?”

“Hmm?”

“Movies. You said you have Netflix.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.”

“I used to work at the Video Stop in Loxahatchee. It was—”

“Really? Did you ever watch the Fast and Furious movies?”

“Well, no, I’m more of a—”

“I love racing. My boss has a racecar. A real sweet machine. He races it at Mad Hotrods here in West Palm Beach. Sometimes he goes to Palm Beach International over in Jupiter.”

“I know of that place,” Brittany said. “My little brother used to go there to see monster trucks.”

“That’s not racing,” he said. “I wouldn’t waste my eyes looking at monster trucks.”

“Oh,” she said. “I just meant that—”

“I worked the pits there a couple of times.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

She bristled. “The pit crew is kind of like old-fashioned gas station attendants, right? They put gas in the car. Wash the windshield.”

“They do more than that,” he said, obviously misreading her jibe for interest. “They change the tires, buff out the fenders. You have to be quick and precise. They don’t coddle slackers.”

“How exciting.”

“I got to meet the drivers.”

“Is that what you want to be? A racecar driver?”

He scoffed. “I don’t think I have the stamina to do what they do. I’ll be at Daytona with the other fans, though.”

He went into a fifteen-minute dissertation about Race Week at Daytona Beach and how it would kick off the NASCAR season. The server brought their meals, but Jackson was so busy talking he barely ate his burrito. Brittany, having nothing else to do except nod politely, finished her tostada. It was delicious.

“How about dessert?” Jackson asked. “Their fried ice cream is the best.”

“I don’t think so, thank you,” she said. “This has been fun, but I’d like to go home now.”

“All right.” He tossed his napkin onto his plate, motioned to the server, and paid in cash.

They went out to his GTO. Brittany hurried into her seat. Jackson started the car and backed out of the parking spot without buckling in. Once on Okeechobee Boulevard, they headed west, passing by strip malls and gated communities. Jackson seemed miffed and didn’t say much, which was an improvement.

Brittany sighed. The date had been a disaster. Jackson was a nice enough guy, but who was she kidding? She would never be happy with anyone but Cody. She just wanted to go home and forget the night had ever happened.

She gazed out the window at the quiet town of Royal Palm Beach then sat up straight. “You missed the turn.”

“What?”

“The turn to get to my house. You missed it.”

“Chill out, will you? We’re just taking the scenic route.”

Brittany went rigid. An alarm claxon went off in her mind. She clutched the seat belt with both hands. Outside, the night became darker as they passed through farmland and ranches. They got off Okeechobee at Cheetham Hill Road. Brittany recognized the area. They were near the safari park, a kind of drive-through zoo. But the safari was closed at this time of night. Where was he taking her?

“Jackson?” she said. “I want to go home.”

“I’ll take you home. If you ask nicely.”

“Please,” she said.

He made a sharp turn onto a side road.

She clung to the seatbelt and cataloged the contents of her purse. She didn’t carry anything she could use to defend herself—not even a pencil. If she lived through this night, she’d never again leave home without packets of knockout powder. Or something more intense. Maybe she could concoct a potion that would give her assailant acute and immediate diarrhea.

He left the road. The car lurched and jounced across a field. The headlights shone on a chain-link fence. He pulled up and turned off the engine.

She said, “What are we doing here?”

“Do you know where we are?”

Her voice wavered. “The safari park?”

He cracked open his window. “Shh. Listen. Sometimes you can hear the animals. The call of the wild.”

She gathered her courage. “I don’t like it. Take me home!”

“No. I bought you dinner. Now you’re going to be nice to me.”

He lunged at her, all hands and lips.

“No!” she cried. “Stop!”

She tried to fend him off, but he pinned her against the door. His mouth smashed against hers. She pressed both hands against his chest. White light shone between her fingers.

“Stop it!”

Light flashed, filling the car. He flew off her and struck the driver’s side door.

“Oh, no.” Brittany sat upright.

Jackson’s head lolled to the side. His eyes were closed.

“Oh, no!” She patted his cheeks. “Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead.”

He stirred and in a faraway voice said, “I am not dead.”

What? Had she blasted him into some sort of trance?

She said, “You will, uh… never attack a woman again. You respect women. In fact, you worship them.”

“I worship women,” he murmured.

Brittany unbuckled the seatbelt, grabbed her purse from the floor, fumbled with the door lock, and scrambled from the car. Her legs shook. The door ajar light blinked and dinged. She peered inside as Jackson raised a hand to his head.

Quietly, she closed the door and stepped back. She stumbled across the pitch-black field, cursing her sandals. Cursing her stupidity. What possessed her to go on a date with a stranger? She must be insane.

When she reached the road, Brittany walked briskly toward town. There were sandy driveways and mailboxes but no houses. No streetlights.

And no service on her phone. Typical. She’d have to get out of the dead zone before she could call her aunt and ask to be picked up.

Brittany walked as quickly as possible with the sand and the sandal straps biting into her feet. Crickets trilled from the surrounding brush. An owl screeched. She had the odd sensation of being watched and glanced back half expecting to see Jackson. He wasn’t there, of course. Just paranoia.

Calm down, she chided herself. There were bigger problems to think about. Like, what was that light that shot from her fingers? It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Once, it was against Surgat, one of Queen Imogene’s demons. He called it star fire and was outraged that Brittany had used it against him. But she didn’t know how she’d done it then and had no idea how she’d done it this time. Perhaps it only happened when she felt threatened.

She reached an intersection. The new road was flat and straight. Brittany walked down the center where the sand was packed, checking her phone for service. It was a clear night. The waxing moon silvered the landscape. A breeze teased her hair. It smelled of flowers and muck. Except for the chirruping of insects, the area was silent. A sudden splash told her a canal ran parallel to the road. She must have heard a fish. Or a gator.

Her heart leaped as headlights shone behind her. Was that Jackson? Maybe her post-trance suggestion didn’t take, and he intended to finish the job he started. What should she do? She glanced at the canal on one side of the road, the sporadic trees on the other. Just as she decided to crouch behind a skinny tree, she heard faint music. It wasn’t Jackson, then. He was too in love with the sound of his engine to play music. She would keep walking. Maybe the person would stop and offer her a ride.

She moved to the side of the road. The headlights threw stark shadows around her. As the car approached, she recognized the music as being heavy metal. Her stomach dropped. This might not be the rescue she’d hoped for.

The car slowed beside her. The window rolled down, and a puff of marijuana smoke escaped. Stoner boys.

“Hey there, cutie,” the passenger said. “What you doing out here all by yourself?”

Brittany kept her face forward, her chin up.

“Now, don’t be like that,” he said. “We’re just trying to be friendly.”

“Get her,” the driver said.

The door clicked.

Brittany gasped and spun toward the sound just as the car rose into the air. She glimpsed the two boys’ faces. Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape. As smoothly as if in the hands of a giant, the car moved backward and dropped with a splash in the canal.

She froze, trapped between the need to run away and the impulse to help them. The car sank until all that was visible was its roof. In the moonlight, two figures crawled up the opposite bank.

Amid coughing and wheezing, a voice cried, “My car! My car!”

“My weed!” cried another.

She turned and continued walking. A short distance away, a hulking shape appeared. She recognized him. Tusks. One of the queen’s demons.

Queen Imogene reigned over all the witches in South Florida. She ruled with the proverbial iron fist. No one liked her, but she was so powerful, no one dared to tell her so. Several demons worked for her—she’d killed them but kept a piece of them for a trophy. Horns. Tusks. Eyeballs. Their spirits were enslaved to her will as long as she had possession of the trophies. Brittany didn’t think the demons liked the queen either, but she was so powerful, they did what they were told. In a way, Brittany almost felt sorry for them. Some afterlife they were having. But on the other hand, they were demons. They weren’t the good guys.

And now one of them stood facing her. His piggy eyes glowed a dull red.

Brittany gulped in a dry throat. With her head high, she approached. “Hello, Tusks.” She didn’t know his real name. She called him Tusks because of the two broken tusks protruding from his jaw. She motioned at the submerged car. “Did you do that?”

“I did, Miss. Yes.” His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for such a large creature. “I was tasked with watching you and reporting your activities back to my mistress. But nothing was said that I could not intervene when your life was in peril.”

Tasked with… Then it struck her—Tusks was Queen Imogene’s spy. The local covens suspected the queen had spies and used them to keep tabs on the witches living in South Florida. That way, she had information to hold over their heads and keep them in line. She was using the demons as spies.

But what had he said about… “My life?” She looked back at the stoner boys. “They were going to kill me?”

“In seven out of ten timelines.”

“Oh.” A chill swept through her. She wobbled.

“Perhaps you will allow me to escort you home.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her head swam. Those boys were going to kill her. “Yes, all right.”

She and the demon set off together. Brittany limped—the gritty sand was rubbing her feet raw.

“Tusks?” she said. “Can people see you?”

“No, Miss. At this moment, only you can see me.”

She nodded. That was good. She didn’t want to frighten anybody. His size was alarming enough, but if they saw his pig’s snout…

“Tusks? Why did the queen send you to spy on me?”

“I’m afraid she sees you as a threat, Miss.”

“Me? But, why?”

“Latent power.”

“I have latent power?”

“Indeed, you do. In addition, she feels that people… like you more than they like her.”

“Well, that’s her fault. She’s a tyrant. No one likes her. Do you like her?”

His voice dropped two octaves as he growled, “I would kill her if I could.”

Brittany blinked, and her step faltered. She glanced sideways at him. They walked in silence for a time.

Then he said, “You have impressed me this night. You dispatched that ruffian most handily.”

She scoffed. “You mean Jackson?”

“Indeed. First, you use star fire to wipe his memory, then into the void of his mind you tell him that he must worship females.”

Tusks made a squealing sound. After a moment, she realized he was laughing.

“He deserved it,” she said.

“Worship females. He will be burdened with your retribution for a very long time.” The demon squealed some more.

Brittany frowned. She imagined Jackson as the pastor of a church that worshipped and revered women. It could be the start of a movement, a new respect for women everywhere. What was so funny about that?

“Here we are.” Tusks stopped walking. “Safely home.”

She gasped. She stood in her front yard, damp grass cooling her feet. Light streamed from the windows of the silent house. “But we were miles from my home. It should have taken hours to walk here.”

“Forgive me, Miss.” He bowed his head. “I have no concept of time.” His image wavered then faded into nothing.

Brittany stared at the spot where he had been. Was he still there? Still spying on her? It didn’t matter. She was home. She hurried up the porch steps and through the front door.

Aunt Lynette and Myra sat together on the couch each with a glass of wine.

“How was your date?” Aunt Lynette called.

“Oh, it was okay, you know,” Brittany said, one hand on the banister. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“All right, dear.”

“Goodnight,” Myra said.

Brittany hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her make-up was smeared beneath her eyes, and her bottom lip was bruised. The row of pearl buttons on her dress was ripped. She stripped off her clothes and threw them into the wastebasket then added her strappy sandals. Her feet were red and tender. She turned on the shower and stood beneath the stream until the hot water turned cold. Then she climbed into bed and cried herself to sleep.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of Rebel Rabble, the third book of the Brittany Meyer Series. Rebel Rabble can be purchased at Amazon for your Kindle or read for free on Kindle Unlimited. If you prefer audiobooks, look for it at your favorite online bookstore.

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Published on February 06, 2022 03:08

February 5, 2022

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Blatant Self Promotion

Back in the days when we were rejected snail mail with a form letter or even worse with the word

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Published on February 05, 2022 02:33

January 30, 2022

Sunday Sample – Fairly Fairy

Fairly Fairy, a young adult urban fantasy, is the second book in the Brittany Meyer Novellas. The story takes place in Loxahatchee, Florida, but the main character takes a trip down to the Florida Keys.

Fun facts about the Florida Keys:

They say there are 800 islands in the Florida Keys.

Nah, there are way more than that. Key West is one of over 1700 Keys in Florida. The term Key comes from the Spanish word, Cayo, which means small island—but the Keys aren’t normal islands. They are the exposed parts of a vast network of coral reefs. The unprotected coral was quickly covered by mangrove trees. Mangrove don’t mind salt water.

Of the 1700 plus Keys, only forty-three are connected by bridges, and of those forty-three only thirty are populated. Dozens are privately owned and can be reached by boat or helicopter. Hundreds of others are owned by the government and kept as wildlife preservation sanctuaries housing creatures such as eagles, dolphins, manatees, sea turtles, and the miniature Key Deer.

Any sand you see was shipped in from the Caribbean.

Coral doesn’t produce sand, so the settlers had to borrow some from their neighbors. That’s the problem with living in the Keys—most everything has to be shipped in. Early on, building supplies were at a premium, so homes were often constructed with parts salvaged from the many shipwrecks around the area.

Key West’s historic homes are known for the gingerbread encircling their porches and rooftops. It was an unwritten rule at the time that each Key West Family had their own gingerbread design that could not be copied. You’ll see sailing ships, anchors, lace, and whiskey bottles representing the original family businesses. Today, there are strict guidelines to keep the homes as close as possible to historic standards.

All of this comes to play in my book, Fairly Fairy.

If you’ve never been to Key West, I have a good description of it in Fairly Fairy. In addition, I’ve appropriated a fictional Key and populated it with fairies, such as will-o’-wisps, pixies, hobgoblins, and grundels. The ruling class, elves, have a castle in the center of a mystical rainforest.

I love mixing fact with fantasy.

Fairly Fairy can be found at Amazon for your Kindle or for Kindle Unlimited. In addition, the audiobook can be found wherever audiobooks can be found.

Please enjoy this excerpt.

CHAPTER ONE

1/16/2009 Loxahatchee, Florida

Brittany woke to the sound of someone thundering up the stairs and a loud rapping at her bedroom door.

“Hurry! Get up!” Aunt Lynette rasped. “Queen Imogene just pulled into the driveway.”

Oh, no. The tyrant queen. What does she want at this time of the morning?

“Be right down.” Brittany groaned.

The queen had taken an interest in Brittany’s progress as a witch and started showing up at odd hours to educate her. Aunt Lynette didn’t believe the lessons were beneficial or even safe.

But Imogene was the queen of all the witches in South Florida. She must be benevolent. Brittany had to trust her. Right?

Brittany threw off the covers and staggered to the closet. She dressed in fresh jeans and a T-shirt. She still had sleepy hair, as her mother called it, but that couldn’t be helped. There was no time for a shower.

She scurried downstairs. Aunt Lynette’s partner, Myra, stood in the living room wringing her hands. Myra was also a member of Aunt Lynette’s coven—and she was terrified of the queen. Brittany hugged her. The front door stood open. The morning was breezy and cool, and the wind seemed to pull the breath out of the house.

Aunt Lynette stood outdoors with Queen Imogene and her ward, Ravyn Crowe.

The queen was a haughty hag with graying hair pulled into a messy bun. She always wore long flowing robes. She also wore clattering necklaces made from the spoils of her conquests—one had the horns of a demon.

Ravyn was seventeen, Brittany’s age. She had Asian features but dark skin. Her hair was a mass of long locs. Like Brittany, Ravyn had the potential to become the next witch queen. Unlike Brittany, she had been coached in witchcraft her entire life and knew things Brittany could barely imagine. And she made sure Brittany didn’t forget it.

Aunt Lynette sighed as if repeating something for the fifth time. “I ain’t contesting that the girls be trained together. I’m just saying we could work out a schedule. I’d like to know when to expect you.”

“But then we would lose the element of surprise.” Queen Imogene quirked her brows. “I find a person learns quicker under duress.”

“I was asleep.” Brittany pushed open the screen door. “I find a person learns quicker when they’re rested.”

The queen looked up at Brittany on the porch steps. For a moment, her face twisted, and her beady eyes gleamed. Then she smoothed her features. “We shall see.” With an enigmatic smile, she glided over the grass toward the backyard. A gust of wind caught her robes and made them flap behind her. Her necklaces clacked and clattered.

Brittany looked at her aunt. Aunt Lynette was Brittany’s guardian and a bona fide Wiccan priestess. She hadn’t known about the Queen of South Florida until she moved back to her childhood home after her father died. And Brittany hadn’t known of her potential as a witch until she met her aunt.

“It’s all right. I’ve got this,” Brittany told her.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” She gave her a crooked smile and stepped beside Ravyn.

They walked along the side of the house, an old, two-story clapboard that Brittany’s grandfather had built. It had an enclosed front porch filled with white wicker furniture and an attached garage that had never seen a car; a flowerbed with hip-high weeds filled the space where a driveway would have been. Forest bordered the wide yard on all sides. Her grandfather once owned acres of land but sold some of it to pay taxes.

They reached the ritual site. It was made of the remains of a little pink playhouse that caught fire when Grandpa Earle tried to smoke out a hive of bees. Brittany still saw the playhouse like a spectral image when she looked at the place. She sensed the love with which Gramps had built it so many years ago and the innocent joy Aunt Lynette felt as she played there. All that was left were charred boards laid end-to-end in a ring and an altar made from the flat steppingstones that had once led to the playhouse door.

Brittany and Ravyn stood on the grass outside the circle. The overgrown lawn was wet with dew, and Brittany wished she’d taken a moment to put on her shoes. Queen Imogene trod upon the rich black soil within the site, leaving footprints to the altar. With a muttered chant, she placed a gold candle on the stacked stones. She had to light the candle twice because of the wind. “You have this long.” She strode out of the circle. As she stepped over the boards, a magical barrier sprang up behind her. The barrier consisted of sparkling energy and was meant to protect them from whatever she had just conjured up. Without another word, she glided back up to the house.

“Might as well get comfortable.” Ravyn grunted as she sat on the dew-drenched grass. She moved like she had a stiff neck. Bruises darkened her arm. They looked suspiciously like fingermarks.

Brittany motioned. “So, what happened to you?”

“Walked into a wall.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What? It happens. I was distracted.”

There was a hint of panic in her eyes. Had someone roughed her up? Ravyn had recently taken in a homeless girl—Maria, the love of her life. Perhaps they’d had a lover’s quarrel.

Brittany sat and crossed her legs. “How’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s fine. Better than fine. She made us a nice breakfast this morning. Imogene won’t let her live with us unless she does chores.”

“You’re letting Queen Imogene turn your girlfriend into a servant?”

“I don’t think she minds. She’s amazed at how much food we have. And she’s safe.” Her voice became wistful. “It’s nice to have someone around to talk to, you know? Someone who cares.”

“Queen Imogene cares about you. You’re her pet project.”

“Imogene doesn’t care about anyone.”

Someone cleared their throat. “Order. Come to order, please. This isn’t a social hour.”

Brittany looked toward the circle. A little man sat next to the candle dangling his feet over the edge of the stone altar. He looked to be no more than three feet tall. He had bright red hair and fluffy sideburns, and he wore shoes with big silver buckles.

“What happened to Surgat?” Brittany asked. Surgat, their previous instructor, was the enslaved ghost of a demon. She didn’t like him and was relieved to see someone new.

“Surgat says you are an Un-Teachable Monkey.” Ravyn smirked. “So, Imogene sent him on a mission. This is Stubby McFarland. Hey, Stubs.”

“Please don’t call me that,” the little man groaned.

“Stubby is a leprechaun.”

Brittany’s eyes widened. “Like with a pot of gold?”

“Unfortunately, my pot has been confiscated,” he muttered. “Now, if we could get down to the lesson at hand? Today, ye’ll be learning about the origins of magic.” He whipped his hand through the air, and a pair of reading glasses appeared. At the same time, a thick, worn-looking book appeared on his lap. He opened the book and perched the glasses on his nose. “Let me see. Ye know, of course, that magical races predate human beings. Entities such as dwarves, gremlins, ogres, and dragons were all here first.”

“What happened to them?” Brittany asked.

He blinked at her with his magnified eyes. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, they’re gone, right?”

“They are not gone.” He puffed up. “Their populations may have declined, but they are most certainly not gone.”

She frowned. “You’re saying there are still beings like ogres and dragons alive in the world today?”

Ravyn rolled onto her side with a fit of giggles. “You are such a monkey.”

Brittany ignored her. “What about fairies?”

“Amn’t I a fairy?”

“Leprechauns are fairies?”

He nodded. “Many fairy races still exist today. There is a large encampment of them not far from here. A sanctuary, so to speak.”

She gasped. Her aunt’s friend, Theodora, said there were fairies around, but Brittany thought she was joking. “Here. In Florida.”

“They live on a secret island,” he said. “They put an enchantment over it so ye barely know it’s there. Humans may see it, but their eyes kind of drift away. It’s an impressive piece of work.”

“Do fairies fly?” she asked.

“Will-o’-wisps do,” Ravyn said, still chuckling. “They’re sometimes mistaken for fireflies, but if you look close, you’ll see pastel colors glowing around their wings. I saw a frolic of them one time when I was hiking through the mountains.”

“Pixies also have wings,” Stubby said. “They’re the type of fairy ye’ll see most on the island.”

“How many types of fairy are there?” Brittany asked.

“Well, as I said, there are pixies. They’re about six inches high, and they have pointed ears and bushy eyebrows. They live in colonies high in the trees, but they magically cloak them so they can’t be seen. And when they attack, they do it en masse, like a swarm of bees.”

“I heard pixies live a hundred years or more,” Ravyn said.

“That would explain their animosity toward humans. A lot of persecution in that amount of time.” He kicked his dangling feet. “There’re also brownies. They look like pixies, but they have no wings.”

“Why do they call them brownies?” Brittany asked.

“They wear brown clothing. Also, because their faces are dirty. They live underground.”

“All right. So, leprechauns, will-o’-wisps, brownies, and pixies. That’s it?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Ye got your basic hobgoblin. They’re two feet tall. They set up in the trees. Uncivilized, ill-tempered buggers. Youse should hope ye never run into them.”

“There’s also grundels, right?” Ravyn said. “They are three feet tall or so, and they work for the elves. Kind of like servants.”

“Verry loyal.” Stubby nodded. “They’ll stay with the same family for generations.”

“Oh,” Brittany said. “Like house-elves.”

“Ah. You’re referring to the book. Indeed, they are exactly like house-elves,” he said. “However, they’re allowed to wear clothing. They prefer stripes.”

“Are elves a type of fairy?” Brittany asked.

“Ruling class. They stand about five feet, but they’re verry slight, verry delicate.”

“Do they have pointed ears like in the movies?”

“They do. Pointed ears, high cheekbones. No wings. They’re good at arts and crafts. Beautiful creations.”

“And they have wicked magic,” Ravyn warned. “Trust me.”

“All fairies have magic,” Stubby said, “of one sort or another. But elf magic is formidable. The queen is an elf.”

Brittany fell silent. Dangerous or not, she wished she could meet the elven queen.

“But we are off-topic.” He tapped the book. “As I said, magical beings were here first.”

“And humanity should all just get on a spaceship and leave the planet to you.” Ravyn scoffed. “Never took you to be a racist, Stubs.”

“We are all racist,” he said, “albeit to different degrees. But that isn’t the point. Because the magical races have used magic for so long, it flows from them. Fairies don’t have lessons. Ogres don’t write books. Magic for them occurs naturally. They don’t think about it. It just happens.”

“Just happens,” Brittany murmured, thinking about the strange white light that once burst out of her hands, turning several vampires to dust. She had no idea how she’d done it. It just happened.

“And that’s what ye should aspire to do. Use magic as easily as breathing.” He glanced at the flickering candle. It had burned down to a nub. “We’re almost out of time. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Ravyn said. “Then why do we need lessons? Aren’t we magical beings?”

“Ye are not.”

“I was told that everybody has a little magic in them,” Brittany said. “They just need to try and—”

“Humans are not inherently magical. Some, such as yerselves have talent, but that is usually because their ancestry includes magical dalliances. With a fairy, perhaps. Or a troll.”

Ravyn laughed. “I’ve met a few people I thought were descended from trolls.”

“That is the lesson for today. Practice until magic feels—” POP! He blinked out of existence. The candle had gone out.

“That’s the end of that,” Ravyn said.

Brittany frowned. “I don’t like the idea that not everyone has magic.”

“Why? Don’t like being special?”

“I’m not special. Besides, if I had magical blood in my past, then so would the rest of my family. What about my older brother and sister? My little brother? My mother?”

“Your father?”

“No. Not him.” Brittany shuddered at the thought of her father having supernatural powers. She’d spent her childhood in fear of him—a drunkard and a brute. Which made her think again of the bruises on Ravyn’s arm. “The queen doesn’t hurt you, does she?”

Ravyn’s gaze shifted, looking everywhere but at her. She stood and brushed at the dampness on the back of her jeans. “Only when I deserve it,” she said and walked back toward the house.

The look on Ravyn’s face seemed familiar. Brittany had heard similar words. When she was young, her father used to beat her mother, and her mother always made excuses for him. It was my fault, or I deserved it.

Brittany got to her feet. Her head felt crowded with too many thoughts. She glanced at the altar with its puddle of cooling wax then followed Ravyn across the wide yard.

She heard the argument before she got to the front porch. Aunt Lynette and Queen Imogene were yelling at each other.

Brittany hurried around the corner of the house. Ravyn stood there as still as stone. The adults were on the screened-in porch. Myra sat on a white wicker rocking chair holding a glass of sweet tea as if she could hide behind it. Both Aunt Lynette and Queen Imogene were on their feet, facing each other. Red lightning strobed the queen’s hands—her anger barely contained.

“Do you think me a fool?” the queen shouted.

“I do if you think you can get blood out of a turnip,” Aunt Lynette shouted back.

“Of course, you’re making money off that website. Why else would you have it?”

Website? Brittany frowned. She’d started a blog in her aunt’s name about herbs and their properties. But they weren’t being paid for it. She thought she’d wait until they had a following before she set it up to display ads.

“I am your queen. It is within my right to demand tribute.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. No Wiccan queen I ever known expected her subjects to buy her a car or a fancy condominium on the Atlantic Ocean.”

The queen sputtered, dark eyes glittering. Her gaze fell upon Ravyn and Brittany standing in the yard.

“Well.” She lowered her voice. “It appears lessons are ended for the day. We will continue this another time.”

“Different day, same answer,” Aunt Lynette said.

The queen slammed out the screen door and down the steps. “Come along, Ravyn.”

“See you later, monkey,” Ravyn murmured to Brittany. She got into the car. With their tires spinning on the loose gravel, they drove away.

Brittany rushed onto the porch. “What was that all about?”

Her aunt paced, muttering, “Old biddy. Who does she think she is?”

Myra stood slowly. Her face was pale, and her hands trembled, making the ice clink in her glass. “Queen Imogene expects a cut of the profits from the herb blog.”

“But there are no profits.”

“Yeah, right?” Aunt Lynette huffed out.

“We tried to tell her.” Myra looked ready to cry. “What are we going to do?”

Brittany rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to go inside, and I’ll make us all some breakfast.” She guided Myra into the house, leaving Aunt Lynette to calm herself in peace.

Once in the kitchen, she started the coffee, beat a half dozen eggs with cream, nutmeg, and cinnamon, and cut thick slices from the loaf of homemade bread leftover from dinner. She let the slices marinate in the eggs while she melted butter in a heavy, cast-iron skillet.

Her aunt came in from the porch. She sat beside Myra at the kitchen table. Myra smiled and took her hand. Brittany cooked the French toast until they were golden brown and garnished them with early Florida strawberries.

“Thank you, Brit,” Aunt Lynette said as Brittany set a pair of steaming plates before her and Myra.

Brittany sat across from them. She smothered her plate in maple syrup. They’d gotten a bottle from the farmer’s market.

“How come you never told me we could be making money off that there blog?” her aunt asked.

Brittany nodded around a mouthful. “I planned to. You know, after the blog was established. I also thought we could take some of the more popular posts and make a book out of them. Sell it on Amazon.”

Aunt Lynette grunted and bit a strawberry.

Myra said, “The queen has the impression that we sell herbs from the blog.”

“We could do that. We could incorporate and then open an online store. Something similar to the candle shop you had in Georgia. But we’d never be able to compete with the major players. We don’t have the acreage for a large farm like they do. We don’t even have a garden.”

“Still, it’d be nice to have a little extra income,” she said.

“Not if that old hag wants a cut of it,” Aunt Lynette growled.

“Don’t call her that,” Myra whispered. “She might hear.”

Aunt Lynette threw down her fork. “You don’t buy into that nonsense that she has invisible spies, do you?”

“If she didn’t, how would she know about the blog?”

Brittany opened her mouth to explain about search engines, but that would just confuse them. Besides, an Internet search engine didn’t explain all the other things the queen was privy to.

“It’s bad enough the queen stops by unannounced,” Myra said, “but she always has Ravyn with her. Like a malevolent shadow. That girl gives me the creeps.”

“Probably filling her head with all sorts of dark magic,” Aunt Lynette muttered. “Girls like that lap it up.”

“I’m not a Ravyn fan,” Brittany said, “but do you think Queen Imogene might be hurting her?” They both looked up to stare, and she shrugged. “There are bruises on her arms.”

“Oh,” Myra said. She exchanged a long look with her partner.

“Well,” Aunt Lynette said, “let her know she’s always welcome here if she needs a safe place to stay.”

“But you don’t like her,” Brittany said.

“I don’t dislike her enough to leave her in an abusive situation.”

Brittany tried to imagine living with Ravyn Crowe. Smirks and snide remarks and Ravyn calling her monkey. They would never be close friends—but they might get along if they could get past the whole being rivals thing. Ravyn had been raised to think that becoming a witch queen was the sole purpose of her life. Brittany couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” she said.

Want to read more?

Fairly Fairy, a young adult urban fantasy, is available at Amazon. Buy now for yourself or for the teen reader in your family.

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