The Vine Witch (The Vine Witch, #1)

by Luanne G. Smith

His work meant something to him. He felt it in the exhaustion of his body, the clarity of his thoughts, the unexplained happiness he took from seeing a leaf unfurl fresh and green and full of potential. It fed his soul, his mind, and his heart.

To be made of fire in a world

full of fuel—a whirling dervish of controlled rage, spinning beneath the eye of the All Knowing—the notion sent a chill rippling over her skin.

For a person’s essence to survive, it had to be so entwined with the core being that chains and counterspells couldn’t impair it, which was why she’d been able to hold on to just enough of herself to stay yoked to her intellect and escape the curse. Her second sight had opened a pathway that allowed her to survive because it was intrinsic to who she was. Just as a jinni was made of fire. And a murderer was drawn to blood.

“There are said to be spells that have never been written down in any book,” he said at last. “Old magic. Bound in the earth. Held in a crevice of time. Some call it conjuring the Devil, because to see the spell rendered, one must enter into an exchange. It’s the blackest of magic. The kind that can eviscerate the soul if even a word is out of place.”