From my WIP The Hanging Tree. In this snippet the MC, Angelica, is experiencing a dream of a past life. This ties into a journal her daughter was given. In it is the writings of a woman who lived in a local Manor built in the late 1600's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wasn’t particularly tired. I grabbed the journal to read a few more entries. Drifting off to sleep, I heard a voice.

“Who are you?” A redheaded woman asked. I assumed she was speaking to me.
“My name’s Angelica.”

I found myself in what seemed like a kitchen or dining room with a large hearth at its center. The woman was grinding herbs with a mortal and pestle.

“You’re not going to tell are you?” she asked.
“Tell? Tell who and what?” I looked around and saw in the reflection of a glass cabinet that my long hair was twisted up in a bun. It’s usual tawny color was brown, and I wore a woolen dress that reached the floor. The fabric irritated my skin. I held a long cloak in my left hand. The young woman wore almost an identical garment, but the fabric looked finer.

“I have to get these herbs ready, the lass down the road is going to have her baby any day. Are you the woman Abby told me about from the neighboring village?”
“I…uh…yes. Abby sent me. Jenny is going to have her baby?” I placed the coat down on a chair and walked toward the fire to warm up. My hands and feet were cold and I noticed melting snow on the floor near the front door. The winds howled outside, but the house was warm and smelled of dried herbs and blueberries.

“No. Jenny moved to South Carolina. I’m so glad you made it, especially in this storm. There’s already a few inches of snow on the ground. Poor Abby came down with a fever, she said you were the best healer in your village.”

My eyes widened as I looked over to the young woman. “I…I try, people tell me I do help them.”
“And you’re so young to be a mid-wife.”

I stood there staring at the fire. I had no outward response, but fear settled in my bones. My mind rushed in a million directions.

Was this a vision, or a dream?

Teaser: Every Witch Way but Dead

Like a restless spirit roaming the landscape, fog drifted in, abandoning the dark waters behind. A buoy moaned in the distance, shattering the silence. The first slice of the new moon dangled in the inky sky. It was a time for magickal conjuring.
The only light in his dank apartment came from black candles as they cast peculiar shadows upon a collage of photos tacked to the otherwise dreary walls. All were of a striking woman with sparkling peridot eyes. For a moment, the man in the darkness seductively traced the outline of her face with his finger.
I loved you, but you chose the wrong man.
Like Narcissus mesmerized by his reflection in a pool of water, he stared at the manic blue eyes in the mirror. A day’s worth of stubble obscured his lightly tanned skin. Sandy curls softened the hard lines of his face. Classically handsome, some would say.
Candlelight flickered and fitfully divided the shadows in his sparse dwelling. The night revealed nothing and only the sliver of the crescent moon peered down.
As the flame lit the remaining candle, his mind played over the last time he’d seen her. He cursed as the fire licked his finger, snapping his attention back to the present. In his tortured psyche, the burnt skin was her fault.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now! I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born.”
In the center of his room lay a small doll. A lock of her blonde hair twisted around the miniature toy, bound with a thick black ribbon. He breathed in her essence. Thoughts of her consumed him. He picked up the poppet and stroked its face.
You will never find anyone who loves you as much as I do.
Tiny crystals of perspiration framed his angelic face and glimmered in the candlelight. Silver metal caught the flames as they danced. He lifted his ritual knife higher in the air and continued his chant.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. With this pin, your fate is sealed. Your deepest fears are now revealed. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born!”
He brought the knife down and sliced the palm of his hand. He made a fist and squeezed. Blood dripped from his clenched hand onto the doll, staining its hair and face, streaking down like tears from its dead eyes.
Tenderly, he massaged the blood over the silken plastic, felt himself stiffen — not yet, not yet — took a deep breath and focused once more on his bloody task.
Her face looked back at him, if only in his mind, as he stroked the knotted hair.
Oh, how I loved you.
An image of her plump, moist lips and slender neck filled his mind. His gaze trailed down to a full bosom that strained against the fabric of her lacy top. She reached out for him. She wanted him. He knew that much, but she could not admit it to herself. He set her down and ran his hands over her most intimate places.
You will be mine.
No longer was it a doll.
In his fantasy, the poppet was her.
The woman who’d captivated him, woven her spell around him and who’d left without a word. The mere thought of her sent him reeling. He had to take her. His lust commanded it.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate.” The crazed thoughts that plagued his tormented soul caused his hands to tremble while he pierced the doll with thick pins aimed straight at its heart.
He clenched his jaw with fierce emotion, swaying back and forth. He raised his arms upward continuing, “Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now. Your pain is born! Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. My love for you has turned to scorn. All those around that you hold dear, will know no peace, but only fear!”
His muscular arm slashed the knife across the throat of the poppet. Desire carried his craving to overflowing as he and the spell reached their climax. He shuddered. The night wind blew through his windows, leaving him in isolation and darkness.

*
In the predawn light after a night of fitful sleep, I’d finally succumbed to quiet slumber. Upon awakening, I grabbed my dream journal and jotted the images and feelings that were still clear in my memory. This had become a ritual of mine since my teenage years, writing in a daytime diary and nighttime journal. This was my latest entry.
In the distance, a sharp wedge of silver glittered before me, piercing the shadows. Was it the moon?
I struggled to catch my breath, but the air was thick and fetid. Stranded in a murky fog, I groped for anything to keep from free-falling. I reached forward, but my hands lashed out at empty space.
My throat tightened. It was so cold. Where was I and why couldn’t I breathe? I plunged into the deluge of darkness. My mouth opened to scream, but there was only silence. Waves of fear rolled over me. I was dragged down by the undercurrents and into the void.
Flashes appeared from out of the abyss, popping like a frenzied photographer’s camera. A creamy white specter materialized before me then evaporated in a cloud of crimson blood. The edge of a blade wavered in the mist then retreated.
My eyes adjusted to the dark, but I saw nothing. Nevertheless, I sensed a presence. I worked my way into the deepest recesses of my unconscious, hoping to find a clue, a key that would unlock this mysterious scenario. There was only darkness and a cold chasm. I had lost my way.
The last notation bothered me most of all. This is not a nightmare and I cannot wake up…

Tuesday Teaser rewrite:



For the third time this week, Amber Kane almost lit her little brother on fire and not on purpose. When she gets mad, well, fiery things tend to happen. Some people throw temper tantrums, she throws fireballs.
It wouldn’t be that bad if she had more control over her talent. It’s in her dreams she’s most helpless and the firepower is of no use to her.

He stood a few feet away from her; his lush black hair glistened in the moonlight. His voice, which spoke to her in a rhythmic cadence, eased her initial trepidation. She’d seen him before, in the night where her imagination ran free.
“You have grown up to be such a beauty. I’ve been watching you your whole life, little one.”
She smiled and shyly glanced away from his hypnotic stare, but the magnetic pull drew her back.
His head tilted, as he laughed, surely taken with her innocence.
“There’s no need to be shy with me.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To help you. As I’ve always helped the witches in your family.”
Amber stepped back. “My family has no other witches in it except for my mother and me. And my mother’s a Priestess of Oya and Isis. Not something out of Sleeping Beauty.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little one. There have always been powerful stregas in your family dating back centuries. Your grandmother’s magick is in her cooking. Whatever she is feeling at the time is infused into her meals. Your mother is a great psychic. And you…” Amber detected hunger in his voice. “Wield the element of fire.” He began to move closer to her and she was powerless to leave. A part of her didn’t want to. He exuded sexuality and she wanted him to touch her, everywhere.
The warmth of his hands felt so right upon her skin as his fingers traced the lines of her cheek and neck. He muttered softly in her ear, “So lovely. Pure and virginal, mine to protect.”
Amber leaned into him, feeling the hard muscles of his chest and the warmth of his breath upon her flesh. Her arm wrapped around his waist and she felt his arousal as their bodies pressed closer together.
“Give me your heart, my sweet one.” His lips pressed against her cheek as hers sought to meet them.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
A growl emanated from deep within his throat. She wrapped her other arm around him, lifting her face to receive his kiss.
“I want you,” he said fiercely.
“Take me.”
“You will give me your heart, my love?”
“Oh, yes.”
That’s when she noticed the ice cold look behind his eyes. A vacant stare met hers as his arm raised and he thrust a long, thin blade into her back. Her body bucked forward into him and he moaned as if in ecstasy.
Amber felt the heat within her build, but she could not use it to heal herself or scorch the demon who held her. He glided the blade upward and his lips brushed hers.
“Thank you for your heart, my love. I will always have it with me. I will always have you with me.”
The only warmth Amber sensed was the blood flowing down her back. A new, raw pain radiated from behind. His gelid fingers entered her flesh and wrapped around her still-beating heart.
“Remember that I love you.” He sighed and yanked her heart from her body.

Amber bolted out of bed, her eyes wild with fear. She searched the room while grabbing at her chest. Relieved to feel her heart beating, she began to settle down.
“Another nightmare?”
Amber jumped back and fell over her handbag, landing on her rump.
“Damn you Cliff!”
“I’m sorry, did I frighten you?”
“You prick, you know you did.”
He smiled. “I swear I didn’t mean to. Really. I give you my ghostly honor.”
“You have no honor.” Amber climbed back into bed.
“You really should let me help with those nightmares.”
“Ha! That would mean allowing you to enter my body. No way.”
“Still mad about the whole kidnapping thing?” he asked.
“Yeah and the whole, ‘I’m going to kill you thing.’”
“Dude, you really hold a grudge.”
“Dude?”
“Sorry, dudette.”
“Yeah Cliff, it’s taken a lot just to talk to you and acknowledge your existence.”
“I know. My bad.”
“Bad doesn’t even come close.”
“Good-night, Amber.”
“Good-night, Cliff.”

Tuesday Teaser: This is bare bones--unedited--WIP



For the third time this week, I almost lit my little brother on fire and not on purpose. When I get mad, well, fiery things tend to happen. Some people throw temper tantrums, I throw fireballs.
My mother’s a witch. A real --spell-casting, ghost whispering, High Priestess-- witch. She’s famous too. She’s been in the papers and on TV. So, as you can imagine, it’s not easy being her daughter. Especially since I’ve somehow inherited powers far beyond hers and I’m only eighteen-years old. It started about two years ago. Fire is my element and my mom and her coven sister, Ouida, decided it’s time to help me harness this ability. Before I really hurt someone like my brother, Jake.
“I want to you to focus. Concentrate on your power center and raise the energy. Send it to that pile of leaves,” Ouida instructed, pointing to the leaves.
My mom was standing next to me, coaxing me like I was six years old and learning how to ride a bike. I focused on the anger I still had concerning my father. He’d cheated on my mom and they got divorced this past winter. It’s a long story.
“You can do it, Pookie,” my mom whispered.
My stomach churned, the heat emanated from that center and I pushed it out. I had a new respect for women going through menopause. This had to be worse than any hot flash Ouida described.
Smoke rose from last autumn’s pile of dried up maple leaves. Soon, I saw flames leap up and consume the dead leaves.
“Excellent,” Cliff applauded.
“Thanks,” I answered him aloud. Cliff’s handsome ghostly features formed out of the ethers as he gave me a thumbs up.
“Ah, I’m glad to see you’re talkin’ to the spirit,” Ouida said with a wide smile.
I shook off the residual energy and wiped the sweat from my brow. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t understand the word no.”
My mom laughed. I looked over at her. She’d been through so much these past few years. Including going up against this uber-evil murderer, Cliff, who was now dead and helping us work out some karma. Not to mention he’s working out a lot of his own debts.
You’d never know it to look my mom. In love and pregnant with—I believe—the love of her life’s baby. This will be the fifth and final installment of the Kane/Bennette clan. Or so I’m told.
“I think that’s enough training for today,” Ouida added.
“You did great, Amber,” my mom said.
“I’m my mother’s daughter.” I smiled.
I could tell Ouida was concerned for my mother. I watched as she walked over to her and the two walked inside. My mom had a miscarriage a few months back and Ouida and all my mom’s friends were extra cautious with her.
“So you did good, kiddo.”
“It seems to come easier.”
“It will.”
“What is it, Cliff? I can tell you want to talk about something.”
“Nah, it can wait.”
Then he was gone.
I walked toward the water. Our backyard was the Long Island Sound and I sat on a lounge chair. The weather was finally getting warm and before long I’d be performing my first Solstice ritual.
From the darkened corner of my mind, a sound emerged, slowly forming words. They sounded hollow, almost tinny. “I’m here, can you hear me?”
“Cliff? Is that you trying to play one of your semi-scary ghost tricks on me?”
“Please help me.”
I turned and saw there was no one around, not even my little twerp of a brother. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was in a park setting. I noticed a young man sitting alone on a bench. His hair was the color of ripened wheat and had the most beautiful eyes. They were a pale hazel-green color with flecks of burnished gold. Immediately, I realized this must be a spirit. I walked over to him.
“Hi, my name’s Amber,” I said, introducing myself.
“I know. I tried to get to talk to you before, but your friend wouldn’t let me get through.” His voice sounded intensely masculine, with a husky quality to it. I thought I detected a slight accent.
I watched his expressions as I spoke to him. He seemed lonely, and somehow scared. Maybe he’s newly crossed. “That’s his job, among other things. He’s sort of like the gatekeeper, or a spiritual bouncer. Spirits have to get his okay before they can communicate with me. I’m somewhat new to this.”
“I got that impression. I just wasn’t able to…get through to him the way I would’ve wanted to, but I knew I would be able to talk to you—directly.” His head bowed down as he stared at the ground.
He looked extremely sad as he tried to explain himself.
“You are really beautiful. I—I mean inside and out. You radiate a calm energy. I like being around you,” he shyly admitted. “Not to mention the fact I find it oddly disturbing that I can even see your energy.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I can’t remember,” he said. “Another oddity.”
“How did you die?” I tried to read his energy, but he was scattered and unable to ground his energies.
“I—I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “Am I dead?”

Out now at SamhainPublishing.com

I apologize in advance if I’m absent.
I’m back in the zone..working on the third installment of the Sexy Sorceress, Angelica Kane.
With Blood Pool completed, my third novel, I’m now back with Angelica and her romantic romps with her sexy stud.
I guarantee an enchanting journey, full of twists and turns with Every Witch Way but Dead and continues in The Upside of Karma. I hope people enjoy reading Angelica's stories as much as I enjoy writing them.
I will try and keep the blog updated, it all depends on the muses.
BB
Ella