Book Two: Witches of Marigold
Publication date March 2025 -- follow me on Patreon or Facebook for publication updates.
Sanne Pascrel, resident witch of Marigold, USA, juggles the magical and the mundane by tutoring teenagers, leading wildcrafting classes, and talking to ancient trees--who talk back.
When a fight at the teenagers' school leads to a lost ring and the unexplained death of a local neurosurgeon, Sanne slides into the dark center of a brewing mystery.
Sanne's mobile rang.
No, it didn't. It emitted the caw of a spotted towhee, which then became the bird's lovely staccato trill. Sanne had recorded the audio one morning at dawn in the forest, and it was perfect.
Sanne cocked her head, letting the feel and flow of the caller enter into her awareness.
Few people actually called her. Her sister Marla, and sometimes Della.
Della who was off in Canada with her newlywed husband Terry, at a real estate conference, followed by a lengthy honeymoon.
Sanne missed Della. It surprised her to miss the other woman, given how unlikely the friendship had been to begin with. They had started as adversaries, and were forced to work together to keep immensely powerful and dangerous demon eggs from hatching and destroying the town of Marigold.
Once they knew each other that well, they started to like each other.
READ MOREThen, months ago, under the not-quite-full moon of early summer, the demon egg enchantment was finalized. Della and Sanne and the three teenagers stood in a circle on the recently cured concrete, atop the two demon eggs, weaving a spell to make sure would never hatch, and if they did, they would never emerge.
The eggs were solidly ensorcelled now, contained in the magical equivalent of deep freeze, sealed into holes like vaults beneath physical stone and magical concrete.
A fine night's work that had been.
A work of art, really. A beautiful spell that drew from the area's deep ancient magma and the root system of trees. Rufus had brought the carpet of fungus that was everywhere, from mushroom to lichen. Angie drew spores and microscopic flora that lived on the breeze. And Keyton invoked the moisture in the air, the aquifer, and the cement itself. Keyton had announced that for the duration of the spell, ze was moving into zir masculine energy so as to balance the female-leaning group, and to stand alongside Rufus.
Sanne was lucky beyond reason for the kids. For the forest.
Even for Della. But the call didn't have Della's scent. Nor Marla's.
She swiped up.
"Hello," she said.
"Susanne Pascral?" asked a male voice.
Someone who didn't know her well enough to know her friend-name.
"Yes?" she asked.
A moment's silence.
"I don't know how to say this, so I'll just spit it out. I'm your brother. My name is Allen."
Sanne blinked, and blinked again.
"I have a brother?"
COLLAPSESonia Orin Lyris
