Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Xander Corey has never been happier. He’s in love, engaged to the man of his dreams, his friends are thriving, his land, Corvus, is safe, his community is booming, and he’s even back to working as a part-time librarian in Osprey, the tiny little town he calls home in Upstate New York. And yes, he’s a witch, though only a few are bothered about that.
But Xander is worried: Why is everyone so cranky? What’s happened to the bees in town? And who attacked his friend the nymph?
Chief of Police Lorne MacBain has issues of his own. He has a murder to solve that may or may not have something to do with magic. Before moving to town and falling in love with a witch, the supernatural was not a concern. But these days, both Xander and magic are an integral part of his life. His main priority is protecting the man he loves, yet that may prove harder than ever.
The evil stalking Xander and Lorne is real, and to fight it, they’ll have to figure out precisely what it is. If only that could happen before it kills them
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
ONE
I love summer. Not as much as fall, but it runs a close second.
Honestly, I love all the seasons, but summer is slower, gentler. Walking in dappled sunlight, listening to the warm wind through ancient trees, stepping into the coolness of the shadows, getting caught in a brief summer squall…all those things are truly magical. But what holds the most mystical, dreamy allure are the nights. It’s never truly dark.
On stormy evenings, the clouds appear slate gray, stamped on an indigo-blue sky, and when it’s clear, the stars are so bright, it makes sense that sea-tossed sailors could follow them home. When it’s still warm outside at midnight, I love to walk through the thicket, hunting for fireflies and fairies, seeing how quickly I can spot the difference. The forest calls to me, beckoning me to take another step, farther away, pulling at my hair, tugging on my heart. I could stay away all day and night and never notice the passing of time.
Before Lorne MacBain came into my life, sometimes I would fall asleep in the tall grass and spend the night outside with the moon watching over me. It’s like being in another age, a feral, primordial one, when the world was younger and everything from a single blade of grass to the wild wind was enchanted.
There will always be the lure of the deep woods, and that welcome, necessary communion that I need, but now Lorne’s pull is stronger than anything else, even when I’m asleep on my feet.
Now, on those nights when I’ve walked too far afield, chasing some restless feeling to follow my magic farther into the untamed darkness, drawn there, there’s always a sudden flutter in my chest that nudges me home. I stumble from the trees, across the small grass-lined stream, to the door of the greenhouse he added in the spring, and then into the sunroom, where the windows are all open because even at midnight, the breeze is always warm. Lorne, the man I love, takes my basket from me that’s always full of stones and clippings, making sure to put my grandmother’s embroidery scissors back in their place in the kitchen so they’ll be there the next time I need them.
“Thanks for coming home, Xan,” he murmurs.
“Always,” I whisper back.
He then steers me into the bedroom, strips me down, and puts me in bed before I can speak again and ask him questions about his day. Turning off the lights, he slides into bed beside me, wraps me in his strong arms, and tucks me against his big, hard body. I don’t stir until the morning.
The truth is, I’d rather sleep beside Lorne MacBain than anywhere else. My love for him is like a siren call, except he’s not trying to kill me. He wants me. He loves me.
Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t sometimes have homicidal leanings, especially when I do something he considers dangerous.
For instance…
I heard the horns as I flew through the intersection and realized, for possibly the hundredth time, that the traffic situation in the small town of Osprey, New York, where I lived, had changed drastically. Back in November of last year, we had some excitement over the discovery of a doomsday cult in our little corner of the world. The fact that every member of the cult had died over a hundred years ago didn’t stop the wave of interest, translating to tourism, that hit our town like a tsunami.
That was the cover story.
The real one, about a god trying to cross from his realm to ours, was far too fantastic to share with the public. So the press ran with what they knew, and our town was swamped with visitors. In theory, not a bad thing. Retail businesses were especially appreciative of the influx of dollars. The downside was the surge of cars on two-lane roads with stop signs at four-way crossings that people were not paying attention to. On Yelp it said: Great town, but no one knows how to drive! That was a wild exaggeration. People in my town could certainly drive, they simply weren’t used to being honked at, passed on hills, and cut off while making left turns.
The parking was a whole other horror. Whenever I locked my bike into the rack in front of the library, I thought again how fortunate I was not to have to parallel park. Not that I could even if I had to. Driving had never been a skill I’d acquired. I lived in a tiny town. In the winter I could walk, and all other times, like now, in high summer, mid-July, I could ride.
Lorne, who was the chief of police, along with being my fiancé, had been to many meetings about putting in more traffic lights. He vehemently opposed those initiatives. His contention was, what if everything died down and we were left with useless lights in the middle of town, slowing up tractors and parents taking their kids to school. Not to mention the cost of the added infrastructure to the taxpayer. It was a valid argument. Conversely, people were tired of nearly being mowed down as they crossed the streets on the weekends, on holidays, and certainly anytime it rained when visibility was poor. I saw both sides.