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Book 1 of an action packed new paranormal series.
NOTE: These are short novels, between 150-160 pages.
She's running from her past - and running out of time.
Claire Wiche is an ordinary woman, running her Wicca shop in an ordinary California beach town. But Claire wasn't always ordinary, and she isn't quite human. She hides a secret, and a past she thought she had put behind her.
A past that is about to explode into her present.
When it does, and everyone she loves is in danger, Claire must face up to her past - and become what she left behind in order to save them.
The Claire Wiche Chronicles:
Book 1 - Rest For The Wicked
Book 2 - A Gathering of Angels
Book 3 - Carry On Wayward Son
Book 4 - Annie's Song
Book 5 - What Doesn't Kill You
Excerpt:
Claire Wiche
guided her unhappy customer through her shop, one arm around the woman’s
hunched shoulders.
“You know I don’t
do love spells, Mildred.”
“But I know if he
could see me, really see me, he’d fall desperately in—”
“Would it be
real, if he’s under an enchantment?”
Mildred pouted,
not a pretty sight on an eighty-year-old woman. “What happened to the customer
is always right?”
Biting her lip on
a smile, Claire walked her through the open door.
“Never been my
policy. And I have good reasons for that.” She rubbed the old woman’s arm. “You
go on home now. I’ll phone you when my new shipment of crystals shows up.”
Leaning against
the narrow porch post, Claire watched her toddle down the sidewalk, sunlight
bouncing off the thin silver poodle curls. The morning gloom had burned off
early, and it looked like the start of another beautiful day.
She crossed her
arms, cold despite the sweater she slipped on earlier. It took longer to warm
up lately, a fact she did her best to ignore.
“Are you cold
again, Claire? It’s got to be at least 80 in the store.”
Unless, of
course, a well-meaning friend shoved it in her face.
She turned
around, forced a smile. “Is it, Annie? I must have forgotten to turn it down
this morning.”
“How could you
not notice? The candles are sweating.” Annie Sullivan—the lively,
no-holds-barred friend Claire never expected to have in her life—stepped across
the small porch that ran along the front of the shop, her almost six foot
height topping Claire by a good ten inches. She caught one hand before Claire
could shove them in her pockets. “You’re like ice. Again.” She looked down at
Claire, concern in her warm brown eyes. “And you’re avoiding. Again.”
With a sigh,
Claire squeezed her hand before easing out of it. The warmth in Annie’s fingers
made her skin tingle, yearn.
“Time to turn
that heat down before the candles become a puddle.”
Annie followed
her back inside, hovering while she adjusted the thermostat to a more
reasonable temperature. She would need a heavier sweater.
“Come on,” Annie
said, hands on her hips. “Give.”
Shaking her head,
Claire smiled, a real smile this time. “Would I’m just cold and tired do it for
you?”
“Hardly.” Annie
stood in front of the counter, looking like a golden Amazon ready for battle. “But
it’ll have to until I can get you drunk and pry the truth out of you.”
Laughter burst
out of Claire. “I’d like to see that.”
“Yeah, so would
I. If you actually touched the stuff.” She gave Claire a wicked smile. “I could
always slip you a mickey.”
“You could—if I
wasn’t able to smell it from across the room.”
“Slapped down
again. Hey—what if we just tried—”
“Not again. Never
again.” Claire still felt the residual agony from her one failed attempt at
social drinking.
“How do you do
that?” Those warm brown eyes narrowed as they studied her. “How do you always
know what I’m going to say?”
Claire reached up
and patted her cheek. “I’m a witch, sweetheart. It’s what I do.”
“Wait.” She grabbed
Claire’s hand, pushed her sleeve up to reveal the bandage that peeked out. “Is
that another tattoo? What is it this time?”
Claire flushed.
The second reason she put on a sweater this morning.
“A triquetra.”
“More protection?
Jeez, Claire, the pentacle on your hip isn’t enough?”
“There is no such
thing as too much protection.” She pulled free and walked around the counter. “And
the subject is closed.”
“Okay, I can take
a hint. I’ll drop in sometime tomorrow, see if you need any help during the
festival madness.”
“That will be
most appreciated.”
Annie strode to
the door, her long legs taking her through the small shop in a few paces. She
paused in the doorway. “Hey, Claire—I’m worried, and I poke when I’m worried. I’ll
leave it alone for now. But if you don’t get better, I’ll do more than poke.”
“Annie.” She
stuck her head back in. “Don’t you even think about taking on Mildred’s love
spell.”
Color rushed into
her cheeks.
“I wasn’t—”
“I mean it. Last
time you nearly had your victim falling in love with her cat.”
“Never gonna let
me live that one down, are you?”
Claire smiled. “Not
if it keeps you from trying again.”
Annie cursed
under her breath and stalked out.
Chuckling, Claire
made a mental note to put feelers out. Annie had more than enough power, and
just enough knowledge to make her dangerous.
Without warning
the pain stabbed her; a blade of ice in her gut.
Bracing her hands
on the counter, she fought to breathe, fought to keep herself upright. Shaking
so hard her rings clattered against the granite countertop, she gained enough
control to lower herself to the chair that she recently added, out of
necessity.
“God above—” She
pressed both arms against her stomach, prayed for a slow morning. If she
believed God would actually listen to her, after all this time, she’d ask the
single question that haunted her.
Is this how it feels to be dying?
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