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Series: Stella Mayweather, Book 2 |
Secrets are brewing, and magic always demands a price. Life in the quiet town of Wilding seems almost... normal. For Stella, a witch on the run, it’s a rare peace—until a desperate girl arrives, begging for her protection. Now, dark magic stirs, and Stella is pulled into a deadly game where secrets lie in every shadow. With the fractured Witch Council on the brink of war and two dangerously irresistible men complicating her world, Stella must tread carefully. But the mysteries of Wilding run deep, and her enemies are closer than she thinks. To survive, Stella will need to trust her power, her friends, and her heart—before she loses everything to the darkness rising around her. In a town like this, even magic can't hide the truth forever. Perfect for fans of romantasy and urban fantasy, this series weaves a spellbinding tale of witches, simmering romance, and high-stakes intrigue.
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Excerpt:
The surge of magic that bloomed into the kitchen through the open doorway nearly knocked me for six. It wasn’t the force of it, and I didn’t sense any malevolence, but I was so surprised I dropped the glass I’d been washing. It splintered into a bunch of little pieces on the floor. I looked from my feet to the doorway, my body rigid with anticipation.
“Hello?” called a small female voice from my living room. “Is there anyone there?”
Slowly, carefully, I stepped over the shards and edged towards the voice, panicking all the time. I didn’t get the feeling I was about to come to harm, but one could never be too careful. So I prepared to shimmer out of there the moment things looked dicey. Teleportation certainly had its advantages.
“Where the hell am I?” demanded the girl standing in the centre of my living room. She was in her late teens with glossy dark blonde hair that hung about her shoulders in a feathery cut. She was dressed in skinny jeans, acid pink heels and a white jacket that sat on her hips with a little pleated flounce. She clutched a thick book in her arms that looked heavy and old against her new and shiny self.
“You’re in my living room,” I replied, bracing myself for whatever would come next.
“Am I in England?” she asked in disbelief as she looked around in distaste at my furniture. “I did not think England would look like this.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Huh?” The girl looked around again, then gave me the once over. “You are Stella Mayweather?” she asked.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I asked first!” I thought she might stomp her foot. I certainly felt like it but I settled for glaring at her instead. Obviously, it was the more mature option.
“I’m Chyler,” she said at last, and dropped onto my sofa, the book perched across her knees.
“What are you doing in my living room? How did you get here?” If my wards were dogs, they’d be in the doghouse right now. How had she gotten in here when I’d done everything I could to keep everyone out, especially people who could just flash in, like she had, in the blink of an eye.
“I said the spell,” Chyler replied, patting the book like she couldn’t help it, “and I just ended up here. You are Stella, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said after assessing her for weapons. She looked too scared to be thinking about hurting me and I didn’t think the super tight jeans could conceal anything.
“Yes!” Chyler’s fist pumped the air. “I just knew it! The book said it was you and now here I am.” She beamed at me.
“What book?”
“This book. It’s the family spell book,” she said, slowly, like she had to spell it out. Groan. One bright blue nail tapped the aged leather exterior of the book. “You don’t have one?” she asked, catching my frown.
I shook my head. “But what are you doing here?”
“I need to hide,” Chyler said and all the confidence seemed to drain out of her. “I asked the book and it said you would protect me. It gave me the spell to find you.”
“The book just... told you?” I tried to not let the disbelief show on my face.
“Usually I have to ask it really nicely; but this time, it practically demanded to help,” said Chyler as if chatting to a book was a perfectly normal event. At least, she didn’t seem to think it was abnormal, which it totally was. “It even had a picture of you.” Chyler thumbed through the thick leaves and finally flipped the book open. She held it up to me, the spine pressed against her middle as she balanced it in both hands. Sure enough, there was a pen and ink drawing of my face looking solemnly back at me. “Cool, right? I’m on the run,” she added helpfully.
“From whom?” I couldn’t help but ask, but maybe, given the knowledge I’d received in the past few months, I should have been asking what rather than whom.
“The Council, of course,” said Chyler, her face returning to glum. “They want to kill me and you’re the only one who can stop them.”
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