Witch’s
Moonstone Locket
A
Coon Hollow Coven Tale
Book
One
Marsha
A. Moore
Genre:
New Adult Paranormal Romance
Date
of Publication: March 24, 2015
Word
Count: 94,000
Book
Description:
Twenty-three-year-old
Jancie Sadler was out of the room when her mother died, and her heart
still longs for their lost goodbye. Aching to ease her sorrow, Aunt
Starla gives Jancie a diary that changes her entire life. In entries
from the 1930s, her great grandmother revealed how she coped with her
own painful loss by seeking out a witch from nearby Coon Hollow
Coven. The witch wore the griever’s moonstone locket, which allowed
whoever could unlock its enchantment to talk with the dead.
Determined
to find that locket, Jancie goes to the coven’s annual carnival
held in her small southern Indiana town of Bentbone. This opposes her
father’s strict rule: stay away from witches. But she’s an adult
now and can make her own decisions. She meets Rowe McCoy, the kind
and handsome witch who wears the moonstone. He agrees to let her try
to open the locket, but they’re opposed by High Priestess Adara and
her jealous desire to possess him.
Desperate
for closure with her mother, Jancie persists and cannot turn away
from a perilous path filled with magic, romance, and danger.
Excerpt
from Chapter One: Great Aunt Starla’s Cornbread
Warm
rain mixed with Jancie’s tears, and she rose to stand beside her
mother’s grave. Not ready to let go, she bent at the waist and her
fingers followed the arc of her mother’s name—Faye Sadler—in
the headstone. She knew the unyielding shape well. The word goodbye
stuck in her throat. She’d said it aloud many times since her
mother died almost a year ago, only to have the cemetery’s vast
silence swallow her farewells. Rain beaded on the polished granite.
Her hand, bearing her mother’s silver ring, slid down the stone and
fell to her side.
If
only she could’ve said goodbye to her mother before. After years of
caring for her mom while she suffered with cancer, Jancie had missed
the final parting moment while getting a quick bite of dinner. The
pain still cut like a knife in her gut.
On
foot, she retraced the too-familiar path toward her work at the
Federal Bank. Although she’d landed a job as manager at the largest
of the three banks in the small town of Bentbone, the position was a
dead end. Within the first six months, she’d mastered all the
necessary skills. Now, after a year, only the paycheck kept her
there.
Jancie
turned onto Maple Street. As usual, wind swept up the corridor,
between old shade trees protecting houses, and met her at the top of
the tall hill. September rain pelted her face and battled the Indian
summer noontime temperatures. She zipped the rain parka to keep her
dress dry, pulled on the strings of the hood, and corralled strands
of ginger-colored hair that whipped into her eyes. Once able to see,
she gazed farther into the valley, where the view spanned almost a
mile out to the edge of town. Usually, farmers moved tractors across
the road or boys raced skateboards and bikes down Maple Street’s
long slope.
Today,
on the deserted acreage just east of Bentbone, people moving in and
out through a gate of the tall wooden fence breathed life into the
rundown carnival. Surprised, Jancie crossed the street for a better
view. She’d lost track of time since Mom passed. The coming Labor
Day weekend in Bentbone meant the valley coven’s yearly carnival.
She and her close group of girlfriends always looked forward to the
cute guys, fair food, and amazing magical rides and decorations…even
if her father didn’t approve of witches or magic. The residents of
the sleepy town awoke to welcome a host of tourists wanting to see
the spectacle created by the witches of Coon Hollow Coven.
Somehow,
Jancie had forgotten the big event this year. Last year, she didn’t
go since Mom was so sick and couldn’t be left. Jancie sighed and
turned onto the main street toward the bank. She’d lost so much
since her mother passed. Really, since the diagnosis of cancer.
At
that time, four years ago, Jancie withdrew as a sophomore from
Hanover College, a select, private school in southern Indiana near
the Kentucky border—too far away. Instead, she returned to stay
with her mother and commuted to Indiana University. Balancing hours
with the home health care nurse, Jancie had few choices of career
paths. Not that it mattered, since her remarried father expected her
to find a job in Bentbone and continue taking care of her mother.
Despite the sacrifices, Jancie loved her mother, who’d always
managed money for a few special things for Jancie—a new bike,
birthday parties, prom dresses—even though their income was tight.
Mom had paid for her tuition and listened to every new and exciting
college experience.
Jancie
smiled at the memory of Mom’s twinkling brown eyes, that mirrored
her own, when she asked about what happened during the day’s
classes: if Jancie liked the professor; if she’d made new friends.
When
she rounded the last corner, her thoughts returned to the work day.
At the bleak, limestone bank building, reality hit. Jancie pulled
against the heavy glass door, and a gust swept her inside. She peeled
off the drenched jacket and hung it on the coat rack of her small,
plain office. At her desk again, she took her position.
Through
the afternoon’s doldrums, punctuated by only a handful of
customers, her mind wandered to the carnival. She’d gone dozens of
times before and loved it. But since Mom passed, nothing seemed fun
anymore, like she couldn’t connect with herself and had forgotten
how to have a good time. She organized a stack of notes, anything to
put the concern out of her mind.
***
After
work, Jancie drove her old blue Camry the five miles to the other end
of town where she lived in her mother’s white frame house, the home
where she grew up, now hers. Glad to own her own place, unlike her
friends who rented, she’d made a few easy changes. In the living
room, a new brown leather couch with a matching chair and ottoman.
She replaced the bedroom furniture with a new oak suite for herself
in what used to be her mother’s room. With pay saved from the bank,
Jancie could remodel or build on, but she didn’t know what she
wanted yet. Her great aunt Starla had told her to just wait and hold
onto her money; she’d know soon enough.
Pouring
rain soaked the hem of her dress as she darted between the garage
shed and back stoop of the small ranch house.
Glad
she’d chosen to get her run in this morning before work, she
changed into cozy sweats, pulled the long part of her tapered hair
into a ponytail, and headed for the kitchen.
Her
phone alerted her of a text, and she read the message from her friend
Rachelle, always the social director of their group: R we going to
the carnival?
Jancie
typed a response. I guess. R Lizbeth and Willow going?
Yep
whole gang. What day?
Don’t
know yet. Get back to u. Jancie worried she’d spoil their fun. Even
though they’d all been her best friends since high school and would
understand her moodiness, she didn’t want to ruin one of the best
times of the year for them. Since Mom passed, they’d taken her out
to movies and shopping in Bloomington, but this was different. Could
it ever match up to the fun of all the times before? “I don’t
know if I’m up to that,” she said into open door of the old
Kenmore refrigerator while rummaging for leftovers of fried chicken
and corn.
The
meal satisfied and made her thankful she’d learned how to cook
during those years with Mom. Not enough dishes to bother with the
dishwasher, one of the modern upgrades to the original kitchen,
Jancie washed the dishes by hand and then called Starla. When she
answered, Jancie asked, “Can I come over tonight? There’s
something I’m needing your opinion on.”
“Why
sure, Jancie. C’mon over,” the eighty-five-year-old replied with
her usual warm drawl. “Are you wantin’ dinner? I made me some
soup beans with a big hambone just butchered from Bob’s hog. My
neighbor Ellie came over and had some. She said they were the best
she’s eaten.”
Jancie
glanced at the soggy rain parka and opted for an umbrella instead.
“No, I just ate. Be right over.” Keys and purse in hand, she hung
up and darted for the shed.
Five
minutes later, she turned onto the drive of the eldercare apartments
and parked under the steel awning where Starla gave her a whole arm
wave from her picture window. Jancie made her way to number twelve on
the first floor.
The
door opened, and Starla engulfed Jancie in a bear hug, pulling her
into the pillow of a large, sagging bosom. Starla smelled of her
signature scent—rosewater and liniment.
Jancie
had loved her great aunt’s hugs as long as she could remember.
Stress and worry melted away, and she hugged back. Her arm grazed
Starla’s white curls along the collar of her blue knit top
embroidered with white stars—her great aunt’s favorite emblem.
“It’s
so good to see you. Come sit a spell, while I get us some iced tea.”
Starla pulled away and gestured to the microsuede couch decorated
with three crocheted afghans in a rainbow of colors. “I thought we
were done with this hot weather, but not quite yet. That rain today’s
been a gully washer but didn’t cool things off much.” The
large-boned woman scuffed her pink-house-slippered feet toward the
kitchen. “Would you rather have pound cake from the IGA or homemade
cornbread?”
Jancie
laughed and followed her into the kitchen. She wouldn’t get through
the visit without eating. “You’re just fishin’ for a
compliment. You know your homemade cornbread is better.”
Starla
arranged plates with thick slices of warm cornbread and big pats of
butter on top, while Jancie transferred the refreshments to the
aluminum dinette table.
“With
your hair pulled back like that, you’re a dead ringer for your Ma.
So pretty with that same sweetheart-shaped face.” Starla folded
herself onto a chair beside Jancie. “You look to be getting on
well…considering what all you’ve been through.”
“I’m
doing okay,” Jancie said through a mouthful of the moist cornbread.
She washed it down with a swallow of brisk tea that tasted
fresh-brewed. “But sometimes, lots of times, I feel lost, like I
can’t move on.” She ran a hand across her forehead. “I didn’t
get to say goodbye. I spent time with her through all those years,
and it shouldn’t matter, but it does every time I visit her grave
and most every night in my dreams.”
“Oh,
honey. I know it hurts.” Starla smoothed Jancie’s ponytail down
the middle of her back and spoke with a voice so slow and warm, it
felt like a handmade quilt wrapping around her. “You spent all
that time and gave so much. Just like when I cared for my husband
some twenty years back. I know. I never got the chance to tell Harry
goodbye either. Time will heal all hurts.”
Jancie
looked down at the marbleized tabletop to hide her teary eyes. “I
don’t think I’m ever going to heal, Aunt Starla. I don’t know
if I can ever move on.”
“There
is one thing you can try. I’d have done it, if I’d have known
before decades softened my aching heart. Way back, I was desperate
like you.”
Jancie
looked into Starla’s blue-gray eyes, set deep inside wrinkled lids.
Her
aunt leaned closer. “Not many know about this,” she whispered as
if someone outside the apartment door might hear. “There’s an old
story about how a member of the Coon Hollow Coven, one who’s
recently lost a loved one, is made the teller of the moonstone tale.”
Jancie
rolled her eyes. “That’s just a silly story, one of lots that Mom
and Dad told to scare me when I was little, so I’d stay away from
the coven. When the moonstone locket opens at the end of the tale,
you’ll get your wish but also be cursed.”
“Oh
no.” Starla shook her head and pushed away from the table. “Let
me get Aunt Maggie’s old diary. I got this in a box of old family
things when Cousin Dorothy passed. ” She lumbered to her spare
bedroom and returned with a worn, black-leather volume only a little
larger than her wide palm. Once seated, she thumbed through the
yellowed pages. “Here.” She pointed a finger and placed the book
between them.
About
the Author:
Marsha
A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her
life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative
tales.
The
magic of art and nature often spark life into her writing, as well as
watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for
over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. After a move from
Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a
Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Marsha is crazy about cycling.
She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking
her kayak out for an hour or more is a real treat. She never has
enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories
with toes wiggling in the sand.
Every
day at the beach is magical!
Website:
http://MarshaAMoore.com
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore
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+: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore
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Amazon
author page: amazon.com/author/marshaamoore
Goodreads
author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore
http://www.amazon.com/Witchs-Moonstone-Locket-Hollow-Coven-ebook/dp/B00V2DG0HG/
Thanks for featuring my new release today!
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