Witch of the Cards
Catherine Stine
Genre: paranormal historical suspense
Publisher: Konjur Road Press
Date of Publication: March 16, 2016
ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-6-5
ISBN-10: 0-9848282-6-5
ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-7-2
ISBN 10: 0-9848282-7-3
Number of pages: 265
Word Count: 76K
Cover Artist: Mae I Designs
Book Description:
Fiera was born a sea witch with no inkling of her power. And now it might be too late.
Witch of the Cards is historical, supernatural romantic suspense set in 1932 on the Jersey shore. Twenty-two year-old Fiera has recently left the Brooklyn orphanage where she was raised, and works in Manhattan as a nanny. She gets a lucky break when her boss pays for her short vacation in Asbury Park. One evening, Fiera and her new friend Dulcie wander down the boardwalk and into Peter Dune’s Tarot & Séance, where they attend a card reading.
Fiera has always had an unsettling ability to know things before they happen and sense people’s hidden agendas. She longs to either find out the origin of her powers or else banish them because as is, they make her feel crazy. When, during the reading, her energies somehow bond with Peter Dune’s and form an undeniable ethereal force, a chain of revelations and dangerous events begin to unspool. For one, Fiera finds out she is a witch from a powerful sea clan, but that someone is out to stop her blossoming power forever. And though she is falling in love with Peter, he also has a secret side. He’s no card reader, but a private detective working to expose mediums. Despite this terrible betrayal, Fiera must make the choice to save Peter from a tragic Morro Cruise boat fire, or let him perish with his fellow investigators. Told in alternating viewpoints, we hear Fiera and Peter each struggle against their deep attraction. Secrets, lies, even murder, lace this dark fantasy.
Excerpt:
The absinthe put
me in a dreamy state. Added to the mix was the sensual comfort of sitting next
to Peter, who served as a buffer between Alyse and me.
Somewhere in the
room, a chorus of faint voices floated around, high and sweet. Or was the sound
merely in my head? How could it be? Peter asked me a question, but it took
three repetitions for me to understand him over the low-slung jazz notes
infused with the chorus of invisible soprano cherubs singing at me.
“Have you always
had a talent for the unseen?” I heard him ask.
“Whatever do you
mean? It was you who saw things that weren’t there.” I had to right myself
because I found myself swooning so much I nearly fell into Peter’s lap.
“But it was you
who eked it out of me.”
“Little old me?”
I giggled.
“Yes, you,”
Alyse agreed. “I was there, too. You have some strange talent. Can you describe
how it works? You must be aware of it.”
Everything was
turning light and frothy like a magical cake icing. The barkeep was chatting up
the fellows at his counter, the card players exhaled in cheery gusts of
laughter, and the waitresses flounced around like so many sunny meadow flowers.
I didn’t see the harm. “I do sense things. Always have.”
“What kind of
things?” Peter and Alyse asked in tandem. Their unexpected accord matched the
soprano voices singing harmoniously in and around my head.
I giggled again.
“Do you hear them?”
“Hear what?”
Peter looked around, spooked.
“Children,
little voices.”
Alyse’s brows
creased. “What are they saying?”
“They’re
singing.” But the entire mood of the room had changed in an instant. Their
radiant energy soured. The children of the ether weren’t singing any more. They
were starting to weep, over something very sad.
Over me.
How did I know
this? No idea. A hard frost shot through my bones. I took a big gulp of the
absinthe. Perhaps it would block out the voices, the wailing of innocents.
“What is it?”
Peter took my hand. His concerned touch cut through the horrible, chilling ache
and melted me. “What’s the matter, Fiera?” His face paled, and right then, I
knew he heard them too. “They’re crying, aren’t they?” he whispered in my ear,
tickling my soft lobe. “Crying over you.”
“Yes.” I leaned
on him, letting the voices cry for me.
We hugged and I
swear I felt his sudden, hot tears melt through the shoulder fabric of my
dress. It was infinitely sad, infinitely tender.
The invisible
cherubs whirring inside my head took translucent form and slipped out of me.
They soared around the room like hardscrabble angels, flitting past Dulcie as
she danced; sliding, their soft baby feet gliding over the long bar counter,
and right through the man with the hookah. He glanced up for a moment as if he,
too, felt the supernatural breeze. Then he bowed his head back down and took a
pensive draw on his smoking device. Eyes closed, I saw green paisleys and
floating leaves, the rushing of a cold stream bubbling under me, which filled
me with terror. I came to with a gasp.
“What is it?” Alyse
asked. How could I tell her of this suffering, shot through with spectacular
floating objects, and my strange, sudden affinity with Mr. Dune?
“I see children
weeping,” I admitted. “They’ve been hurt.”
“How?” Her voice
grew anxious.
I silently asked
them. “They’re babies. They can’t say.”
When I looked
over at Peter, it was obvious he was in the same deep trance he’d been in when
we first met. His eyes were glazed as if whatever he was experiencing was far
from this basement speakeasy. “What is it? What do you see?” I whispered.
“They’re fading.
They’re dying. They’re being—”
“Snap out of it,
Mr. Dune.” Alyse gave him a stern shaking. “You’ve had too much absinthe.”
“It’s not that!” I insisted.
“Then tell me
what it is, Fiera,” she said.
“It’s a vision.
Of something real from long ago.”
“How long ago?”
“As long ago as
there is a long ago.” I sounded ridiculous. Alyse Bone was right. The absinthe
was crazy making. Or was it the taffy? I leaned into Peter’s limp shoulder,
reached over and shook him, too, but with more patience than Alyse had.
His eyes
fluttered open, and he gazed at me with that same calm as when he awoke after
the séance. As before, his expression was clear of emotion, blissfully unaware
of what he’d whispered to me minutes ago.
“Well, there you
are,” he slurred. “You look positively ravishing. Dance?”
“Thanks, don’t
mind if I do.” I bumbled to my feet.
“You two really
drank the coffin varnish.” Alyse gave an unbecoming snort as she rose and
drifted away.
Perhaps I was
too far-gone, but I didn’t care. Peter and I danced and danced. The speakeasy
filled with the overflow from the convention hall dance—young lovers,
bootleggers with wide ties and cigars, older women with twinkling earrings and
heavy bosoms, even a prostitute or two. They wore too much rouge and sat
brazenly up at the bar with the gin rummies.
This time, I
couldn’t say whether I stepped on Mr. Dune’s polished wingtips. He probably
couldn’t be sure if he knocked his bony legs into mine. We had more nips of
absinthe, and I wolfed down another green-swirl taffy. Before I knew it, I was
leaning provocatively against Peter and laughing like a wild banshee.
I remember
gaping up at him to see his black hair all disheveled and him indistinctly
mumbling. And thinking that he was the most gorgeous human being I’d ever seen.
I remember Peter and I howling at the crescent moon over the ocean, and the
shocked sideways glance of the hotel proprietor as we stumbled in.
I recall pulling
out the Tarot, and laying them out on my rug. I recall babbling at him—about a
witch and a swindler and a boat. I can still picture his expression of shocked
surprise.
And I remember
Peter’s lips branding my forehead—how could I ever forget that—while shocks of
his lush black hair dangled deliciously on my burning cheeks. The last thing I
recall before things went dark was kicking off my shoes.
About the Author:
Catherine Stine’s novels span the range from futuristic to supernatural to contemporary. Her YA sci-fi thrillers Fireseed One and Ruby’s Fire are Amazon bestsellers and indie award winners. Her YA, Dorianna won Best Horror Book in the Kindle Hub Awards. Heart in a Box, her contemporary YA was an Amazon Hot New Release in Teen and Alternative Family for over eight weeks. She also writes romance as Kitsy Clare. Her Art of Love series includes Model Position and Private Internship. Book three, Girl and the Gamer, launches this summer. She suspects her love of dark fantasy came from her father reading Edgar Allen Poe to her as a child, and her love of contemporary fiction comes from being a jubilant realist. To unwind she loves to watch “bad” reality TV and travel to offbeat places.
Catherine’s website: http://catherinestine.com/wp/
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1 comment:
Thanks, Catherine
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