Sneak peek of my next book, The Crone of Mystic Sparks!

Hello my lovelies,

Thank you so much for your continued support. I was working most of last weekend getting the final edit done on the Crone of Mystic Sparks. I wanted to add a few extra chapters to it because I must confess...I don't know exactly when the next book is coming because I'm currently working on a ninth Myrtlewood Mysteries book! I will share the cover with you soon, but I'm happy to report that the writing is going smoothly.

I'm also editing my real magic book (I revealed the gorgeous cover for this to my Patreon subscribers a few weeks ago). This one will be up for pre-order soon. It's really long! And of course, it's full of magic. I like to describe it as "deep and weird" so I hope you enjoy it - if you like the magic in my books, I think you will.

For now, here's a sneak peek of the first few chapters of the Crone of Mystic Sparks! Note that this book is with my proofreader, so these chapters will likely have more typos than the final book.

Blessed be xx

Delia

 The days followed a serene, rhythmic pattern. Each morning was heralded by the sound of a bell, its clear, resonant tones stirring the sisters from their slumber, a gentle call to the day's duties and rituals.

Delia, stretched and dressed in the simple white robes before joining the sisters to eat a simple breakfast of porridge in the dining hall. She then made her way, serenely, out to the gardens enjoying the vibrant colours and fragrant scents from the multitude of flowers and herbs. There, she tended the rosemary, lavender, and thyme, each breath she took a reminder of the glorious harmony of nature.

As she tended the gardens, Delia found a deep peace in the slow, methodical work. Her hands moved with grace, caressing the leaves and stems as she pruned and weeded. Around her, the sisters worked in quiet harmony, each absorbed in their tasks.

“You seem to have a natural touch with the herbs,” Elara commented as she worked beside Delia.

Delia smiled, her hands pausing in their work. “It is so peaceful here, in the rhythm of the garden. It’s calming and healing.”

Elara nodded, her eyes reflecting the tranquillity of the clochar. “The garden has always been a place of refuge for us. The plants listen, and in their way, they speak.”

Despite the tranquillity, a nagging sensation lingered at the back of Delia’s mind, a feeling that there was something she had forgotten, a task left unfinished or a path not taken.

She could not quite put her finger on what it was - a whisper of discord amidst the clarity of the clochar, a shadow on the edge of her serene existence here.

One evening, as the sisters gathered for their communal meal, Delia voiced her thoughts to Elara. “I feel at peace here, yet there’s something...something I can’t quite remember. It’s like a dream I’m trying to recall.”

Elara considered her words, then replied softly, “Perhaps it is the path you have walked before coming here. The clochar is a sanctuary. Every sister here has a journey beyond these walls, a story that is theirs alone.”

Delia nodded. “I had a life before this place. I know that much, but I struggle to recall the details, like a distant dream.”

Elara put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I feel the same way, though I believe I’ve lived here for most of my life. I used to struggle, to resist, but now I have embraced the harmony of this place and I no longer have to worry. Perhaps you will do the same?”

Delia smiled. “Perhaps I will.”

The clochar was indeed a sanctuary, a place of healing and respite, yet deep down, the discordant notes became deeper and more resonant, like a novice violin player amid a skilled symphony orchestra.

That evening, bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, the clochar was transformed, yet again, into a realm of silver and shadows. 

The sisters, dressed in their longer flowing white robes, congregated at the temple of the goddess. They gathered in a circle, their voices rising in a sacred chant that resonated very heartbeat of the earth.

The ceremony drew to a close and Delia stepped out of the temple, feeling a deep sense of peace and connection. The disharmony she’d experienced earlier had been soothed to the point of vanishing. One of the elders, dressed in a robe of silver, who had helped to lead the ceremony, approached Delia, her presence commanding yet gentle.

“How are you finding your time here?” the elder asked.

Delia paused, the tranquillity of the night momentarily giving way to confusion. “Where exactly am I?”

The elder offered a kind smile and extended her hand. “I am Gwyneth, one of the elder sisters. You are within the heart of the clochar of the Veiled Sisterhood.”

At these words, a fleeting memory flashed through Delia's mind – a woman with a kind, innocent face and white hair plaited neatly. 

“Mathilda?” Delia said, the name escaping her lips almost involuntarily. “Isn’t this where Mathilda lives? Where is she?”

Gwyneth’s expression changed subtly, a shadow of sadness passing over her features. 

She cast her eyes to the ground before looking back at Delia. “Mathilda is indeed part of our sisterhood, but she is away at the moment. She’s occupied with an important task, one that requires her full attention and dedication.”

Delia sensed the weight behind Gwyneth’s words, a heaviness. There was a story there that Delia could only guess at.

Gwyneth placed a reassuring hand on Delia’s shoulder. “She is where she needs to be, as are you. The clochar is a place of healing and reflection. While you are here, let its peace envelop you.”

Delia nodded, accepting Gwyneth’s words, yet the mention of Mathilda stirred something within her – a connection to her past and the journey that had led her here. 

“The moon teaches us about cycles, about the ebb and flow of life and emotions. Just like her, we too are ever-changing, ever-evolving,” Gwyneth said, her gaze reflecting the moonlight.

Around them, the night air was filled with the residue of the ritual – the scent of burning herbs lingered, mixing with the earthy aroma of the clochar’s gardens. 

The chants of the sisters still echoed in Delia’s ears, a haunting melody.

Delia felt a twinge of unease. The clochar, for all its serenity, held secrets.

Here, she found peace and tranquillity, yet something was amiss.

As she walked back to her sleeping quarters, a mysterious symbol etched on the temple wall caught her eye – an intricate spiral pulsing under the moonlight. She didn’t know what it meant, but the discordant resonance returned to her. A flash of Mathilda’s face appeared in her mind again. She searched behind this memory, hoping for more, but all she could find were the peaceful days spent here, at the clochar.

She knew she’d had a life before all this, but why couldn’t she remember it?

Marjie

Marjie shivered despite the warmth of the fire crackling in Ingrid’s hut. Outside, the night was alive with the sounds of the forest – the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, while the air inside was scented with aromatic mugwort tea, mingling with the sharper scent of sherry. 

Marjie took a sip of her tea, feeling her brow furrowing in worry. “Where do you think Delia could have gone? No matter which scrying charm I try I can’t locate her. Do you think she’s alright?”

Agatha set down her sherry glass. “I wish I knew. One moment she was there, the next...vanished! It must have been that blasted Order of Crimson. Surely they could block your scrying with all their ridiculous magic. All signs point to them, don’t you think?”

Ingrid raised her eyes from the flames. “I’m not sure. Something tells me that was a ploy – a red herring – a clever trick to set us on the wrong path.”

Agatha wrinkled her nose in suspicion. “Who could it be then?”

Ingrid let out a long slow sigh. “My mind keeps returning to my sister. She was up to something. I’m sure of it. The Sisterhood went around handing out those charms.” She motioned to the small leather pouch sitting on the mantlepiece. “I haven’t quite deduced its magical nature yet – not exactly – but something about Mathilda’s behaviour, and the illusions, makes me think they set everything up to kidnap us, and managed to nab Delia.”

Agatha scoffed. “Ridiculous!” Then, catching a rather sharp glance from Ingrid, she added. “I mean that the Sisterhood is ridiculous if they think they’ll be getting away with that.”

Marjie chuckled dryly. “Well, that’s a relief, actually. I’d rather she be sipping tea with a bunch of cloistered sisters than in the clutches of the Order.”

“Tea? With the Sisterhood, it’s probably more like moonwater or some other mystical concoction,” Agatha quipped.

“Do you really think they’d be so devious, Ingrid?” Marjie asked, nervousness creeping back into her voice. “I could try scrying for her again, but I’m afraid whoever took Delia has put something in place to block my magic. If she is indeed with the sisterhood, she’s probably okay, isn’t she? They’re not evil like the Order.”

“I believe, at their core, the Veiled Sisterhood are zealots,” Ingrid said, cautiously. “They may seem all love-and-light—”

“That’s why I can’t stand them, personally,” said Agatha. “A bunch of robed goody-goody’s getting involved where they’re not wanted.”

“But at least they are ‘goodies’ and not ‘baddies’,” Marjie added.

“I wish it were that simple,” said Ingrid, cautiously. “Certainly compared to the Order, they’re much less barbaric, but that does not make them less dangerous overall. Remember that many of the worst atrocities committed by human beings has been supposedly in order to create a better world without care for the consequences.”

Marjie shivered again and huddled a bit closer to the hearth.

Ingrid picked up the sherry bottle, pouring a small measure into her cup. “If Delia is with the Sisterhood, she will be safe enough – for now – but we cannot let them get away with their plan, whatever it is.”

“I bet they think they’re so smart,” Agatha grimaced and then smiled. “They probably think we’ll be on a rampage – going after the Order to get our friend back.”

“They won’t expect us to work out it’s them…” Marjie added, optimistically.

“If it actually is them,” Agatha said. “I need more evidence because unlike you lot I don’t go on blind faith and hunches.”

Marjie sighed. “So much for your brush with intuition, Agatha.”

Ingrid frowned. “Regardless of whether my hunches are bogus or not, we must figure out a way to get Delia back. If the Sisterhood have her, they’re not going to let her go easily – they’ll use her to lure us all in. I’m sure they’re after the power of the Crones, and for that they need the lot of us.”

Marjie nodded in agreement. “Yes, and we may well need extra help and more information. It’s not like we can just call her on her mobile phone.” She lowered her gaze. “I already tried three times.”

Ingrid shrugged. “The Sisterhood don’t allow that kind of technology.”

Agatha snorted. “Imagine if they did. We could just give them a bell. ‘Hello, yes, we’d like one Delia back, please. No, we don’t need gift wrapping.’”

Their laughter filled the hut, tinged with anxiety. 

Agatha, her brows knitted in worry, broke the silence. “How did Delia end up with us – up there on that cloud island, anyway? Where did that portal come from? Surely she hasn't mastered such advanced magic.”

Marjie, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames, responded thoughtfully. “I believe Delia had help. In fact, I believe that rogue tracker was with her before she joined us on the island.”

Agatha coughed on her sherry. “The bloke she turfed out of the pub?” She raised an eyebrow. “What was he doing with Delia?”

Marjie blushed and waved the question away with an exaggerated shrug.

Ingrid got up to stir the embers with a poker, adding another log of wood. “If the tracker was indeed with her,” she said. “It’s possible he may have had something to do with her sudden disappearance.”

The idea that the tracker might have kidnapped Delia sent a ripple of concern through the room. 

Agatha looked perplexed. “But why?”

Marjie took a slow sip of her tea, her gaze lost in the flames. She didn’t want to reveal what she knew of Delia’s newly rather intimate relationship with the tracker – which she’d caught a glimpse of while scrying – and regardless of their ‘closeness’ Marjie knew that he could still be working for the Order while seducing a Crone. 

Ingrid shrugged. “Perhaps I was wrong in implicating the Sisterhood. It could be the Order using illusion magic to throw us off their track – as soon as that dragon disappeared I doubted whether it was really them. Perhaps that was their goal all along. Now I’ve gone and confused myself...”

“What would the tracker gain from taking Delia?” Marjie asked.

“It’s not what he gains, but what the Order gains,” Ingrid said. “Delia’s connection to us and her knowledge could be valuable to them.”

Marjie shuddered. The hut now felt like a shelter against an unseen storm brewing in the darkness of the forest. 

Ingrid sat back, her expression resolute. “We need to find her, and quickly. If the Order is involved, Delia would be in imminent danger.”

They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, the only sounds the fire’s gentle crackling and the distant call of a night owl.

The front door creaked open and Mephistos slinked in.

“Well, look at what we have here. A gathering of crones without their little firestarter,” he said, his voice smooth with a hint of mockery.

Ingrid eyed him with irritation and caution. “Spare us the theatrics, Mephistos. What do you want?”

Mephistos let out a low, rumbling purr, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention. 

Agatha watched him with suspicion. “What brings you here, demon?”

Marjie couldn’t help but be fond of the sleek black feline. He might be a demon, but if you like cats you can’t help but be under their spell, she mused, smiling warmly at the creature and resisting the urge to reach out and scratch him behind the ears.

Mephistos settled himself comfortably near the fire, his tail curling around his body. “I bring news,” he said, his voice a low, smooth purr. “The Order... they have been delving into something dark, something dangerous.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “So what’s new?”

Marjie leaned forward. “What kind of dark and dangerous?”

Mephistos’s eyes narrowed, reflecting the flames. “A fundamental shift in their magic. Have you not sensed it? They are tampering with forces that should be left alone. Powers that could threaten the very fabric of our world.”

Agatha sighed. “Dark magic threatening the world. It must be Tuesday.”

Ingrid, who had been silently listening, ignored Agatha and focused on Mephistos, “Do you suppose this shift in their magic could be related to Delia’s disappearance?”

“Ah…yes,” Mephistos yawned and stretched. “You managed to lose the newcomer, didn’t you?”

Ingrid glared at him.

“It is possible,” Mephistos added. “The Order’s ambition knows no bounds, and with this new power, they are more dangerous than ever.”

The crones exchanged worried glances. Marjie bit her lower lip, anxiously. The threat of the Order now seemed more immediate and sinister than any concerns they’d had about the Sisterhood.

Agatha picked up her sherry glass and took a big gulp. “If what you say is true, then we must act quickly. We can’t let the Order gain any more ground.”

Marjie bolstered herself against the sombre and anxious mood. “We need to find Delia. Whether she’s with the Order or not, she’s important.”

Ingrid nodded in agreement. “We’ll need a plan, and we’ll need to be cautious. Mephistos, can you gather more information?”

The black cat’s eyes glinted. “I’m not some servant messenger, you know. I’m an ancient god – there was a time when I was worshipped for my great power and dashing good looks.”

Agatha scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Now you’re a cute wee kitty. But where are you even getting this information from? Why come to us now with a vague threat at all?”

Mephistos narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been using this sleek and nimble form to sneak around the very compound of the Order. It’s tense there – the atmosphere charged with fear. The leadership has become tyrannical.”

“Can you get us inside?” Marjie asked, eagerly.”

Mephistos cleared his throat. “I haven’t actually made my way inside.”

Agatha let out a cynical guffaw.

“The protections are rather elaborate,” Mephistos admitted. “Even for me, but I know where it is. I’ve been tailing the guards and listening to their gossip. It seems the Crimson Shepherd has staged a coup against the Order’s elders and unleashed magic such as they’ve never seen in their lifetimes.”

“At least that’s more specific and believable,” Agatha conceded. “Delia’s ex-husband is a nasty piece of work. I’d love to teach him a lesson.”

“Is Delia there?” Marjie asked, her heart thrumming with concern. “We can’t seem to figure out where she is.”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Mephistos. “If she’s been captured by the Order they’re keeping it secret – even from their own guards.”

“We need more information,” Marjie said urgently. “Please?”

“And what do I get in return?” Mephistos purred. 

“Ingrid won’t unleash her dragon hound on you?” Agatha suggested.

“Don’t antagonise him,” Marjie scolded before turning back to the sleek feline creature who was now preening himself. “You want to be released, don’t you? From your physical form – you want to return to the underworld.”

Mephistos yawned again. “I suppose I do. Most days.”

“Of course you do,” said Ingrid. “Otherwise why would you be going to so much trouble to spy for us and give us this information.”

Mephistos gave her a pointed look. “Oh very well. Yes, I’m dying to get out of here. And to achieve that, I shall do what I can to help you. But be warned, the shadows grow deeper, and the Order’s eyes are everywhere.”

As Mephistos sauntered back out into the night, the crones sat in silence. The fire continued to burn as they pondered the looming threat of the Order and to find their missing companion.

His cocky demeanour might have been infuriating, but the gravity of his message was not lost on them. The threat of the Order, now seemingly more dangerous than ever, loomed over them, and the urgency to find Delia and counter whatever plans the Order had in motion became even more pressing.

In the flickering light of the fire, Marjie’s face was etched with concern. “I bet that dragon in the sky was a ruse by the Order to snatch Delia. It's just the sort of trick they would pull.”

Ingrid looked over at Marjie, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Marjie, while your theory could hold water, we need more evidence before we can say for certain.”

Marjie, not easily dissuaded, huffed, “Evidence, schmevidence! When have we ever had the luxury of evidence? Half the time, we get by on pure luck!”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Well, that would explain some of your magical mishaps – not to mention that recyclable toilet paper business you tried to start.”

Marjie blushed a little. “That was a long time ago.”

Ingrid smirked at the exchange but then grew serious. “Regardless, we need to consider all possibilities. The Order, the sisterhood, or something else entirely... Delia's disappearance could be linked to any of them.”

Marjie leaned forward, her eyes reflecting the fire’s glow. “If the Order has her, then Delia is in danger. We know what they're capable of.”

Agatha sighed, pouring herself some more sherry. “Yes, and we also know that jumping headfirst into a situation without a plan is Marjie's specialty.”

Ingrid, still gazing into the fire, seemed to be lost in thought, as if she was holding something back. “There’s more at play here than we know. I can feel it,” she murmured.

Marjie nodded. “Then let’s uncover it. We’re crones, not cowards.”

As the night deepened and the fire burned lower, the crones sat together, each lost in her thoughts. 

Marjie stared into the flickering flames, her mind racing with scenarios and possibilities. From her perspective, everything pointed towards the Order's involvement. 

They're cunning, always a step ahead, she thought, her worry for Delia gnawing at her. The memory of Delia’s laughter, her sharp wit, and the strength she brought to their circle made Marjie’s heart ache.

Agatha said dryly, “Marjie, you look like you’re plotting a siege on the Order’s headquarters. Please tell me we’re not going to sneak into their dungeon by dawn.”

Marjie smiled wryly. “A dungeon? Oh, Agatha, you underestimate us. We’d at least make it to the tower room before getting caught.”

Ingrid, still gazing into the fire, added with a hint of amusement, “And who would be leading the charge? You, Marjie, with your wooden spoon as a lance?”

Marjie chuckled. “Why not? I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a knight in shining armour. Or in this case, a crone in a well-worn cloak.”

Her attempt at humour did little to mask the undercurrent of fear that ran through her thoughts. Delia’s disappearance wasn’t just a missing piece of their shared strength, it was also the dread of a friend gone missing. In her heart, Marjie issued a silent plea to all the powers that existed, all the gods and goddesses that might aid them to please see Delia returned safely.

Declan

Under the cover of night, Declan approached Thorn Manor, the tower looming before him like an ancient sentinel. The building’s very walls pulsated with a power that was formidable and arcane while simultaneously being somehow warm and inviting. 

He paused, taking a moment to steel himself; he knew the gravity of what he was about to do. 

To save Delia, I must seek the aid of those she trusts.

With a deep breath, Declan rapped sharply on the manor's heavy wooden door. It swung open, and Marjie appeared. As her eyes landed on him her expression was both surprised and suspicious in equal measure.

“I’m here as a friend,” Declan said. “Or, if you do not trust my friendship, at least trust that we both care about Delia.”

He was expecting far more resistance. In fact, he’d prepared magical protections, hidden, in the palm of the hand in case of attack, but Marjie surprised him.

She assessed him for a moment, then looked around him into the dark night. “You’d better come in.”

Inside, Declan was struck by the warmth that contrasted with the night’s chill. He declined Marjie’s offer of a drink; time was of the essence.

The grandeur of Thorn Manor was not lost on him. The high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork, the walls lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, and the large windows draped with heavy curtains spoke of a legacy as timeless as his own. 

In the living room, the crackle of the fire filled the silence between them as they sat down. 

Marjie observed Declan with a critical eye as she led him to a pair of armchairs by the fire. “Why should we trust you?” she asked.

“Because I have nowhere else to turn,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to express. “And because Delia... she deserves freedom.”

Marjie's gaze was expectant. “What do you know?”

Declan met her eyes. “I know where Delia is,” he confessed. “But the signal is faint.”

Marjie relaxed slightly, her posture easing as she took in his words. “Tell me about this faint signal you’ve found.”

Declan described the ethereal thread of magic he had detected. “It’s not like my usual response to tracking. It’s more like a whisper, fragile and fleeting, and it’s so faint, I fear it won’t last. I’ve tried to get to her, but I can’t maintain a portal to her location for long. That’s why I’ve come to you. I need your help, especially since I... I can’t go through it myself.”

Marjie’s eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”

Declan hesitated. “Because I’m a…man,” he said finally. “The portal won’t permit me.”

“Does that mean she’s with the Sisterhood after all?” Marjie said, her eyes both sad and hopeful.

Marjie slumped into her chair with relief. “Better there than with the Order, I suppose.”

Declan nodded, solemnly. “The magic of the Veiled Sisterhood is strong. I do not know much about them, but they seem more gentle than the Order of Crimson, at least. I believe she will be safe, for now, but the fact that she was kidnapped at all disturbs me.”

“As it does me and the other Crones,” said Marjie.

Declan leaned slowly towards her. “Do you trust me enough to help me – or to let me help you?”

Marjie’s expression tightened. “If you want my trust, then tell me your story. How did you get tangled up with the Order? And how did you manage to break free?”

He shifted uncomfortably. Centuries of keeping his secrets weighed on him, but he knew better than to let people know too much. Even Delia couldn’t know the truth about his long existence. “I was under contract,” he said, choosing the words carefully. “Years ago, I was bound to my work and blessed with magic. Since then, I’ve taken on any work that came my way, even though at times I’ve been tormented by the things I’ve had to do.”

“So the Order contracted you to find Delia,” Marjie said. “That much I could have guessed. But there’s more, isn’t there? A lot more…”

“Believe me when I say it’s a long story,” Declan admitted. “But I found a way out,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how, but Delia freed me…”

“And you love her,” Marjie said. It wasn’t a question. She simply knew. Declan understood this about the water crone – she was intuitive beyond measure, and it was no coincidence he’d gone to her to plead his case. He did not have to answer her. She saw into his heart and she knew what love he harboured there.

Marjie studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Then it seems we have a common goal. We must find Delia.”

“Yes, we must,” he agreed. And for a moment, in the shared silence that followed, an unspoken alliance was formed.