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
ASIN: B00V2DG0HG
Number of pages: 315
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.
Available at Amazon
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!
Interview:
I live in
Tampa, Florida and have for the past six years. Originally, I’m a Midwesterner,
having lived in Indiana and Ohio for decades.
Tell us your
latest news?
Witch's Moonstone Locket marks the start of a new series, Coon Hollow Coven Tales. I've been
looking forward to writing this series for a several years. The characters
who've been following me around are now in print and being shared with my
readers. That feels awesome!
When and why did you begin writing?
I’ve followed a circuitous path to end up as a fiction
writer. I graduated with a degree in Biology, minoring in English. I wanted to
pursue Literature and Fine Art, but my parents encouraged me to study Biology,
so I might eventually find a reliable job. That was fine, since I liked that
subject also. I wrote essays as a fun break from my full load of Science. Yes,
weird that I thought writing essays was fun…still do!
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
With the publication of my first book five years ago.
What inspired you to write your first book?
Through the years, I picked up a hobby of writing music
reviews for record companies. During that time, I was inspired by some of those
experiences and tinkered with fiction. Initially, I wrote fiction based on the
world of rock music. Through a lucky happenstance, a man who worked for a major
book publishing house read my first attempts at fiction, which were posted on a
music forum. He repeatedly encouraged me to submit my creative writing to
publishers. Over time, I came to believe him and did. After that, a new world
opened up and it’s been a wonderful time.
Do you have
a specific writing style?
My process begins with a setting I find interesting,
somewhere I’d like to spend some time. In writing fantasy, world-building is
everything. Then, I create the main characters, appearance and personality.
From there, how they will become involved goes hand-in-hand with developing the
plot. I do outline a lot, since there are many interwoven subplots in this
series. Outside of the key features on the outline, I allow the in-between
progress in each chapter to flow freely, which I enjoy a lot. Some of the most
imaginative bits arise that way. I tend to write in extended spurts, immersing
myself in the story. Perhaps because I’m writing a very involved epic tale, I
need longer periods to keep the storylines straight. Or, it’s just more
enjoyable for me to feel like I’m in the world for several days—like on a
vacation!
How did you
come up with the title?
I struggle
with titles, jostling keywords around until I end up with something that sounds
good and will help readers know what the book is about. I create titles during
the planning stages before I write a book.
Is there a
message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
The theme,
compassion leads to happiness, seems to be a message I often include in my
books.
How much of
the book is realistic? Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in
your own life?
The series is about a coven
of witches in a fictitious southern Indiana community, south of Bloomington, the neck of the
woods where I spent my favorite childhood years surrounded by the love of a big
family. The books are rich with a warm Hoosier down-home feel, and many
characters remind me of my aunts and uncles.
While I’m not a practicing
witch, the magic in Witch’s Moonstone
Locket is a creative blend from my research and my imagination. In
preparing to write this book, I enjoyed learning about traditional witch and
wiccan lifestyles. My library grew so much that I had to clean out and
rearrange my office area!
What books
have most influenced your life most?
There are so many. Magical realism books like The Girl Who Chased the Moon by Sarah
Addison Allen and Practical Magic and
The Green Witch by Alice Hoffman are
delicately woven with the most sparkling magic. Other books that captivate me
are Natasha Mostert’s Season of the Witch
and Erin Morgenstern’s Night Circus.
In both of those, magic caused mental effects for both the giver and receiver.
I enjoy the complexity of that theme and often employ it in my writing.
What book
are you reading now?
I’m reading The Winter Witch by Paula Brackston and The Museum of Extraordinary Things by
Alice Hoffman.
Are there
any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Paula
Brackston is a fairly new author.
What are
your current projects?
I’m writing
the second book in the Coon Hollow Coven
Tales series, titled Witch’s Cursed
Cabin. This story is about a young woman who moves from another witch coven
to the one in Coon Hollow. Her goal is to leave her sheltered life behind and have
new experiences and meet new people, but she finds herself faced with much more
than she expected.
What would
you like my readers to know?
I love
hearing from my readers. I’m happy to talk with them in any social media or
through email.
Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore
Google +: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/marshaamoore/
Amazon author page:
amazon.com/author/marshaamoore
Goodreads author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore
Tour
giveaway
5 copies of Witch’s Moonstone
Locket: A Coon Hollow Coven Tale
1 $20 Amazon gift card
Thanks for interviewing me today!
ReplyDelete