Rehab is for Witches Anthology
Various Authors
Published By- SideStreet Cookie Publishing
Publication Date- October 31st, 2014
Welcome to Little Raven: an unsullied, beautiful woodland hamlet in the heart of the Midwest. The sort of place where furry creatures romp about and spend their days bursting into song.
Actually, that’s a giant pack of lies.
Little Raven is a town…for witches.
And some of those witches might have bent the rules. A teensy bit. When six magical miscreants dabble with black magic, they end up together at Incantations, the town’s rehab center for witches gone awry. It’s a slap on the wrist for naughty witches. Pretty much a daycare center so they don’t wander off and start turning people into newts on a whim. Each witch must work through her addiction to black magic, and follow the tenets designed to lead them back to the path of the straight and narrow, as boring as that sounds. Even if following the tenets sucks worse than a group round of kum-bay-ya. Which sucks. Horribly.
We will admit we are powerless over magic—that our lives have become unmanageable.
We will make a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of the Goddess as we understand Her.
We will make a searching and fearless moral and magical inventory of ourselves.
We will admit to the Goddess, to ourselves, and to another being the exact nature of our magical wrongs.
We will make a list of all persons or beings we have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all.
We will make direct amends to such beings whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
We are entirely ready to bow before the Goddess and have Her remove all our defect of character, even at the risk of being entirely stripped of our magic.
But this is just the start. There’s something rotten in Little Raven, something that seeks to take all the magic it can, and devour the inhabitants in the process. It will take the strength and power of all the witches to defeat the darkness seeping into their town, beat it back, and be rid of it forever…and maybe just make it through rehab while they’re saving the world.
The Authors and Titles-
Tara S. Wood - A Trunk Full of Peril
Tyffani Clark Kemp - A Diary Full of Names
Cynthia Valero - A Cauldron Full of Goodbyes
Miranda Stork - A Closet Full of Demons
J. A. Howell - A Basement Full of Secrets
Elle J Rossi - A Suitcase Full of Revenge
And here is Miranda Stork's Top 5 Favorite Things
*Note: (I don’t know if these should be in any order or not, so these aren’t, really. J)
1. Prehistory! Yeah, I know it sounds boring. I love prehistory though, and I’m currently studying to become a museum curator. There’s something magical and mysterious about all these people who came before us, but we know next to nothing about them, even though their actions shaped the world we live in now. Figuring it all out is a bit like plotting a book, so it’s not so different to writing. ;)
2. My laptop – I couldn’t do ANYTHING without my laptop. I have all my work, all my secret Christmas gift lists, and all those useless ‘favourites’ stored that I always forget to look at for crafty stuff.
3. Pizza – I believe there is nothing more delicious in the world than a proper thin-crust (I hate deep-pan) margarita, tomato and basil pesto pizza. If I was only allowed to eat one food in the whole world, this would be it.
4. It’s not a ‘thing’, exactly, but my friends and family. It sounds like a sappy answer, but it’s the truth; they really are up there on my favourite things (or people, rather). I’m really close to my close family, and we can talk about anything – same as my close friends, really, who are more like an extended family of mine.
5. Rainy afternoons and evenings – I love autumn for the rain (well, I love autumn, really!), as it means you can go outside in a fresh, cold wind and rain wrapped up in your coat and splash in puddles like a child, then come home to a warm house, hot chocolate, and a marathon of your favourite movies or TV shows. (And maybe pizza – that would really complete it!)
About the Author-
I'm Miranda Stork, and I'm addicted. Addicted to writing and reading books, anyway. And chocolate, but that's another issue - no interventions, please.
I live in the middle of a forest in North Yorkshire, spending my spare time as the wild woman of the woods, scaring small children and upsetting the sheep. On the days that I feel like being civilized, or I haven't got any unicorns to ride, I sit down and pour the tumbling thoughts in my head out onto digital paper. Mainly the thoughts and characters come out in paranormal form, with a good smattering of romance, because everyone likes a good cuddle. But you can also find strong elements of thrillers, myths, and even dystopia amongst the pages of all my novels. I've wanted to write books ever since I first realised that fairytales were not the newspapers of the fairy kingdom, but the imaginings of actual people who wanted to tell fancy made-up stories to other people. From that moment, I was hooked.
Why do I write? Good question. It might be easier to just keep the stories in my head, or even just to write them for myself. But I want to share them. There is no greater delight for a writer than when a reader devours your book, and declares, "Something in that novel resonated with me. And I want MORE." So grab your lucky clover and a baseball bat (there's some nasty paranormal creatures where we're going), eat the cookie with 'eat me' tagged on it, and enter through the tiny door into the world of Miranda Stork…
Rehab is for Witches Anthology
Various Authors
Published By- SideStreet Cookie Publishing
Publication Date- October 31st, 2014
Welcome to Little Raven: an unsullied, beautiful woodland hamlet in the heart of the Midwest. The sort of place where furry creatures romp about and spend their days bursting into song.
Actually, that’s a giant pack of lies.
Little Raven is a town…for witches.
And some of those witches might have bent the rules. A teensy bit. When six magical miscreants dabble with black magic, they end up together at Incantations, the town’s rehab center for witches gone awry. It’s a slap on the wrist for naughty witches. Pretty much a daycare center so they don’t wander off and start turning people into newts on a whim. Each witch must work through her addiction to black magic, and follow the tenets designed to lead them back to the path of the straight and narrow, as boring as that sounds. Even if following the tenets sucks worse than a group round of kum-bay-ya. Which sucks. Horribly.
We will admit we are powerless over magic—that our lives have become unmanageable.
We will make a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of the Goddess as we understand Her.
We will make a searching and fearless moral and magical inventory of ourselves.
We will admit to the Goddess, to ourselves, and to another being the exact nature of our magical wrongs.
We will make a list of all persons or beings we have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all.
We will make direct amends to such beings whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
We are entirely ready to bow before the Goddess and have Her remove all our defect of character, even at the risk of being entirely stripped of our magic.
But this is just the start. There’s something rotten in Little Raven, something that seeks to take all the magic it can, and devour the inhabitants in the process. It will take the strength and power of all the witches to defeat the darkness seeping into their town, beat it back, and be rid of it forever…and maybe just make it through rehab while they’re saving the world.
The Authors & Titles-
Tara S. Wood - A Trunk Full of Peril
Tyffani Clark Kemp - A Diary Full of Names
Cynthia Valero - A Cauldron Full of Goodbyes
Miranda Stork - A Closet Full of Demons
J. A. Howell - A Basement Full of Secrets
Elle J Rossi - A Suitcase Full of Revenge
And here is an excerpt from A Closet Full of Demons
Counsellor Fitzsimmons finally appeared Catherine sneered down at the buffet of soggy finger sandwiches and half-baked sausage rolls. These meetings always brought out the food snob in her, and this one was no different. Swallowing back her distaste, she settled on a plastic cup of orange squash, hugging her grey woollen coat close as she reached for it. Her dark grey eyes hidden behind fashionable shades, she spun around to view the rest of the reprobates who had turned up.
None of them looked vaguely interesting, but they certainly were eclectic. Catherine stifled a yawn as she checked her silver watch for the twentieth time. It didn’t matter how often she looked, she was certain someone had cast a spell to make the time drag on. Her fingers tingled with the temptation to speed it up, but a droning voice in the back of her head reminded her of the warning she had received. Huffing to herself, she glanced away and curled her hand tightly once more. She winced as she took a sip of the badly mixed juice, scanning the peeling cracks in the ceiling of the building.
Little Raven was a dump, anyway. Catherine had no idea what she was really doing here, never mind getting into trouble here. The only reason she had travelled from England to this goddess-forsaken town was because she had felt it. An energy so strong it had called to her from the other side of the world. But it was dark, full of all the wicked things witches knew they shouldn’t touch. It’s probably why none of them answered its call when I did, Catherine smirked to herself, trying to hide it behind another slurp of tepid liquid. ‘Heavy Magic’, her mother used to call it. Black magic so intense you could lose your head over it, sink into it, drown in it. And never come up for air.
with a clipboard in hand, clearing his throat in the irritating way that only therapists were able to produce. “Ladies? Let’s sit down, shall we?” He smiled broadly, a fakery for the witches gathered in the sparse waiting area. Catherine held back rolling her eyes, and settled for squeezing the empty plastic cup in her hands until it crushed in on itself instead. Dropping it casually onto the table, she tucked a loose strand of her corn-blond hair behind her ear, stepping across to the ring of chairs in the centre with the others.
Catherine settled back in her chair, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes behind her shades. Hopefully I’ll die of boredom before they get to me, she thought to herself, letting out a soft sigh. Counsellor Fitzsimmons prattled on to one of the other witches, droning on about consequences and resolving them. It was all old hat to her—this wasn’t her first meeting of this kind. Rehab. Even the word left a bad taste in her mouth. If only she could spit it out. She was damn well sick of going into it.
It wasn’t that Catherine Middling was a bad person, quite the opposite, in fact. She loved her parents. She loved her friends. And cooing over kitten and puppy videos on YouTube was dangerously close to an online obsession. But she liked to be in control. Of everything. And control required power, lots of it. She had tapped so many sources of energy that she shouldn’t, it was a wonder her fingers were still attached to her hand. A hard shove on her shoulder woke her up, snapping her back into the room with a jolt. Catherine shook her head violently to wake up, and straightened herself in the chair, grunting in annoyance.
The mousey-haired witch next to her hissed, “He was talking to you. Wake up, or we’re going to be here forever.”
Casting the witch a cool stare, Catherine cleared her throat and jerked her head towards the group. “Yeah, uh…I’m Catherine Middling, I’m a magical miscreant, and I’m bored shitless already.” There were a few sniggers and smirks from the other witches, and Catherine gave a hard shrug to the counsellor’s deep frown.
“Now, Catherine…language. You know that’s not going to help. Why not tell us why you’re here?” He gestured towards her shades with a chewed biro. “And how about removing those so we can all see your face? Hmm?”
She sighed. “No way. I don’t remove anything on the first date, counsellor. Besides, why should I? People have turned up here with faces full of paperclips and safety pins, and you want me to take off my Dolce and Gabbana glasses? No chance.” Catherine pointed with one black leather glove towards a punky witch on the other side of the circle, who scowled at her fiercely before turning back to inspect the floor. “Fine. I’m here because I can no longer control my magic. I like to change the circumstances if they’re not working for me. Good enough for you, Counsellor Fitzsimmons?” Her clipped northern British accent rang out into the room as she folded her arms, hoping to slip back into her nap.
The pen wagged in the air. “Not good enough, Catherine. Tell us a little more. What kind of magic?”
His persistence rankled her, and a pang of deep anger burned through her veins. She sprang forwards in the cheap plastic chair, whipping her glasses off to reveal her eyes. A collective gasp filtered through the witches as they took in the dark, blood-red stains around her grey irises, the sliced scar running across both eyes. The leather of her glove squeaking, Catherine pointed sharply towards them, her voice dripping with venom. “This is what kind. Black magic. This is why I’m here, sat in the middle of the ladies’ knitting circle, with my magical finger stuck up my arse.” She nodded towards a nervous-looking girl, sat literally with a pair of knitting needles in her lap. Goddess only knew what she thought she was doing here, she looked like she was as much out of place as Sandwich Girl. “Because real power, real control, frightens everyone. But it didn’t frighten me. I did something wrong with it, tapped into some real bad juju that split me in half. And my other half still wants to come out. Want to see her? She really doesn’t play well with others.”
About the Author-
I'm Miranda Stork, and I'm addicted. Addicted to writing and reading books, anyway. And chocolate, but that's another issue - no interventions, please.
I live in the middle of a forest in North Yorkshire, spending my spare time as the wild woman of the woods, scaring small children and upsetting the sheep. On the days that I feel like being civilized, or I haven't got any unicorns to ride, I sit down and pour the tumbling thoughts in my head out onto digital paper. Mainly the thoughts and characters come out in paranormal form, with a good smattering of romance, because everyone likes a good cuddle. But you can also find strong elements of thrillers, myths, and even dystopia amongst the pages of all my novels. I've wanted to write books ever since I first realised that fairytales were not the newspapers of the fairy kingdom, but the imaginings of actual people who wanted to tell fancy made-up stories to other people. From that moment, I was hooked.
Why do I write? Good question. It might be easier to just keep the stories in my head, or even just to write them for myself. But I want to share them. There is no greater delight for a writer than when a reader devours your book, and declares, "Something in that novel resonated with me. And I want MORE." So grab your lucky clover and a baseball bat (there's some nasty paranormal creatures where we're going), eat the cookie with 'eat me' tagged on it, and enter through the tiny door into the world of Miranda Stork…
My father had instructed the Watchmen to have me labeled
an uncooperative inpatient upon check-in. Like any rehab facility, Incantations
had rules, and I wondered how he had manipulated them to suit his needs.
Technically, I was a first-time offender since he’d covered up all the other
incidents, and should be listed as such on the outpatient log. I should know.
Prompted by the screams only I seemed to hear, I’d been reading up about
Incantations most of my life. I laughed out loud at my own naivety. My father
could manipulate anyone and anything with money and a cheesy smile.
I laughed harder—the noise spilling from my mouth sounding
deranged even to my own ears. The ferryman drew closer. The Watchmen shuffled
uncomfortably at my side, both staring at me with cautious eyes. I glanced down
and found my fingers smoking. I waggled a hand at the one on my right—Stump.
His already grim mouth turned down so far his lips reminded me of a horseshoe.
I shrugged and returned my attention to the approaching ferry. Something about
the ferryman was familiar, but it was hard to tell with him being covered from
head to toe in a ratty cloak. Still, his presence demanded my attention.
He docked the tiny barge and immediately offered me a
hand. An involuntary twitch stuttered through my neck and I stepped back. I
hadn’t really touched anyone since… I could almost hear the steel gate slam
shut inside my head. My mind refused to go there.
I tried to see myself through his eyes, smell myself
through his nose. They hadn’t allowed me to shower or change clothes before
they’d forced me into the back of the SUV, prodding me with broomsticks of all
things, to keep their distance. My skin and clothes had dark splotches from
ash, and I couldn’t get away from my own stench of sweat and smoke.
Sasquatch stepped forward. “Don’t touch her, ferryman.”
The ferryman cocked his head.
“It’s alright,” he said to me, ignoring the warning. “She
won’t tip. Let me help you aboard.”
I stood dead still. His voice.
What about his voice? Don’t
listen to him. Listen to us!
I whipped my head to the right so fast I was surprised my
neck didn’t pull a full three-sixty. “Shhh, Faye.” It had to be a coincidence,
just someone who sounded like him.
“Faye?” the ferryman asked.
“Can’t you see she’s crazy?” Stump said with a shrug,
followed by a rumble of laughter. “Touch her at your own risk.”
Sasquatch cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good
idea.”
“Shit. What do we care? It’s his life.” Stump jammed his
hands into his front pockets. “Or death.”
The ferryman reached up and shoved his hood back.
I gasped. Said nothing. Considered running. Running until
the memories of him and all the promises he’d made were nothing but dust in the
wind. My mind screamed his name. My mouth refused to speak it aloud.
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