The Only Sorceress Cover Reveal

We’re very excited because today we get to do a cover reveal! We’ve done several of our own but we’ve never revealed anyone else’s cover. Yet Anya Breton has entrusted us with hers. We feel we should have those fancy crimson curtains that part to reveal it, but knowing our luck, the pull string would snap or the damn thing would fall off the wall. Perhaps you could across the screen down slowly to create some anticipation.

So without further ado, we present the first book in The Only Sorceress series, The Only Sorceress *cue applause* It will be out tomorrow.

The Only Sorceress Anya Breton

About the Book:
Self-proclaimed sorceress Kora Walsh knows exactly how to use her shiny new MBA. She’ll open a new age shop in a colony of the country’s most powerful witches. But the town rife with bigots doesn’t want her or her sleek shop tainting their perfect community.

Kora would leave if she had any choice in the matter. She’s trained from childhood for her true task—infiltrating coven leadership as her mother’s mole. Failure to do her familial duty is not an option, not when her childhood nemesis is assured her failed soul for an eternity of torture.

And thanks to the colony’s loudest supporter, the beautiful Desmond Marino, failure is a very real danger.

 

Excerpt – From Chapter Five:

I might have considered the hotness factor of the guy in the tailored suit standing on my porch if I hadn’t been operating on three hours of sleep. Instead, I repeatedly rubbed the crust out of my eyes and contemplated what kind of insurance he could possibly be selling.

Was there a company that insured members of the Underground against accidents? Whatever it was, it would cost me an arm and a leg because the outfit covering his sinewy body couldn’t have had a price tag for less than a thousand dollars.

“Yeah?” I asked over a particularly aggressive yawn. It came out as “Eeeaaa?” I took the opportunity to pull my polyester robe around myself while he peered over my shoulder into my empty living room.

“I’m Desmond Marino,” the guy on my front stoop said.

The matter-of-fact tone of his smooth, masculine voice suggested he expected I’d heard of him. Likewise he didn’t extend the arm hanging beside his black silk-blend jacket to offer me a shake—the implication being he didn’t feel I deserved the courtesy. Nor did he lift his eyes from their hooded position. That gaze combined with his flat, dark eyebrows and the full lips of a Michelangelo statue gave off the impression of sensual menace. Then again, maybe it was that he was hot in an international male model sort of way with his short blue-black hair, chiseled nose, and posh wardrobe.

He scrutinized me up and down. This guy could give my nemesis a run for his money in the menace department.

What in the world had made me think of Trip now?

The smoky tang of incense floated on the air. I hadn’t burnt any, and the breeze was too brisk for it to have come from a neighbor. But no, that wasn’t incense. It was the marker of a witch.

I took a stealthy sniff while blinking slowly. The crisp note of a fresh mountain stream overtook the smoky tang. Water witch. My stomach twisted into a tight knot. Water witches’ empathic ability often caused the most trouble of the magical community.

“You are not welcome here,” he said in a voice loud enough to wake the neighbors.

Despite the volume I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly during my twentieth yawn of the morning. “Pardon?”

His eyes—a disturbing aqua blue not far off from my cerulean hair—somehow managed to hood more without completely closing. He was familiar. Strange, considering I’d never officially met a Water witch.

“This is a colony for witches,” he said haughtily. “You aren’t a witch. How did you get in here?”

“I signed a year lease just like everyone else,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

“This is Wipuk,” he said as if he thought I’d gotten lost on my way to Phoenix. “If you aren’t a witch then you aren’t welcome. You shouldn’t have even been able to crosswithout magical ability.”

I made damn sure he saw my eyebrows shoot up to the middle of my forehead. Desmond Marino was a dick. But if he felt like he could knock on my door at whatever time it was and tell me I wasn’t welcome, then I figured he fancied himself important. I couldn’t simply tell him to stick his head in Cerberus’s maw if I had any chance of completing the task my mother had set forth for me. Infiltrating the magical community’s leadership would be a difficult task without ticking off anyone who might have their ear.

So I emulated an airhead. Guys were always nicer to stupid girls.

“Really?” I blinked vacuously blank eyes twice. “I have a shapeshifter neighbor. And over there in apartment one twenty-six are a werefox dad and son.” I pointed past Desmond the dick’s shoulder toward the building across the courtyard. I let my head tilt to the right so my hair would fall away from my cheek in a girlish way. “I didn’t know witches could be infected by Were-viruses.”

They couldn’t. Nor could a shapeshifter be born a witch. The analogy would be like a dog being born a cat.

Desmond the dick’s full lips puckered, giving him a Muppet-like appearance. “They have been given dispensation to live in Wipuk and keys to cross. You haven’t.”

“Oh gosh,” I said ruefully with noticeably slow blinks I’d always imagined equated to idiocy. “I have this letter from the Centralized Coven Coalition that says… Hang on.” I held up my index finger in the “one moment” sign. “Let me go get it. I don’t want to misquote anyone.”

I scampered to the breakfast bar where I’d dropped my laptop bag. In the stack of papers that included my business plan for my intended shop, my bank statements, and market research into the Sedona economy, was a letter from the coalition. I returned to the door as I flipped through the pages.

“Here it is,” I said in an appropriately vacant tone. “It’s addressed to Rebecca Kora Walsh.” I glanced at him. “That’s me.” At his darkened look, I continued. “It says, I quote, ‘Thank you for your recent interest in relocating to the Wipuk colony. Any faction capable of finding Wipuk is welcome to join us.’” I gave Desmond the dick my beatific smile along with a playful little bounce that sent my cerulean hair sliding away from my face. “I found it!”

His chin was flush with his collar now. The whites of his eyes were no longer visible. Clearly he didn’t enjoy my airhead act.

“Someone helped you,” he said with careful enunciation. “You didn’t simply walk into Wipuk on your own.”

I shook my head slowly, allowing my eyes to widen in my Golly-Gee-Mr. Wilson expression. “I don’t know anyone here except for the shapeshifter I met last night and the teenage werefox who stole my boxes but brought them back. No one helped me find Wipuk. I just found it.” I gestured to the paper in my hand. “Like I said in my original letter to the coalition, I’m a sorceress. I think that’s why I was able to find the colony.”

Desmond the dick stared at my eyes furiously for three seconds as if he’d expected me to change my tune merely to please him. His next words came out in the same careful tone as his previous statement. “There is no such thing as a sorceress. You had to have help.”

There wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that. He did need to know I could wield magic. I’d have to give him a show of it.

About the Author: 
Anya Breton is a web monkey with an obsession for nail polish and rubber chickens. Her fears include Peeps and people who hate clowns. She lives in the Midwest with her significant other.

Follow Anya Breton: Website | Facebook | @AnyaBreton | GoodReads

 

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Ghost Train

Rothley train stationLast night we went ghost hunting at Rothley’s train station. We booked tickets with UK Ghost Nights. Sometimes even we question why we do crazy things like book tickets for a ghost hunt that’s 3 hours away, ends at 3 am then insist on driving back. We like to think it’s because we’re young and foolish but our birth certificates say otherwise. We were joined again by Neen, who’s rapidly becoming the fourth member of C.A.T.S Calamityville Horror, and Hayley. We left Cardiff at 4 p.m. and reached Rothley by 7 p.m. So we hung out in the apparently haunted pub, The Woodman’s Stroke, before heading to The Royal Oak then made our way to the train station. All the tours say ‘don’t consume alcohol before a tour’. 3 drinks later, we were ready. We dressed in Victorian-esque clothes to fit in with the Victorian ghosts spotted at the station but our lack of parasols led us to taking our skull print umbrellas. The station’s been renovated to how it would have looked in 1912, complete with gas lamps and suitcases. There are plenty of rumours about people being killed on the tracks and a child breaking his neck from falling down the embankment. So far, we’ve been unable to confirm these and are waiting on the Office of Railway Regulation to help us.

After we went through the introduction, we were split in to two groups. Just case our team got separated, we came prepared with extra cameras – a 15 yr old JVC and Ryan’s dad Sony Handycam. For the first time ever, we had night vision. We were so excited. Until we discovered the batteries were very old and one wasn’t charged. Oh and the tape ran out. But the good news is, we look absolutely terrifying in night vision. Horror film, serial killer terrifying, so this will add the scare factor Calamityville Horror lacks. We also have a seriously cool Gothic utility belt that held batteries, DVR, memory cards & the K2. Yes, CVH is going pro. Our group was led by a medium. Fans of the show know exactly what we think of these mediums. But sadly, this one didn’t lead to us doing any Derek Acorah impressions. That’s a first for us. We were taken into the staff room where the cupboard is supposedly haunted by a the ghost of an apparent rapist and murderer, William. We stood in the cupboard and mocked him. After that the medium claimed William started stalking us. Our K2 meter disagreed. We’ve never known the K2 to be as quiet as it was in Rothley. Perhaps it had laryngitis.Rothley train station

We were taken back into the waiting room and each given a crystal and told to ask it to show us ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Except our crystals must have had flat batteries. Everyone else’s in the room was responding. Ours dangled like dead men from the gallows with not so much as a post mortem twitch. The organisers kept passing us different crystals, even ones that had been very active. Nothing. Then they handed out dowsing rods. Again, everyone else’s rods responded. Ours refused. They even gave Lynx rods with black handles, enabling the rods to move freely. Not a flicker. They were really confused by this. Guess this doesn’t happen often. When people asked their rods to point to ‘no’, for the negative reaction, 3 sets of rods swivelled and pointed to Cat – Neen’s, Ryan’s and the medium in training, Sarah. We’ve come to a number of conclusions. 1-we’re dead inside. 2-we have extremely poor circulation, so the pulses in our hands are weak, so if rods and crystals react to pulse, this would explain the lack of movement. 3-whereas some people are sensitive and attract spirits, we must be the opposite and repel them. Can we call ourselves insensitives?

Rothley train stationAfter this, we were split in to 3 groups. We were taken to the abandoned carriages on the track. It was beautifully creepy on that part. We had our DVRs running and on playing them back, you can hear Cat and Ryan discussing his battery dying, then a male voice whispers ‘trains’. We were right by the trains. We’ll have to check the footage to see if anyone else is around them. It definitely wasn’t Ryan. We were then taken back into the staff room and Cat and Ryan stood in what Neen termed ‘the naughty cupboard’ to again antagonise William. Lynx, Neen and Hayley joined the organisers in a ouija board session. We grew up with horror films. We grew up with the notion you never, ever, touch ouija boards. We not only touched them, we participated. And to be honest, we’ve experienced scarier fashion trends. We do not trust other people when it comes to ouija boards or planchettes. We especially don’t trust them if someone from the organising group or one of their helpers is part of it. It is so easy to move the object when your fingers are on it. The planchette moved a lot, much to our mistrust. We were then left alone to do our own investigations, so Cat and Ryan joined the ouija board. We all put the back of our fingertips on the planchette. It’s impossible for anyone to move it like this, without spiritual help. Surprise surprise, it didn’t move. Didn’t even judder. We rest our case. Ouija boards are a fun gimmick but that’s about it. Bit like a Happy Meal toy.ouija board, Rothley train station

We left the staff room and did some EVP bursts in the parcel room. Nothing. We then walked along the platform. We walked on ahead and at the same time, we both heard tuneful whistling. Nobody else was with us. Cat thought it was Neen, but Neen hasn’t been able to whistle since getting her lip pierced. We then decided to head down to the tracks. We were told that no group was allowed to venture down to the tracks without a member of staff. Calamityville Horror doesn’t follow rules! CVH doesn’t need adult supervision! No wait, we do. We headed down to the tracks beneath the tunnel. Us and Ryan heard whistling. The bridge is actually a road so it’s possible there was a dog walker out. Yes it was 2 a.m., but some people are crazy.Rothley train station

We then joined another group in the tea room, where they had been doing a ouija board for a while. We patiently waited our turn. Their turn lasted until it was almost time to leave. Thanks for sharing your toys. They’d been getting a lot of movement with the glass and seemed to know everyone who was communicating with them. We finally got our turn – put the backs of our fingertips on the glass and…nothing happened. Of course nothing happened – we don’t fake things. We even asked a question only we knew the answer to – what did our nan used to threaten us with? The ouija board had no reply.

*whispers* she regularly threatened to sell us to the gypsies.

The train station was an amazing location and it was a first for us. It was creepy, atmospheric and the perfect setting for ghost stories. As for the ghosts…maybe they hitched a ride on the last train. For some reason, we seem to scare ghosts away. Maybe it was the utility belt.Calamityville Horror, Rothley train station

A List

SA awardWe always look forward to Writing Magazine slapping onto our hall floor once a month but today it was even more exciting. A headline on the front read ‘Self-Publishing Award Winners’. Our spirits deflated like punctured lungs. In December we’d submitted Soul Asylum and Disenchanted to the David St John Thomas Self-Publishing Awards, which Writing Magazine are part of.  We’d heard nothing back so when we saw this headline we knew instantly that we hadn’t won. But we opened up the page anyway, if just to shake our tiny pixie fists in fury at the winners and clutch the magazine while our eyes twitch in a way favoured by maniacs.

And there was Soul Asylum amongst the Fiction Shortlist. We were so shocked that we completely forgot about the fist shaking and eye twitching. Even more surprising was that there were only 5 books in that shortlist. This award attracts hundreds of entries, possibly even thousands and Soul Asylum was in the top 5. We couldn’t believe it. We’re still in shock. And this is on the back of its successful free run. Well, we count it as successful. In the 5 days it was free to celebrate World Goth Day, we had 1214 downloads. The most surprising thing was someone downloaded it in Japan! We never thought it would appeal to Japan. We’ve seen their game shows. We’d worked hard to promote it and while we heard that less than 1000 in the first day meant it wasn’t successful, to us, 1214 was a massive achievement. And sales have increased following it. In March and April we sold a total of 10 books. May was doing better with 11 but Soul Asylum hadn’t sold ANY in May. Then we made it free. And suddenly after the price has gone back up, people are buying it. Granted it’s only 9 copies sold but to us, that’s huge. We’ll never make enough to keep our Red Bull supplies stocked but this is great for us and Red Bull is on offer at the moment.

It seems busting zumba moves inside the cursed witches’ circle in Edinburgh didn’t bring us bad luck after all. In fact, we haven’t been this lucky for years. Might need to find some other curses to shake our booties at…