the witch’s malice

Dear Readers

I have launched a new website www.thewitchsmalice.com where you can read segments of the novel. To inspire your interest I will publish segments on a weekly basis. the witch’s malice is available on Amazon www.amazon.com/dp/BOONCKU7Z1  Then again considering you’re here, how about a taste

Prologue

April 11

Witchcraft and all the elements of witchery date back to

the beginning of humankind. Witches came to life and earth with the fall of Lucifer. While Lucifer fell to the pit, the thirteen angels who failed God by fawning over his favorite Morning Star, (as he is referred to in the old Jewish Bible) were left on earth’s surface to be separated from both God and him for all eternity.

Being relegated to joining humanity in the fight for survival, the thirteen banished angels found ways to live extended lives, and access to powers the rest of humanity would never know.

Despite the gains in length of life and power, it was not eternal, leaving them haunted by death’s inevitability and having to experience life’s decay.

With death came birth as a seemingly random choice from human parents, maintaining the thirteen. Unknowing parents never shared in the knowledge of their power nor the generational seed the mother had carried. No acts of magic, no superstition; just an act of Nature to preserve a species.

An act taking place at different times and geographically scattered throughout the centuries created a disconnect between the witches. Separation dissolved any sense of unity… or trust, blunting their greatest power, the coven. Despite everything they are born with an innate understanding of how to access power. Having themselves as their only competition, frustration forced greater concentration, bringing more clarity to deliver the comprehension necessary to achieve a trip to the Realm, the source of their power.

Once a new witch claimed her place within the thirteen, she moved beyond enemies, but for the other witches. The magnitude of her power bested her imagination and proved to be worth anything she had to endure to achieve it.

Kimberley Clarke survived all of it and she wouldn’t change it for any other world—not even the Realm. She had been to the Realm, paid the price of admission, and she was good with it. She particularly loved dispensing power, —but didn’t they all?

Kimberley smiled as she read the article on Malcolm Gaskill’s book Witchcraft, and the suggestion that witches don’t really exist… that they were mostly women, unable to prove their innocence during a period of religious persecution.

I should have a chat with Malcolm, nothing like a good douse of fear to prove a point, she thought.

Waiting impatiently at the Blends Coffee House in New Westminster, Kimberley tore it from the paper, neatly folded it down to a size that fit the palm of her hand, and then crushed it. She held it tight until she could feel the heat of it burning in her hand.

Wisps of smoke curled upwards. She never bothered to glance around to see if anybody noticed, she didn’t care. After a moment she opened her hand and dumped its ashes into the empty cup.

Stay tuned, more to come

david@davidsnotebook.com