The Sands Of Time (Book Two of The Witching Pen Series)

By Dianna Hardy

Seven days ago, Elizabeth May tried to commit suicide. She was found by Paul, her husband, who took her under his wing and back to their home. But the attempted suicide is not Elizabeth's main problem - Elizabeth can't remember who she is, or a single thing about her life beyond the past week.

Plagued by nightmares about a familiar black panther, and a terrifying snow leopard, she is convinced that the dreams are trying to show her something important, and is determined to regain her memories, one way or another.

Meanwhile, Pueblo - the demon blood-bonded to the witch, Amy - is going insane trying to find her. Amy disappeared one week ago, and it seems not even their bond is strong enough to penetrate whatever magic hides her.

As Pueblo enlists the help of angels and demons alike, Elizabeth begins to piece together parts of her forgotten life. But what she uncovers may just have her wanting to turn away from who she really is ... for good.

PUBLISHER'S NOTES:
This is the second book in a series.

Book length - novella / short novel at approx 40,000 words.

Warning - contains sexual content and some violence.

REVIEWS:
"Oh-My-God this book is sooo good it should be a sin!" - Bookaholics Book Club (Ninfa's Bookaholics Factor) 5 STARS

"...passionate, entertaining and, truly, a joy to read ... I cannot recommend this series enough." - Bitten By Paranormal Romance, 5 STARS (an Alpha Howl!)

"My excitement grows with each book created within The Witching Pen series..." - Romance Novel Junkies, 4 STARS

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bitten Fruit Books / Satin Smoke Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476487182

Dianna Hardy

Dianna Hardy is an international bestselling author of (cross-genre) fantasy fiction, most notable for her dark paranormal fantasy and the raw, intense Eye of the Storm series. But her heart-warming Once Times Thrice series proves she thrives in the light as much as the dark. Whatever your poison, what she loves most is to bring you stories that are action-packed, fast-paced and not short of heat, with the focus on character development, relationship dynamics, and the plot. She writes full-length novels and short fiction.Although quite active online, Dianna prefers the quiet company of nature and animals to the hustle and bustle of people. She loves anything paranormal (she doesn't really consider it "para"), organic food, walking barefoot, the smell of the woods after rain, and summer days. However, she is also sustained by coffee, chocolate and the occasional vodka.Having graduated from Richmond Drama School (London) in '98, she spent the next few years in a multitude of jobs (both acting and non-acting), studying anything that fascinated her, searching her soul, and finally found her passion where it had always been: at the end of a pen.She currently lives in South Hampshire (United Kingdom) with her fiancé and their daughter, where she writes full-time.

Book preview

The Sands of Time

(The Witching Pen Series)

Based in London, 2011.

The Sands of Time (Book Two of The Witching Pen Series)

Text copyright © 2012, Dianna Hardy

First published by Satin Smoke Press, January 2012

This version updated December 2023

Satin Smoke Press is an imprint of Bitten Fruit Books

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles or reviews.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover images: woman © conrado | Shutterstock; hourglass © Elena Schweitzer | Shutterstock

Cover design by Bitten Fruit Books

Satin Smoke Press

Hampshire, UK

http://www.satinsmoke.com

Acknowledgements

A huge thanks to Jane for being able to cope with my throwing proof copies her way at short notice; another huge thanks to Ninfa for her undying enthusiasm and support; and a massive thanks to my significant other, who has to deal with me ’disappearing into my own head’ for weeks at a time as I bring these characters to life. It means the world to me. x

For my readers and fans.

Thanks for wanting to know

what happens next.

Contents

A Brief Guide To The Witching Pen World (Glossary)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About The Author

A Brief Guide To The Witching Pen World

The Witching Pen – a creation forged by angels after the fall of Atlantis, approximately 11,750 years ago (also known as the fall of Eden) under the instruction of God.

Lokoli – an angel who was demonised and cast out of Heaven, and then became known as the most bloodthirsty demon of all. She stole the Witching Pen from Heaven and created a new dimension she could rule over, as well as seven demon tribes:

The Lagool lived in water – oceans, rivers and swamps – and she gave them the gift of sight.

The Brujii lived in the forests and woods, and were given the gift of magic.

The Malattal lived under the ground, in caves, and held the gift of prophecy.

The Brokk inhabited the cold places of the north, and were given the gift of immortality.

The Totilemi were not limited to a region, but travelled the earth, and were given the gift of knowledge.

The Dessec inhabited the hot deserts, and were given the ability to bend time.

The Shanka, a type of succubi (and the males, incubi), were given the gift of creation itself – the power of life and death. But too afraid their power would be used against her, Lokoli banished them from the earth, forcing them to live ethereally, only able to enter this dimension through shadows and dreams. The Shanka did eventually kill Lokoli, but only after she awarded them with the Witching Pen. It became rightfully theirs, and to date, the Shanka and the angels are the only two races that can touch the Pen without it causing them damage.

When humans grew in numbers upon the earth, followed by the ‘fallen’, demons became outnumbered and shunned, and retreated into their own separate dimensions, all of which can be reached via portals, except for the Shanka’s dimension which exists only in shadow.

Witches – humans who practice the art and science of magic (or magick). Some witches are Pagans, some are Wiccans, and some follow other religions, but witchcraft in itself is not religious.

The Witch Council – also referred to as The Council, is the governing coven of all the witches around the world. Run by many Elders and one High Priest / Priestess, they are prestigious and regard themselves as the Keepers of Magical Law.

Shapeshifters – humans that have harnessed the ability to change form, a skill handed down through lineage from the shaman’s of old. Also called ‘shape changers’ and informally, ‘shifters’. Not the same as werewolves or werecats, whose abnormality is caused by a mutant gene.

Guises – forms that shifters can change into. One shifter can have many guises, including that of animals and the four elements.

Teleportation – the act of travelling through space by dematerialising the body. All demons – save the Shanka, who travel by hiding in shadows – can teleport. Teleportation also comes naturally to shapeshifters once they know how to harness the ability. Some witches can also teleport, but it drains their magical energy. Angels do not teleport. They either fly, or will themselves into being in a different place, which is different to teleporting and closer to transfiguration.

Portal – an opening or gateway that can allow one to cross dimensions. Should not be confused with a wormhole.

Wormhole – a manifestation, natural or enforced, that allows one to travel through time. Often interchanged with the word ‘portal’, although the two are quite different.

The Failed One – the term demons use when referring to Jesus Christ

Abaddon – Satan, ruler of the Underworld, and the first angel to have ever been created.

The Sands of Time

(Book Two of The Witching Pen Series)

Prologue

She ran through the woods, her blonde hair billowing out behind her, her little bare feet naturally feeling their way through nature’s soft carpet, as if she’d been brought up by the very creatures that lived upon it.

Young lady, you get back here right now!

Oops – Mummy was angry with her. She didn’t like it when she went running off. She tried to obey, she really did, but it was a pull, a tug within her heart that shouted at her to follow, more strongly than Mummy shouted at her to stop. Maybe if they didn’t live so near to the woods…

@#!!*#! Mummy cried out her name, fury evident in her voice.

Confused, the girl suddenly stopped. With a frown she turned and watched her mummy catch up with her.

@#!!*#! How dare you! You know you shouldn’t go running off into the woods. This isn’t safe countryside, these are ancient woods. @#!!*#!, are you listening to me?

There – there it was again. The girl’s lip trembled with a sudden fear that sprang up out of nowhere. Mummy, what’s my name?

Don’t be so silly, you know what your name is, and don’t even try to get out of your punishment.

Hot tears stung just behind her eyes. Mummy, please say my name, she pleaded.

Fine! @#!!*#! There you go, does that make you feel better?

The tears began to fall. Something was very, very wrong.

Mummy, what’s my name?

A smack landed on her bottom, followed by a firm grip on her arm, trailing her back towards the clearing she’d run from. Now you’re just being naughty. You’re five years old, @#!!*#!, it’s time to grow up a little – start behaving like a big girl.

Sobs erupted from her throat, but it had nothing to do with her mummy being angry with her. Every time Mummy said her name, something funny happened to her ears and she couldn’t understand what she was saying. She looked up and tried to focus on her lips.

Mummy…

Crying isn’t going to do you any good, @#!!*#! You’re old enough to know that it’s dangerous to go running off.

The fear she felt now cascaded throughout her little body, causing her to tremble all over. Her legs seized up and she stumbled forwards and fell, crying out in pain as the hand on her arm gripped her tighter.

Get up! @#!!*#!, get up this instant!

But fear had her paralysed. Why was there something wrong with her ears? Why did her Mummy’s mouth go blurry every time she said her name?

@#!!*#! @#!!*#!, get up now!

She tried to get her legs to work, but they were ignoring her – she couldn’t move them for the trembling and she suddenly felt very cold.

A shadow crossed her face. She looked up expecting to see a cloud passing over the sun, but the sun was still shining as strongly as ever.

What’s my name? screamed a voice in her head. What’s my name?!

A low growl sounded from somewhere to the left.

@#!!*#! @#!!*#! Are you listening to me?

No, she wasn’t. The growl had her full attention. She turned to find the source of it and locked gaze with a huge, black cat. Strangely, a sense of peace overcame her, the trembling ceased and the shadow passed.

Instinctively knowing she could, she reached out to the cat with her thoughts. I don’t know my name, she told it.

I know, it replied, its mind, joining with hers. But time is running out. You need to remember…

Elizabeth awoke with a start, a gasp leaving her lips, her heart thumping wildly in her ears.

Well, she thought, wryly, at least I’m not screaming myself awake this time.

Disgruntled, she sat up in bed, noting that it was barely six o’clock in the morning. This was starting to become a bad habit. Every night, dreams plagued her, terrifying her, yet making her feel more alive than she ever was when awake. Every morning she scrambled to put together pieces of her dreams before they disappeared.

With her good hand, she reached for the pen and notepad that she kept hidden under her bed, ignoring the weeping bandage around her left wrist, and focusing solely on the dream before it faded altogether. She remembered the cat. It – or ‘he’, as she’d already labelled it – had a starring role in every single one of her dreams. Not that that was helping her with regaining her memory.

Looking down at the pad, she surveyed the few words she’d written:

Mother was a bit harsh

I like the woods

I like nature?

Ancient woods are dangerous – why?

With a sigh of defeat, she realised that her mother’s face – if it even was her mother – was already blurring in her mind. Flipping back a page, she looked at what she’d written the previous morning:

I like the desert

Or maybe I like sand (I wonder if I like the beach?)

Something makes me feel cold

The panther makes me feel warm

The panther is a friend

The snow leopard is bad

The snow leopard wants to kill the panther

The snow leopard wants to kill me (?)

With a shudder, she suddenly felt grateful that particular cat hadn’t made a dream appearance last night.

Staring at the words that meant nothing to her, she felt her anger surge. God, none of this is helping! she cried out, throwing the pad on the floor. Then, with a small, strangled cry, she bent down and picked it up, smoothing out the pages. It may be gibberish, but it was all she had. She turned to the back page in an effort to make herself feel better.

Things that I do remember:

Swear words – all words, in fact; speaking, writing and reading

Telly

Cars

I like chocolate

I like coffee

I prefer wearing trousers to skirts

And that was pretty much all she could force out of her mind. With a frown, she thought about her wardrobe; supposedly this was her home, but all she seemed to own were dresses and skirts, ugly ones at that.

Why the hell do I own ugly clothes? Did I really used to like them?