Witch's Moisture: Breandon

By M. Garnet

The mists that swirl within the highlands of Scotland give a different feeling to each person who sees them. Some find them relaxing and calming, as well as a tie to the past because the mists have been in these valleys longer than man can remember. To some, they were frightening, a reminder of ghosts and demons and those things that go bump in the night. To Breadon, they were what he was now made of; the curse of a witch had transferred him into Moisture until he performed a selfless deed. But since he could only speak, or form a hand, most of the time, he just scared people and floated with the wind and rain, waiting for his chance, waiting centuries for Bethlyn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Jun 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781771115575

Book preview

Any curse has to have a good side along with the bad, or it will come back to bite the one who placed it.

The mists that swirl within the highlands of Scotland give a different feeling to each person who sees them. Some find them relaxing and calming, as well as a tie to the past because the mists have been in these valleys longer than man can remember. To some, they were frightening, a reminder of ghosts and demons and those things that go bump in the night. To Breadon, they were what he was now made of; the curse of a witch had transferred him into Moisture until he performed a selfless deed. But since he could only speak, or form a hand, most of the time, he just scared people and floated with the wind and rain, waiting for his chance, waiting centuries for Bethlyn.

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Witch’s Moisture: Breandon

Copyright © 2013 M. Garnet

ISBN: 978-1-77111-557-5

Cover art by Carmen Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

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Smashwords Edition

Witch’s Moisture: Breandon

Witch’s Curse

By

M. Garnet

This series is dedicated to my first cousin Maryanne who introduced me to my first wedding performed by a Wicca, and my beautiful daughter, who was the Maid of Honor, and who took it all in with the respect she pays to any religion.

Prologue

Sean heard the scream from the upstairs room. He dropped the dishtowel, jumped over the bar, and was running, taking the stairs two at a time, ducking his head from the low beams of the two hundred year old ceiling, as he ran down the hallway. Not again, he thought, as he rushed towards the sounds. The screams were coming from the most popular room he rented out and the one that caused the most problems for him and his father, owners of the hostel.

He pounded on the door. Miss Donald, ar’ ye okay?

The door was jerked open, and a very angry woman stood there wrapped in a heavy, old-fashioned robe.

The old woman screeched at him. What kind of place is this? I was assaulted in my bath. She was breathless and looked flushed. I am packing and leaving immediately. Have my car brought around.

Before he could even mumble an apology or pretend that he did not know what she was referring to, the thick wooden door was slammed in his face. He slowly went down the stairs and hunted up the mop boy, sorry that he had to send him out in the stormy night to retrieve the car, but he believed the woman when she said she was leaving.

She soon came huffing down, dragging some of her items, yelling instructions at him and anyone else who could hear, which was most everyone of the town.

Her words were clear. There are more pieces upstairs, and do not even think of giving me a bill. I have never been so insulted in my life. I will be stopping at the first official offices I see on my way out of town and lodging a complaint.

The storm was pushing rain almost sideways. She got into the car and slammed the door. She was still yelling who she was going to report all the damage to since she had gotten wet clothes and hurt feelings.

He stood inside the door of the old hostel and watched as the taillights disappeared in the storm. The car swung back and forth on the wet road. He shook his head, went back in, and reached for the bar towel to wipe off the rain from his head.

By this time, his dad had come out from the back, his shirt loose, as he had been sleeping. His dad had calmed down the couple of locals. Of course, they all knew the tales of the room on the lee side of the top floor. There never had been a complaint from anyone staying in the other three rooms. But the stories had come down through his dad and now to him about ladies being entertained in some manner in that one room on stormy nights.

The odd thing was that there were ladies who didn’t lodge a complaint, just left with a very satisfied smile on their faces and sometimes made reservations to return the following year for their next vacation, if they could stay in the same room. But some, like the lady tonight, seemed to be insulted by whatever happened in the room, and there had been many complaints lodged against them.

I thin’ ye got a ghosty, lad, said one of the crusty old regulars as he sadly looked at his empty glass.

Yea, ye could make good money advertisin’ that the room is haunted. I seen in magazines that people pay to go ta places where there be ghosts.

His dad just looked at him, shook his head, and turned to return back to the family side of the old building and the comfort of his warm bed.

Finish up, lads, we be closing due to the rain. He looked at the mop boy who was wet from head to toe.

Go on back ta’ ye room. I will finish here. The boy was evidently grateful to get warm and was immediately gone.

It took Sean