The Crystal Witch: The Coastal Coven, #1

By Diana McCollum

In the year 1692, young witch Hettie was transported to 2012 by a Shaman to escape a demon set on usurping her magick.

Hettie has made a life for herself. Now the owner of The Crystal Witch gift shop, she belongs to the Coastal Coven, and is  excited to have found romance with Evan.

Declan, the demon, locates Hettie and travels to the modern times.

Will her coven, magick and love for one man be enough to save her from the clutches of Declan?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana McCollum
• Release date: Dec 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781940064680

Diana McCollum

A lifetime avid reader, I  love creating worlds where anything is possible. Always with an element of the paranormal my stories end with a happily-ever-after. I live in Central Oregon, a very short drive to the Cascade Mountains in one direction, and a short drive to the desert in the other direction..  If you enjoyed Ella and Evan’s story please leave a review where you bought the book. Writers like to know what you like, and don’t like about their stories. I am in an anthology of short stories “Love & Magick”, with two other authors. My first witch story “The Crystal Witch” is in the anthology. Check it out and discover two more really good authors. You can reach me at the following places: Website:  dianamccollum.weebly.com  ( sign up for my newsletter, monthly recipes, contests, raffles etc.) Faebook: https://facebook.com/dianamccollumauthor/ Twitter: @Dianasuemcc

Book preview

Chapter One

October 15, 2012

The right mixture of violet and blue evening sky laced with bolts of scarlet bouncing off the clouds always brought to mind the evening of her death, or what would have been Hettie’s death had she not escaped.

Even after ten years in the small coastal town of Waxing, Massachusetts, a death-sky inspired panic deep in her chest. She took several calming breaths, repeating her time-worn mantra.

‘Tis a frivolous fear, for naught dangerous be near. Bless this house, bless this store, bless me ever more. Hettie intoned the mantra three times.

She put a match to bundled sage twigs and walked the boundary of her small gift shop, the Crystal Witch. Climbing the stairs to her apartment, at the door she murmured an opening charm and crossed the threshold then proceeded to walk the length of every wall, in every room. The blessed smoke from the stems both cleansed and protected the space. She stopped by the front window. Pulling the lace curtain aside, she looked out at the sky, almost dark now. The shadow of a figure merged with the dark of the woods across the street. Did she see a lonely soul out for an evening walk, or something more sinister? Her stomach clenched; it could be time to pay her debt.

Samhain was approaching. The time of year when the veil between worlds was easily accessible, when good or evil could pass through with barely a ripple in the curtain. Hettie was uneasy this time of year, and with good reason; if Declan came for her, it would be during this preternatural time.

He’d have to find her first. He didn’t know where Shaman Adahy had sent her. If Declan knew where she was, he would have come for her. This she knew without a doubt. One didn’t make a deal with the devil unless one was willing to pay the price.

After taking the small ceramic pots of spearmint and peppermint off the window sill and placing them on the counter, Hettie closed the curtain. Gathering a wooden spoon, small pan and mesh strainer she set about brewing a calming tea. The ritual of making tea at the end of a busy day comforted her. She gently removed leaves from the plants, washed them, and put the sprigs in the pot sitting on the stove. In the pantry she took a jar of dried chamomile off the shelf. A teaspoon of chamomile went in the pan.

She took the wooden spoon, pressing the leaves against the side of the pot, bruising the herbs. She closed her eyes and breathed in the released aroma. She added two cups of water and turned the stove on.

Hettie stirred until the pot bubbled briskly, and then removed the wooden spoon. Holding her hands over the steam she spoke.

With plants of earth I make this tea,

Charged with magick to its task;

May the Goddess in me,

Help me relax,

So mote it be.

Hettie gently settled the lid on the pot, turned the fire down for the required half hour of steeping.

She changed into her favorite silk pajamas, and pulled on her fleece bathrobe to fend off the evening chill. Taking a mug out of the cupboard she poured the steaming tea into the cup. She sat in the maple rocking chair, her favorite one, the rocker which reminded her of Mama’s. She sipped the hot brew and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two

October