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Hayle Coven Novels

I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn. ***WORLD'S BEST STORY2014*** Her mom's a witch. Her dad's a demon. And she just wants to be ordinary. I batted at the curl of smoke drifting off the tip of my candle and tried not to sneeze. My heavy velvet cloak fell in oppressive, suffocating folds in the closed space of the ceremony chamber, the cowl trapping the annoying bits of puff I missed. I hated the way my eyes burned and teared, an almost constant distraction. Not that I didn't welcome the distraction, to be honest. Anything to take my mind from what went on around me. Being part of a demon raising is way less exciting than it sounds. Sydlynn Hayle's teen life couldn't be more complicated. Trying to please her coven is all a fantasy while the adventure of starting over in a new town and fending off a bully cheerleader who hates her are just the beginning of her troubles. What to do when delicious football hero Brad Peters--boyfriend of her cheer nemesis--shows interest? If only the darkly yummy witch, Quaid Moromond, didn't make it so difficult for her to focus on fitting in with the normal kids despite her paranormal, witchcraft laced home life. Add to that her crazy grandmother's constant escapes driving her family to the brink and Syd's between a rock and a coven site. Forced to take on power she doesn't want to protect a coven who blames her for everything, only she can save her family's magic. If her family's distrust doesn't destroy her first.

Patti Larsen · Urban
Not enough ratings
803 Chs

Chapter 21: Fighting For Forgiveness

I didn't even bother trying to hide my dejection when I walked through the door at home. By that point, I didn't care one way or the other who saw me or knew. Whatever. I told myself it didn't matter, they couldn't really hurt me. They were only words and stupid rotten idiots and we'd be moving soon anyway. I'd be able to start fresh with a new batch of horrible people to try to avoid at all costs.

I walked into the kitchen to my mother's smiling face and a fresh batch of cookies.

Funny what can make you break down and sob your heart out.

As I fell totally and utterly apart, I felt Mom's arms go around me. I clung to her like she was my only anchor to the real world. As I wept into her, pouring out my frustration and grief in huge heaves of choking tears, she held on to me and stroked my hair.

How come we couldn't keep that connection?