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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 · Urbano
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803 Chs

Chapter 73: Undead Allies

Mom was home when I stomped in the kitchen door, but it didn't mean she was available. Every time I tried to talk to her she was hauled off by some conversation in her head or another so I finally gave up and retreated to my room to sulk.

When she did reach out at last, I slapped her away, too wrapped up in my own pissiness to care if I hurt her feelings.

We're meeting tonight, she sent. Be ready at dark.

It shook me loose from my funk. Already? Well really, what did I think? That Mom would sit on her hands over this? I slid from the bed and rummaged in my closet for my robe, just in case.

I did my best to stay out of her way, but help her at the same time. I know she forgave me for my bad humor because when I came back downstairs with my rumpled cloak in my arms she pulled herself free from a family argument long enough to kiss me on the cheek and shake her head.

Whew. No robe. That was a blessing. I hated the damned thing.