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Hayle Coven Inheritance

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. The Challenge “Jagger Santos,” Coradine said, voice singsong and trying to be endearing while I gagged a little over her cutsie attempt to be coy. So gross. “This is the one I was telling you about.” He didn’t look at her, his hunger for the fight apparent. “Ethie Hayle,” he said, deep voice full of daggers. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” I could have said no. Just turned on my heel and left, walked away, got the hell out of there. Should have. It was one thing to fight my own coven for “fun” occasionally. A way to let off steam, to expend some of my pent up anger in a reasonably safe way that ensured if they didn’t like me, they at least stayed out of my way. But a witch from another territory? The Santos coven wasn’t exactly on GreatGram’s favorite list, either. This could only end badly. Ethie Hayle has spent her whole life sheltered by the coven, her powerful family and the fear that an unknown enemy could, at any moment, leap out of the veil and hurt her. Talk about smothering when all she wants is to have the freedoms her oh-so-special brother, Gabriel, seems to take for granted. But when a strange woman appears and offers her a gift, Ethie discovers the concerns her mother and great-grandmother have harbored aren’t all that ridiculous after all and that there are powers in the Universe she can’t imagine…

Patti Larsen · Fantaisie
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123 Chs

Chapter 95: Protecting The Family Magic

Coffee. My favorite. Especially in the kitchen in Wilding Springs, Mom perched across from me sipping her own sweet and creamy, GreatGram hunched over a massive cup no sane person would drink from, Nanna with her graceful hands wrapped around the black one I got her for Christmas that proclaimed her the Best Grandmother Ever.

How domestic and normal of us to sit there with our hot mugs the focus, no one speaking, not really, maybe the odd bit and piece of coven life passed around, a shred of gossip to bring out a snort from the eldest of us, a tinkling laugh from Nanna, deep and heartfelt one from Mom.

I wanted to feel included. And I did, for the most part. But the longer I sat there, knowing what I knew and with the decision I'd made lurking in the back of my mind eating a bit of a hole in the comradery, I finally sighed and stared down at my mug, knowing there was no time like the present.