Start with some magic, add suspense, a few tears, lots of smiles, and generously spice with romance. Mix well, serve, and then settle back with no plans to rise until all is devoured.
Magical Stew contains three short pieces of fiction.
In A Child of Prophecy journey to another world whose fate balances on scales, waiting to be tipped into chaos or peace.
In Raindrop Rainbows meet Annabelle Lee who finds more than just great works of art when she ducks into a museum to wait out a rain storm.
With The Golden Avatar journey to Daradawn and learn the tale of the first meeting between Thea and the golden dragon, Zara.
Excerpt:
Mirabella passed her hand over the wavering water in the shallow scrying bowl. “Aura…maren…serenus—gentle breeze of the sea calm.” The surface flattened and a shroud of fog formed and hovered above the water. “Doorway of mist part. Heed the call from the blood of the ancient and show me who I seek.” A wind flowed from the corners of the cottage, parted the white mist—and she stared into a kitchen.
Rays of sun streamed through sparkling panes of glass and glistened off counters of white tile. Planter boxes bursting with rosemary, thyme and basil hung outside the windows.
A petite woman, her pale hair pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck with a tortoise-shell clip, sat at small table, her head bent over an open book. Suddenly she shivered looked upward and rubbed her bare arms. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
Mirabella nodded with a pleased smile of recognition. Eleanor. It has been a long time. And in this life you are a woman of mature years. Good, even untrained you feel me.
She waved her hand again across the water of the scrying bowl. “Now, show me the messenger.”
At first there were only trees. A forest? But as she watched people, some running, some walking dogs along the gray paths, came into her vision. “Who…?”
The scene narrowed until but one running man filled the bowl. He slowed to a walk. The man was tall, with a shaggy mane of hair black as a moonless night. He wore sunshine-yellow, shapeless top and gray baggy pants. His tanned skin glowed in the early morning light.
He stopped, turned his pale blue eyes upward and Mirabella smiled. “Ah. Of course, Mason Warren. Now I understand. It has been a long time since we spoke. Open to me and hear my words.”
Chapter One
Brianna sang along with the oldies station as it played Into The Mystic by Van Morrison. As the song faded, she spooned another mound of fudge icing on top of the pan of brownies, smoothed it, and then created some delicate swirls. She stepped back with a satisfied smile. The icing was a good half-inch deep, just like she loved it. “You can never have enough chocolate.”
Some oozed over the edge of the pan, and she wiped it free with her finger, sampling the creamy icing with her tongue. She sighed in pleasure, ignoring the nagging thought of the extra pound her scales showed that morning. Oh, come on. Any decent pastry chef had to sample her wares now and then.
The front door buzzer sounded and she glanced at the clock. 8:40, she didn’t open for another 20 minutes. “Damn, can’t anybody read?”
Wiping her hands on a towel, she called. “I’ll be right there. You’re early.”
Her gaze swept across the three frosted cakes still waiting to go into the display case. She picked up the Black Forest, adjusted a cherry, and went through the two white swinging doors and out into the front of the bakery.
Rays of sun streamed through sparkling panes of glass and glistened off counters of white tile. Planter boxes bursting with rosemary, thyme and basil hung outside the windows.
A petite woman, her pale hair pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck with a tortoise-shell clip, sat at small table, her head bent over an open book. Suddenly she shivered looked upward and rubbed her bare arms. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
Mirabella nodded with a pleased smile of recognition. Eleanor. It has been a long time. And in this life you are a woman of mature years. Good, even untrained you feel me.
She waved her hand again across the water of the scrying bowl. “Now, show me the messenger.”
At first there were only trees. A forest? But as she watched people, some running, some walking dogs along the gray paths, came into her vision. “Who…?”
The scene narrowed until but one running man filled the bowl. He slowed to a walk. The man was tall, with a shaggy mane of hair black as a moonless night. He wore sunshine-yellow, shapeless top and gray baggy pants. His tanned skin glowed in the early morning light.
He stopped, turned his pale blue eyes upward and Mirabella smiled. “Ah. Of course, Mason Warren. Now I understand. It has been a long time since we spoke. Open to me and hear my words.”
Chapter One
Brianna sang along with the oldies station as it played Into The Mystic by Van Morrison. As the song faded, she spooned another mound of fudge icing on top of the pan of brownies, smoothed it, and then created some delicate swirls. She stepped back with a satisfied smile. The icing was a good half-inch deep, just like she loved it. “You can never have enough chocolate.”
Some oozed over the edge of the pan, and she wiped it free with her finger, sampling the creamy icing with her tongue. She sighed in pleasure, ignoring the nagging thought of the extra pound her scales showed that morning. Oh, come on. Any decent pastry chef had to sample her wares now and then.
The front door buzzer sounded and she glanced at the clock. 8:40, she didn’t open for another 20 minutes. “Damn, can’t anybody read?”
Wiping her hands on a towel, she called. “I’ll be right there. You’re early.”
Her gaze swept across the three frosted cakes still waiting to go into the display case. She picked up the Black Forest, adjusted a cherry, and went through the two white swinging doors and out into the front of the bakery.
Sounds good...I have to agree with Brianna...a pastry chef should occasionally taste their work...lol...I love Black Forest cake too....this anthology style book sounds interesting..each story just different enough to draw a reader in
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