The Witches of Storm Island: Book I: The Turning

Book 1: Related to: The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series

by Linda Watkins

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Historical Romance; Witches; Romantic Suspense; historical romance; prequel novella; witches; dark fantasy

Synopsis

From USA Today bestselling author, Linda Watkins!

The prequel to the award-winning STORM ISLAND.

It is the Year of Our Lord 1685 and fourteen-year-old Maude Prichard finds herself at a crossroads in life. A chance meeting with a strange woman, who never ages, sets the young Puritan maid on a path littered with fear, superstition, and witchcraft. A boy whose love is forbidden and an old man, drenched in darkness and depravity, will catapult Maude out of her well-ordered world into a life fraught with danger.

>>>Travel with her as she journeys from the Massachusetts Bay Colony to the wilds of Maine where she will finally take her place among The Witches of Storm Island!

The Witches of Storm Island is the first installment in a prequel series to the modern-day Kate Pomeroy Mysteries.Scroll Up and Grab Your Copy Today!

Release date: January 21, 2019

Publisher: Argon Press

Print pages: 150

Sample

PROLOGUE

JUST OFF THE COAST OF STORM ISLAND, MAINE
June 1, 1698

MY ARMS ACHED from rowing and I paused for a moment, glancing over my shoulder. Storm Island was still visible in the distance – beautiful to see in the fading light, but I knew better. It was, in fact, a cold place and had proved itself, in the last twenty-four hours, to be ever so deadly. I spat into the sea, cursing its name as my skiff slid silently through the icy waters. Gazing at the ocean around me, I thanked the powers that be that, for at least this one night, all was calm. The sky was rapidly darkening, the full moon hidden behind dense cloud cover. This, too, was a blessing. No doubt there were searchers out looking for me.

A dark tear slid down my cheek. Storm had been my home for six years and I’d been happy there. Had everything I’d given up been worth it? I’d thought so, but now I didn’t know. Taking a deep breath, I shook off my melancholy and acknowledged that now was not the time for soul-searching or recrimination. That would come later; that is, if I survived to think on it.

Turning my head once again toward the mainland, I angrily brushed my tears aside and leaned my shoulders to the task at hand. The coastline now loomed large and my breath quickened along with my stroke. A chance for freedom would soon be at hand. 

But, what then? What would become of me now? And, how could I live with the memory of the carnage I had just witnessed? A sob escaped my throat when I thought about those who had recently perished and about my loved ones whose fate was still to me unknown. Perhaps they were in God’s hands now, be that a blessing or a curse.

A deep-seated anger pushed aside my sadness and I rowed with renewed vigor. The bastards who had hunted us down would pay. Oh, maybe not tomorrow – maybe not in the next year or even in the next hundred years – but they would pay! They would suffer as my people had suffered. And they would rue the day they let me escape. Yes, the name Maude Levine, née Prichard, would be a curse on their souls and the souls of their families for generations and generations to come. 

Deeply distracted by my woolgathering, I was surprised when the skiff hit the rocks and I had to cling to its sides to keep from being thrown overboard. Finally, when the craft righted itself, I laughed. Had I escaped the burning only to be tossed into the cruel sea and drowned? No, that end was something I would not abide.

Resolved, I pushed my small boat off the rocks and paddled, looking for a place to put to shore. Finding a tiny cove, I lifted my heavy skirts and, bracing myself for the icy bite of the water, stepped from the craft and waded ashore. 

The moon broke through the clouds as my feet sunk into the soft sand. For the first time that night, I felt a glimmer of hope. I had made it – I was free – free of the island, free of the ignorant clergy, and, most importantly, free to plot my revenge.