A romp with Max Thorton becomes more, but Kenna McIntyre’s standing by her tried and true method of dating—she’s moving on. Having successfully dodged Max’s calls and crushed any remaining sparks, Kenna learns that one of their encounters has produced startling results—a pregnancy she didn’t believe possible and activation of her fire witch powers.
Can she reconcile her past relationship failures with a future that includes Max—if only as the father of her child? And what about her knitting, crafting, home-body mom who turns out to be a bad-ass fire witch fighting for the good of humans everywhere? Can Kenna be a devoted mom, a crime-fighting daughter, and a newly awakened witch without losing her sanity?
With the help of friends Lizzie and Jack, her shockingly capable mom, and a feisty little magical book that refuses to be silenced, Kenna might just have a shot.
Witch’s Diary is fourth in the Lost Library (Paranormal Urban Fantasy) series, but can be enjoyed as a standalone novel.
The following is an early draft excerpt from Witch’s Diary, the fourth book in the Lost Library series, Kenna and Max’s first book. Check back for a buy link.
An overflowing parking lot, crowds of people in the aisles, and long lines at the register. Kenna snorted. Her grocery store looked like a Black Friday rehearsal. What had she been thinking? Weekday evenings were always a madhouse. Early Sunday mornings were much more her style—fewer shoppers, fewer screaming kids, fewer people. The press of humanity alone should have been enough to send her home. Even worse, she’d woken up in a foul mood and hadn’t been able to shake it all day.
And yet, here she was, braving the masses, held hostage by her rabid mint chocolate chip ice cream craving. She suspiciously eyed a small child in front of her in the checkout lane. Picking his nose, wiping it—she looked away. She really wanted some creamy, minty, chocolaty goodness. Needed it.
Never tolerant of noisy crowds—queue and wait, how hard was that, people?—she was more keyed up than usual today. By the time she reached the cashier, she was ready to open her fave ice cream and start shoveling creamy, yummy mint into her mouth.
“I’m so sorry. We have to close this lane.” The perky teen working the register delivered her nugget of misery with a cheery smile. “The register’s not working.”
Kenna’s vision narrowed for a split second. She could feel her nostrils flaring. A brief glimpse of hazy red followed. Kenna debated an appropriate profanity, heedless of the young cashier’s innocence. Her crankiness had reached a level that no longer allowed for rational thought to prevail.
And then her day took a turn for the worse.
The cashier held a roll of register tape in one hand while she fiddled ineffectually with the inner workings of her register. Little wisps of smoke drifting up into the air caught Kenna’s eye. She followed the thin trail of smoke to the source, the register tape in the cashier’s hand.
She must have made a sound, because the cashier turned to Kenna, her gaze following Kenna’s to the smoking paper.
“Aah!” The cashier dropped the smoking roll.
Even the professionally cheerful cashier had a hard time remaining calm while holding a smoking wad of paper. And who could blame her for missing Kenna’s rapid departure? The unpaid-for mint chocolate chip ice cream in hand, of course.
Beating a hasty retreat was her primary concern, so the idea that magic was afoot seeped in only after she’d made it safely to the parking lot.
A few months ago, she’d have been just as surprised as the cashier. She huffed. Not now. She was in on the Secret. Magic, werewolves, spell casters? All real. She checked left, then right, and hot-footed it through the crosswalk with her booty. She looked down at her mint-chocolate ice cream and a small twinge of guilt pierced her rotten mood.
Theft—really? She sighed. She’d make sure to pay for it the next time she came to the grocery. She could hear her best friend, Lizzie, telling her “turn around and pay for it now.” She growled. Yanking her car door open, she climbed into her car and told imaginary Lizzie where she could go. Slamming her door shut, she decided she’d feel bad later. Right now she needed her damn ice cream.
She sat in her car and gathered the tattered remnants of her patience. The parking lot was a zoo. A very small, very quiet voice tried to reason with her that it was no surprise. But she refused to hear that voice. She wanted to go home and eat her freaking ice cream. She checked her rearview mirror, looked over her shoulder, reversed and backed out of the spot. Shifting into drive, she’d only traveled a few feet and—thwack!
Looking behind her, she saw a man exiting a large truck. A diesel pickup had tapped her bumper.
You have got to be kidding me!
Desperate to get home, almost in tears, she rolled her window down. She rarely cried, dammit. What was wrong with her? Grabbing her proof of insurance card from the glove box with her right hand, she swiped impatiently at the tears starting to fall from her eyes with her left. And as she was straightening back up in her seat, she saw little pieces of ash floating to the floor of her car. And no insurance card. She rubbed the gray, powdery remains between her fingers. Shit!
Seeing the apologetic man approaching her car, she blinked to clear her eyes and hiccupped. She leaned out of the window and said, “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’d just like to leave.”
He shoved a card in her hand and told her to call him if she found any damage. Kenna heard the words faintly as she drove away.