LOGINA descendant of one of the victims of the Salem Witch Trials in 1692, Genevieve is trying to cope with her ever-increasing powers in a modern world where Witches are supposed to be myths and magic doesn't exist. Still reeling from the unexpected death of her bestfriend and the sudden appearance of a handsome stranger, will she manage to find out the truth that is hiding just beneath the surface? That is until a handsome stranger enters her life and opens her eyes to her past, present and future.
View MoreThe first thing I do this morning is to buy the local newspaper on the way to work to see if anyone has reported the accident last night. I scan the newspaper and find the article, which luckily hasn't made it to the front page - thank goodness for small miracles. Last night a local man under the influence of alcohol plowed into 16-year-old Tommy Fletcher who is a local of Salem. He is currently being treated in hospital for a leg injury sustained during the accident. A witness has confirmed that Tommy was pinned underneath the vehicle and that an unknown female came to his rescue and stayed with him until help arrived. At this moment in time, the local police have not released the name of the driver, and have also been unable to confirm the identity of the unknown hero, but are keen to speak with her. A witness? Shit! I was so positive there was nobody else around last night. Oh my god! My mum is going to go ape shit if she puts two and two together! As I re-read the article I calm
I slowly walk home thinking about Charlotte and the things my mum had told me. It was hard to focus in the bar with the anonymous Micah commanding my attention - completely my fault by the way. Anyone would think I was a love-sick teenager and not a grown woman. If Charlotte were here she would have teased me relentlessly. As I walk, I suddenly hear brakes screeching and then a loud scream. Looking up I can see a dark blue Chevrolet has failed to stop and has hit what looks like a teenage boy. I immediately call 911 before running over to assess the damage. The car has mounted the curb and has pinned this poor boy by his leg underneath it. His screams are ferocious and I panic not knowing what to do. "It's ok - I've called an ambulance and they're on their way. What's your name?". I ask as calmly as I can. "Tommy". The boy replies crying "Please help me, I'm stuck". Looking at him he can't be more than 16. I look into the driver's side to find the driver is an older gentleman uncons
Instead of going home, I've ended up in O'Neills which is the only Irish bar in town. Sitting at home when I feel like this isn't a good idea. I'm sure a drink won't hurt me. Mac the owner puts a Guinness down on the bar as I take a seat. I frequent here enough that he knows what my drink of choice is. Just as I'm about to take a sip my eyes are drawn to a tall, dark-haired man standing at the pool table alone. My breath catches as I just stare at him like a mental patient. Who is this guy? As I cast my eyes over him like a ravenous animal I can immediately tell he's substantially taller than me; at least 6ft 5. He has lustrously thick black hair that looks untidy but beautiful. His eyes are expressive and large that look as deep as rich, dark chocolate. To top it off his lips are a plump and sultry shade of deep pink. Oh my god! I don't think I've ever seen a man as beautiful as him. I can't call him handsome as that word just doesn't do him justice. Before I can look away he sudden
I arrive at the kennels to find my mom deep in conversation with one of the dogs Rocky. I've warned her so many times that she needs to be careful talking to them when she's at work. All it takes is for one of the customers to walk in and they'd think she was nuts! "Rocky - now you know you need to take a bath. You'll be going home later and you need to be all shiny like a new penny, no arguments". Rocky barks then turns around in a circle and lies down in a huff. I don't need to be able to understand him to know he's defeated. "What brings you here sweetie?". Mum looks at me suspiciously. She knows when I show up unannounced that something is playing on my mind. She can read me like a book. I reluctantly pull the note from my pocket and hand it over to her. As she reads it, I see the worry take over her face and she takes an age to reply. It almost feels like she's calculating in her head what to say to me, which isn't like her at all. My mom is and always has been very direct and
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