Title: THE CURSE
Genre: NA Paranormal
Word Count: 100K
Practical Magic collides with Romeo and Juliet in THE CURSE, a modern love story where witches time travel, jaded ghosts misbehave, and young love is tested with the ultimate sacrifice.
Execution for the crime of witchcraft is a thing of the past. Still, in these modern times, Ophelia and her family shroud their identity. A silence that has held Ophelia safe, until now.
Ophelia’s family has done well to hide their secret. So well, they’ve lost touch with the ways of the witch, Ophelia’s lack of powers a testament to their detachment. But their past pursues them. A dead relative is tracking Ophelia, the same witch who, by cursing another coven, forced Ophelia’s family go into hiding centuries prior. The spirit visits with a purpose: to protect Ophelia from a killer.
When Ophelia falls in love with Elwyn, she has no idea that he too is a witch or that their families share a dark history; the curse is slaying the men in Elwyn’s coven, leaving him the last of his line. Knowing death pursues him, Elwyn has come to town on a mission – the remedy to the hex lies in the killing of a witch. Ophelia is that witch.
When the truth is divulged, Ophelia faces a curse of her own: a choice that risks condemning a dead woman, murdering Elwyn, and ending her own life.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” Exodus 22:18
I was born into this life a witch – naked and pink as nature intended. And it was because of my birthright I was taken out of this world, naked just the same. Less pink. Less pure.
Hartford, Connecticut. 1652.
At the bow I sit, unclothed, not a thread of dignity left. Hunched and mortified, hands and ankles trussed with rope, all eyes are on my back. Storm clouds tumbling over head, a chill in the air, I look down at my body. My skin is gray and brown with filth, sickly and goose-fleshed, bruised and cut. My hair too is in a miserable state: matted and dangling, the red mesh of curls concealing my bare breasts.
The boat, a shallop large enough to support myself and seven others, rocks with the wind.
Along with the rocking, I receive a taste of what is to come. Beneath my bare feet washes the river water. The cold of it trickles from my toes up my spine, cursing me with a grievous shiver.
Swooped up by gloved hands, I am no longer sitting. Worn leather fingers pinch the undersides of my arms as I am hoisted off my feet and placed on the splintered edge of the shallop. Sharp wooden picks poke at my backside, sticking into my most sensitive of skin, purging a yelp from my mouth.
In an instant I am face to face with my accusers: acquaintances, the minister, fellow townspeople.