Prologue
Five days a week, rain or shine, I’m up and out the door by five forty-five a.m. anxious to start my day with a brisk walk along the winding bluffs and beaches of New Moon Beach. My constant companion is a well worn turquoise travel mug with painted palm trees on it; filled to the brim with hot french vanilla coffee. I’m pretty much a creature of habit, addicted to following the same routine, day in or day out. I guess you could say that’s what makes me… me.
To be truly happy, I crave the morning smells of the sea, the sound of crashing waves and the taste of sea salt on my lips. I’m somehow energized by the antics of the ugly brown pelicans that recklessly dive in and out of the coastal waters. And my spirits are religiously boosted by the sun rays that warm my back or the fog that chills me to the bone as I walk our local sandy shores. I revel in the smell of the old creosote saturated timbers of our piers and the sometimes pungent stink of a seaweed laden red tide. My morning beach routine is a must and acts like an invigorating tonic filling me up and fortifying me for my day ahead.
I’ve only lived in New Moon Beach for about a year. I came here after I graduated from college and, since moving here, I’ve never really wanted to live anywhere else. My name is Ola Mae Masters and New Moon Beach is where I’ve made my home and where I plan on staying.
I caught you just then. You might not have realized it, but I could hear you laughing out loud when I mentioned my first name. After all, who names their kid Ola Mae - right? I may be short in stature, but all five foot two of me is highly sensitive - so don’t doubt me when I tell you that I can still hear you laughing. In truth, I think that you’ll soon realize that both me and my name are unusual.
Why my mom named me Ola Mae is a mystery to me. Was it her mother’s name, her grandmother’s? Who knows? I’m pretty sure that my father had nothing to do with naming me and even less to do with loving me back then. I don’t know where my curly blonde hair, the dusting of freckles that run across my nose or my crystal blue eyes come from. I have just tiny snippets of memories of my mom and from the one and only picture I have of her, I can tell you that I look nothing like her. One thing that I do know for sure is that I was left at an orphanage, slash boarding school, when I was really young. It wasn’t a happy place and those are the memories that I keep tucked away, deep inside. Not the kind of recollections I want to dwell on during my morning walks.
Since moving here, I’ve made it a point to get to know most everyone in town and my morning walks are generally punctuated by greetings from regular beach folk. Same morning walk – same morning people; only the sea changes. Oh, and I’ve been successful in getting all of my new friends and neighbors to just call me, Mae.
Some mornings I fight ridiculously sand coated whirlwinds that actually bring tears to my eyes. Other mornings I enjoy the gentle breezes that kiss the shoreline, whisking away sandal free footprints left by early morning surfers. My favorite mornings are when the ocean erupts with furious power. Raging waves crash the shoreline, challenging even the best swimmers and making fishermen wish they’d just stayed home in bed. It’s almost as if the sea knows I’m coming and waits, ready to help me define my mood for the day.
I love watching the surfers riding on foam tipped waves; often crashing but rarely giving up. I haven’t tried surfing yet, but that hasn’t stopped me from getting to know the names of most of these early morning athletes. A few of them have offered to teach me how to ride a wave, but I haven’t found the time or the nerve yet.
The ocean, the surfers, the birds, the beach walkers - they are the constants in my life; acting like stand-in family members. Guess that’s why something felt off this morning as a unique new character unexpectedly materialized in New Moon Beach.
She was an unknown face in town; at least she was new to me. She caught my eye in part because she was sitting motionless, dressed all in black from head to toe; including a large pair of Jackie O designer sunglasses that covered a good portion of her small, round face. Raven black hair was collected on the top of her head the way a geisha would wear it. And shiny, red enameled chopsticks protruded from an unkempt bun that rocked precariously, buffeted by the early morning sea breezes. If I let my imagination run wild, I could envision those chopsticks becoming some kind of mortal weaponry with razor-sharp tips, capable of puncturing even the toughest of skin. Her bushy black mane had a strange, dull hue to it and I momentarily wondered whether it was her real hair or just some random wig worn as an attention seeking fashion statement.
Looking at her black attire one might wonder if she might have attended a funeral this morning, although that seemed highly unlikely since the sun was just now coming up. She wore a tightly fit black suit with shiny buttons that glittered like diamonds in the morning sunlight. The jacket’s tight Nehru collar squeezed her neck, forcing her soft double chin upward and making her look a bit like a pretty bullfrog. Black spidery lace crawled out from the cuffs of her jacket and shrouded delicate pale hands. Her short A-line skirt accentuated long spindly legs encased in sleek, red soled high heeled boots; a far cry from the flip flops and tennis shoes most beach goers were sporting this morning.
If I hadn’t had such a close-up sighting, I’d have presumed that our visitor was in her late sixties. However, the part of her face not covered by her obnoxious sunglasses was surprisingly free of wrinkles, revealing someone much younger. Even though the visible part of her face was without lines, there was still a harshness to it and a pallor that spoke of illness, made all the more noticeable because the natural sun kissed tan common among the majority of our New Moon Beach residents was absent. But, if I’m really being truthful, what made the lady in black most unconventional was the strange aura emanating from her body. I mean the woman actually glowed.
Before I go any further, there’s something that I haven’t told you about myself that you really ought to know and it’s the main reason why I could actually see the glow radiating from the stranger’s body.
You see, I’m a witch.
I’ve only just recently learned that about myself. And yes, I do realize how strange that sounds. But from everything I’ve discovered about myself lately, I’m inclined to believe it. I have magic in me. And it kind of explains all of the strange vibes I’ve had since I was a kid. Back then I didn’t understand what any of it meant. I just didn’t get how magic affected my daily life. For that matter, magic still makes me uncomfortable, especially since it often erupts when I least expect it. But, that hasn’t stopped stuff from happening to me - mystical, magical, confusing stuff. And no matter how hard I’ve tried to block it out, it just keeps coming at me.
I can hear the dead and see them walking about town with their friends and they can see and even communicate with me. And I can read people’s minds, hear their thoughts; something I’ve never really gotten used to. The nuns never wanted to be around me since I could read their thoughts. Nuns must have had some pretty freaky stuff running through their heads; thoughts that they apparently didn’t want known by some kid. I’m pretty sure that there is more magical stuff that I am capable of, but it seems to be taking its time revealing itself to me.
And now this mystery woman was here, in my city, shooting a bucket load of those same peculiar feeling vibes my way. I can’t yet read her thoughts; perhaps she’s just too far away from where I’m standing. But, I have a fierce suspicion that she and I are going to get to know each other a lot better, if not now, very, very soon.
Staring closely at her, I watched as a lone tear escaped from behind her glasses as the woman in black suddenly came to life. She turned, pushed the sunglasses up onto her forehead, wiped the tear away with her index finger and focused her eyes directly on me. My stomach dropped. Her hypnotic gaze was unsettling and definitely not what I had expected. A pair of amber eyes, projecting a hint of both yellow and copper and shielded by extraordinarily thick black lashes, held me prisoner.
All at once I could feel my palms begin to sweat as my stomach rolled and a thundering roar filled my ears, completely silencing the sounds of the ocean. Anger bubbled out of the woman and it was as if I could feel her thoughts painfully trying to shove their way into my head. This was definitely not a mind I wanted to read!
Reality felt like an ugly pinch as it dawned on me that this was not the look of any normal woman in mourning, but perhaps a supernatural creature saturated by some crazy fury. Even with my newly emerging magical powers, I could not figure out why she was staring at me or directing her anger my way. Her lone tear now seemed more an expression of annoyance than an emotional release. The longer she looked at me, the more ill at ease I became. I mentally shoved back, refusing to let her fierce thoughts intrude into my brain.
Who the heck was this dark diva and what was she doing on my beach? And why did I have the ominous feeling that she brought a whole lot of danger with her to our quaint seaside town of New Moon Beach? A chill ran down my back causing me to consider what other dark magic she may have sent my way. Was she alone or attached to something or someone far worse?
https://books2read.com/u/bpqWPW
Five days a week, rain or shine, I’m up and out the door by five forty-five a.m. anxious to start my day with a brisk walk along the winding bluffs and beaches of New Moon Beach. My constant companion is a well worn turquoise travel mug with painted palm trees on it; filled to the brim with hot french vanilla coffee. I’m pretty much a creature of habit, addicted to following the same routine, day in or day out. I guess you could say that’s what makes me… me.
To be truly happy, I crave the morning smells of the sea, the sound of crashing waves and the taste of sea salt on my lips. I’m somehow energized by the antics of the ugly brown pelicans that recklessly dive in and out of the coastal waters. And my spirits are religiously boosted by the sun rays that warm my back or the fog that chills me to the bone as I walk our local sandy shores. I revel in the smell of the old creosote saturated timbers of our piers and the sometimes pungent stink of a seaweed laden red tide. My morning beach routine is a must and acts like an invigorating tonic filling me up and fortifying me for my day ahead.
I’ve only lived in New Moon Beach for about a year. I came here after I graduated from college and, since moving here, I’ve never really wanted to live anywhere else. My name is Ola Mae Masters and New Moon Beach is where I’ve made my home and where I plan on staying.
I caught you just then. You might not have realized it, but I could hear you laughing out loud when I mentioned my first name. After all, who names their kid Ola Mae - right? I may be short in stature, but all five foot two of me is highly sensitive - so don’t doubt me when I tell you that I can still hear you laughing. In truth, I think that you’ll soon realize that both me and my name are unusual.
Why my mom named me Ola Mae is a mystery to me. Was it her mother’s name, her grandmother’s? Who knows? I’m pretty sure that my father had nothing to do with naming me and even less to do with loving me back then. I don’t know where my curly blonde hair, the dusting of freckles that run across my nose or my crystal blue eyes come from. I have just tiny snippets of memories of my mom and from the one and only picture I have of her, I can tell you that I look nothing like her. One thing that I do know for sure is that I was left at an orphanage, slash boarding school, when I was really young. It wasn’t a happy place and those are the memories that I keep tucked away, deep inside. Not the kind of recollections I want to dwell on during my morning walks.
Since moving here, I’ve made it a point to get to know most everyone in town and my morning walks are generally punctuated by greetings from regular beach folk. Same morning walk – same morning people; only the sea changes. Oh, and I’ve been successful in getting all of my new friends and neighbors to just call me, Mae.
Some mornings I fight ridiculously sand coated whirlwinds that actually bring tears to my eyes. Other mornings I enjoy the gentle breezes that kiss the shoreline, whisking away sandal free footprints left by early morning surfers. My favorite mornings are when the ocean erupts with furious power. Raging waves crash the shoreline, challenging even the best swimmers and making fishermen wish they’d just stayed home in bed. It’s almost as if the sea knows I’m coming and waits, ready to help me define my mood for the day.
I love watching the surfers riding on foam tipped waves; often crashing but rarely giving up. I haven’t tried surfing yet, but that hasn’t stopped me from getting to know the names of most of these early morning athletes. A few of them have offered to teach me how to ride a wave, but I haven’t found the time or the nerve yet.
The ocean, the surfers, the birds, the beach walkers - they are the constants in my life; acting like stand-in family members. Guess that’s why something felt off this morning as a unique new character unexpectedly materialized in New Moon Beach.
She was an unknown face in town; at least she was new to me. She caught my eye in part because she was sitting motionless, dressed all in black from head to toe; including a large pair of Jackie O designer sunglasses that covered a good portion of her small, round face. Raven black hair was collected on the top of her head the way a geisha would wear it. And shiny, red enameled chopsticks protruded from an unkempt bun that rocked precariously, buffeted by the early morning sea breezes. If I let my imagination run wild, I could envision those chopsticks becoming some kind of mortal weaponry with razor-sharp tips, capable of puncturing even the toughest of skin. Her bushy black mane had a strange, dull hue to it and I momentarily wondered whether it was her real hair or just some random wig worn as an attention seeking fashion statement.
Looking at her black attire one might wonder if she might have attended a funeral this morning, although that seemed highly unlikely since the sun was just now coming up. She wore a tightly fit black suit with shiny buttons that glittered like diamonds in the morning sunlight. The jacket’s tight Nehru collar squeezed her neck, forcing her soft double chin upward and making her look a bit like a pretty bullfrog. Black spidery lace crawled out from the cuffs of her jacket and shrouded delicate pale hands. Her short A-line skirt accentuated long spindly legs encased in sleek, red soled high heeled boots; a far cry from the flip flops and tennis shoes most beach goers were sporting this morning.
If I hadn’t had such a close-up sighting, I’d have presumed that our visitor was in her late sixties. However, the part of her face not covered by her obnoxious sunglasses was surprisingly free of wrinkles, revealing someone much younger. Even though the visible part of her face was without lines, there was still a harshness to it and a pallor that spoke of illness, made all the more noticeable because the natural sun kissed tan common among the majority of our New Moon Beach residents was absent. But, if I’m really being truthful, what made the lady in black most unconventional was the strange aura emanating from her body. I mean the woman actually glowed.
Before I go any further, there’s something that I haven’t told you about myself that you really ought to know and it’s the main reason why I could actually see the glow radiating from the stranger’s body.
You see, I’m a witch.
I’ve only just recently learned that about myself. And yes, I do realize how strange that sounds. But from everything I’ve discovered about myself lately, I’m inclined to believe it. I have magic in me. And it kind of explains all of the strange vibes I’ve had since I was a kid. Back then I didn’t understand what any of it meant. I just didn’t get how magic affected my daily life. For that matter, magic still makes me uncomfortable, especially since it often erupts when I least expect it. But, that hasn’t stopped stuff from happening to me - mystical, magical, confusing stuff. And no matter how hard I’ve tried to block it out, it just keeps coming at me.
I can hear the dead and see them walking about town with their friends and they can see and even communicate with me. And I can read people’s minds, hear their thoughts; something I’ve never really gotten used to. The nuns never wanted to be around me since I could read their thoughts. Nuns must have had some pretty freaky stuff running through their heads; thoughts that they apparently didn’t want known by some kid. I’m pretty sure that there is more magical stuff that I am capable of, but it seems to be taking its time revealing itself to me.
And now this mystery woman was here, in my city, shooting a bucket load of those same peculiar feeling vibes my way. I can’t yet read her thoughts; perhaps she’s just too far away from where I’m standing. But, I have a fierce suspicion that she and I are going to get to know each other a lot better, if not now, very, very soon.
Staring closely at her, I watched as a lone tear escaped from behind her glasses as the woman in black suddenly came to life. She turned, pushed the sunglasses up onto her forehead, wiped the tear away with her index finger and focused her eyes directly on me. My stomach dropped. Her hypnotic gaze was unsettling and definitely not what I had expected. A pair of amber eyes, projecting a hint of both yellow and copper and shielded by extraordinarily thick black lashes, held me prisoner.
All at once I could feel my palms begin to sweat as my stomach rolled and a thundering roar filled my ears, completely silencing the sounds of the ocean. Anger bubbled out of the woman and it was as if I could feel her thoughts painfully trying to shove their way into my head. This was definitely not a mind I wanted to read!
Reality felt like an ugly pinch as it dawned on me that this was not the look of any normal woman in mourning, but perhaps a supernatural creature saturated by some crazy fury. Even with my newly emerging magical powers, I could not figure out why she was staring at me or directing her anger my way. Her lone tear now seemed more an expression of annoyance than an emotional release. The longer she looked at me, the more ill at ease I became. I mentally shoved back, refusing to let her fierce thoughts intrude into my brain.
Who the heck was this dark diva and what was she doing on my beach? And why did I have the ominous feeling that she brought a whole lot of danger with her to our quaint seaside town of New Moon Beach? A chill ran down my back causing me to consider what other dark magic she may have sent my way. Was she alone or attached to something or someone far worse?
https://books2read.com/u/bpqWPW