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Although, as we know, we never really reach the end. And so I’m zipping through the manuscript of A Signal Shown, Book Two of the Wisdom Court series, adding a bit here and there so I can get it off to my beta readers. As I finished on page 301, I let out a deep breath and thought about heading to the refrigerator for the bottle of champagne I put there several days ago. I never pass up a chance to click champagne glasses because they’re not always frequent, those celebratory writing moments.

As soon as I have feedback from the readers I’ll make one more pass through the prose and then submit the book for eformatting at ePublishingWorks!. They’ve done such good work with my two mysteries Scavenger Hunt and Obstacle Course. As soon as the new book is ready, the first Wisdom Court book, Edge of the Shadow, along with A Signal Shown, will be epublished. And how will I greet that frabjous day? By telling the world about my wonderful books and–oh yeah–by plugging away on the third Wisdom Court book, All in Bad Time. You have to be true to the story arc.

So, my friends, here’s a sample from Wisdom Court Book One, my first metaphysical thriller, Edge of the Shadow:

“Mistletoe to break the lock.” The woman seated at the small table sprinkled leaves into the shallow bowl next to the candle illuminating the room.

The windows at her back were closed and curtained but the flame fluttered, deepening the red of her upswept hair and gleaming along the silver threads in her robe. Her gaze darted toward the gloom in the corners as she reached into another bag.

“I call upon the spirits.” Spiky thistle leaves fell to the pottery surface. Groping inside a leather pouch she pulled out dry needles. They dropped from her hand as she whispered, “Yew to raise the dead.”

A gauzy sack yielded graying fronds. “Balm of Gilead, manifest the one I seek.”

After a glance down at the ancient book open across her lap she murmured, “Protection born of amaranth. And borage for courage,” she added under her breath, releasing the last bits into the container.

Shadows stirred along the wall as she twisted the candle from the saucer and held it to the herbal mixture, taking care to push her flowing sleeve away from the dish. Pungent smoke drifted upward as she replaced the taper.

A breath of air touched her and she turned, half-glimpsing motion but unable to find its source. Again the flame wobbled, and behind her the curtain billowed upward. The border of the coarsely woven material brushed the wick as it fell back into place.

A tiny spark gnawed along the threads until it burned.

And that’s The End for today. Cheers!

 

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