Book Showcase: Witches- Tea Party by Mark Taylor (with Giveaway!)
Title Witches: Tea Party
Author Mark Taylor
Amazon purchasing link
In Salem, 1692, Marie-Anne witnessed the death of her friend and confidant, Sarah Good. Charged with being a witch, Sarah goes to the gallows to protect Marie-Anne, a true witch.
Three hundred years later, Marie-Anne, under the name Mary Anson, vows to put things right.
With a new coven - Dina, Excalibur, and Lady - Mary puts in motion the steps to right what went wrong...and what followers is a chase across the country, a chase against time, pursued by monsters and darkness...
...will Mary put things right?
...or will she die trying?
As Mary drove past the fields heading back into Wichita, she glanced at Dina who hadn’t felt the need to speak since they had left the Cemetery, leaving Mary to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Trying to open a conversation, she said, “I don’t think that Excalibur likes me much.”
“I would not worry. I have known her for…” Dina paused for thought, “around one hundred and twenty years, and no, she does not tolerate others well. If, however, she has decided to take to you—which she has or she would have turned the other way by now—she will help you and protect you.”
“So she likes me?”
“I said taken to you, it is quite different.”
The traffic had become heavier now—quite different to how it was when Mary had come the other way some two hours ago. SUVs had started to roll along the roads, trucks and workers starting the commute. She even needed to concentrate on the road, all the while maintaining a view on the car following—making sure that Lady and Excalibur hadn’t lost sight of them.
Mary glanced to Dina. “So will you help me?”
Dina nodded. “I expect that we will. Once we reach your apartment we will discuss the arrangements and decide how to move forward.”
Mary felt warm. It was the first time that anyone had offered help to her in over a hundred years. Sheer companionship was something she had simply done without. It felt…nice. With a small and compassionate smile on her face she looked at Dina. She looked concerned…worried even. “What is it?” Mary asked.
Dina replied with only one word. “Damned.” Her eyes were fixed firmly through the windshield on the cars in front. She squinted through the early morning light. “It is an Essence Monger.”
Mary shook her head, looking out of the car in the same direction as Dina. “What? What is?”
“There.” She pointed toward the cars in front. “Do you see that…the SUV, the one with the tarps on the roof?”
Mary nodded, “Yes, of course.” She waited for Dina to explain, and when she didn’t Mary continued, “Well…what?”
“They are not tarps.”
Mary took another look at the SUV with the black materials flapping in the wind above it. It looked smooth—like silk—and its blackness was unlike any material she had seen before. “I don’t understand,” she said, “what’s going on?”
Dina stiffened in her seat. “It is not of this world.”
Whatever it was that was attached to the SUV suddenly released. It flew through the air—seemingly carried on the wind—towards Mary’s car. The closer it got, the less likely it was to actually be carried by the wind. It spun through the air, dodged the traffic around it…aiming for Mary. It finally came to rest on the windshield of the car, removing the roads—and traffic—from the view of the occupants.
Mary didn’t know what was more disturbing: the loss of view at sixty; or the tormented face of Hell that grimaced through the glass at her. It looked like Death. Its half skinned fingers wrapped around the edges of the car—curling around the corners of the doors. It slid its face up the windshield and leered with rotten skin and through rotten teeth at her, and through the glass, and the wind, she heard its voice.
“You betrayed him…”
Mark Taylor's debut novel crash landed on planet earth in 2013. Its dark brooding style benchmarked his writing and has led to further releases of novel and short story collection alike.
While most of Mark's work is macabre, occasion has it that he will write about kittens and daisies. Just not very often.
Some say he is a product of his environment, others, a product of his own imagination.
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