The Witch of Purple Coastline: The Lost Witch Series, #3

By Leona Bushman

The McNealy Saga Continues

Jules hated that her sisters possessed so much more control over their magic than she had. She wished she had half the control Demeter possessed and maybe even a few of her extra skills as well. Their father was on a war path for power, and now that he had competition, they all worried that he would push harder before they were ready. Jules didn't seem to have a connection to the earth, or fire, or water, or anything. She was just...a purveyor of magic tricks as far as she was concerned despite her mother and sister's encouragements. But then, Bartholomew crashed his boat near her and sparks flew. She no longer cared if she was as strong or powerful as her sisters. She just wanted him.
Bartholomew sailed his large boat out often, but this time, a weird wind smashed him against the rocks out of nowhere. Fortunately, someone near by came and rescued him before the oddly wild waves tore him up too badly. Someone beautiful, intelligent, and just a bit shy...except when they touched. He watched her bloom like the violet flowers she surrounded herself with. Could he convince this beauty to accept him and give him a chance at love despite his secrets? Or would it kill the trust they built?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leona Bushman
• Release date: Sep 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393219286

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are used fictionally, or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to real places or people are purely coincidental or fictionalized.

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To my muse.

Epilogue

Kingdom of Alba, Early 4th Century

The men rode in with their spears and swords, demanding food and bringing a new religion. They came in blood and fire and force.

The Pictish witches saw the writing on the wall as it magically infused itself on the caves. At the same time, the seers foretold a wash of their way of life, again showing violence and death to those powerful in the ancient ways of magic, so they began saving it on stones, hidden meanings, in stories, in their families. But as time passed, they knew it would not be enough.

Three great families were chosen as the vessels and keepers of the magic. Families already powerful and plentiful to ensure the magic and olde ways would not be forgotten.

One family chosen to hold all the powers in one, dormant unless needed, joined their ranks. The magic sleeping within their ancestors unless the powers called out.

The one family remained secret from all but the three, and the one who performed the magic spell to ensure the continuation of the Earth. They were to call on the ancestors of the one family if their lines became in peril or their magic waned from disuse. History handed down from one generation to the next.

They kept up their way of life, of the blessings of olde magic. The animal callers, the fire and air callers, the earth and water, and those who possessed all. As time passed, fewer believed. More turned to the new religion as the men came. Violence abounded. New missionaries came. Some retained their knowledge and tried to keep the olde ways alive.

But, as all of history knows, these stories become legends, myths, and so people forgot their true calling, the meaning of the symbols lost in time. The magic, dormant except in a few gifted who kept the magic alive.

Until the era of peril, when all balance was lost.

Until then, it lay hidden in time and blood.

Chapter One

Somewhere along the Potomac River...

Wind smashed suddenly down on him. Bartholomew worked hard at steering toward the area he wanted. The Potomac crashed against the shore as if the ocean in a hurricane. He was losing control fast, and he had no idea how far off course the wind had blown him. Never in his twenty eight years had something as bad as this happened to him.

His father had taken him boating since before he could remember. They never went out in hurricane weather, and this weather was just that freaky—without the warning. He couldn’t see anything but blinding rain. The wind howled, his boat going almost straight up on the waves, the river’s flow, hidden in the nasty gusts and water swells. How could he even know which way to go?

Like this, he could end up blown down the river and out to sea and be none the wiser. The shore, which normally could be seen from anywhere on the Potomac, even from the opposite side, lay obscured, the sounds of water crashing against it his only clue to which direction might be the closest to him.

His arms burned with the effort of trying to keep the boat in a semblance of direction he hoped was Old Alexandria as he’d originally planned. God, he wished he knew a spell to put a bubble around himself. Or the natural ability to control water. Anything. Then something dark and dank came flying up out of the water. He threw his hands up to cover his face, but it still hit him. His mind blacked out as he crumpled to the floor.

HE GROANED, EVERYTHING hurting when he tried to move.

Shh, a woman’s voice said.

His insides came alert and softened all at once. Oh shit. Wow. Right now? Really fate? He did not have time for this. Why find a true pairing now? So rare anyway, definitely not the best time. His family... He groaned again, this time in frustration. His father needed him to do some history research in Old Alexandria. Something about ancestry and magic. It would have to wait. His head pounded something fierce when he tried to move, so he lay still.

Hell. Where was he?

Where— he croaked, his mouth dry.

You’re on shore in Maryland. Near the Gaylord Hotel.

Finally, the effort to open his eyes paid off, and he could clearly see the person speaking. The woman’s rich hair defied the elements. Though he could clearly see the water falling on it, it still glowed with auburn highlights, the soft curls framing a perfect face. He blinked. No, not perfect, he guessed, not with those freckles scattered across the nose, but he smiled as he saw her lips open and her breath catch.

Perfect to him.

Before he could reach up and caress her face, her lips thinned as she pressed them together and stood up. We need to get you back to the hotel and dried off.

Barely affording him the smallest of glances, she lifted a hand to hold her hair which had started billowing in the wind, Now the rain hit it, and the curls, though still evident, looked less curly and more straight. He shook his head then grabbed it as pain cut through him. Less curly and more straight? Really, Bart? he murmured to himself even as all the aches and cuts caused his body to feel as if it were one big pain throb.

He just had to meet his true pairing now, after he’d lost control of his boat and looked like a fish out of water. With one hand propped under him, he tried to sit up, but he cried out as knives slashed through him. No, that wasn’t knives. His bones were causing that.

He bit back his grunt and gasp as he swayed. The wind still blew hard, but his boat sat nearby in the river, rocking gently back and forth as if it hadn’t just bucked him off like a rodeo horse. With a quick glance around to make sure no one else watched his movements, he waved his hand and dropped the traitorous boat’s anchor with magic. Then he subtly began to push the boat back toward the National Harbor docking area, trying to make it seem as if a natural progression amongst the water.

The boat was close enough to the other docks by the time she turned around that he let go of his spell and grimaced. Moving the boat had helped distract him from the broken wrist. Help me up, please, he said, swallowing his pride. A broken wrist and probably a twisted ankle, judging by the throbbing, while sitting on huge rocks he needed to climb was not the time to be shy about help.

She looked down at him, her mouth framing an ‘o’ of surprise. Of course. After she adjusted her stance, she reached down, and they grabbed forearms as she pulled him up. He held the broken wrist close to his chest, and with serious help from her, managed to stumble to the path. She possessed more strength than her slight build would have suggested, for which he was grateful.

Once he’d stood steady, he stared at the Gaylord Hotel. Well,