Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Book 2
By E.J. Wesley
()
About this ebook
After receiving an ancient tribal journal from her grandfather, Jenny is sent on a mission of discovery in an attempt to unravel clues to her family's monster hunting past. The journey becomes more than academic when she is asked to confront a coven of dangerous witches who plan to cast an insidious spell on the plains of West Texas.
Witch's Nocturne is approximately 17,500 words or 55 pages and is the second installment of the Moonsongs Books, an ongoing series of New Adult, paranormal-horror-action novelettes by author E.J. Wesley.
Moonsongs Series List
Blood Fugue, Book 1
Witch's Nocturne, Book 2
Dark Prelude, Book 3
Moonsongs Anthology 1 (books 1, 2, & 3)
(These stories contain language and content better suited for readers 17+)
E.J. Wesley
Growing up in small-town Oklahoma, there were limits on the amount and types of entertainment at my disposal. Perhaps that’s why I set my imagination free. After collecting degrees in psychology and counseling, life brought me to Missouri, Texas, and Northern California—where I currently read, write, and live. I fill my spare time playing video games, watching movies, planning for the zombie apocalypse, reading graphic novels, and playing with my dogs.
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Blood Fugue, Moonsongs Book 1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWitch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Book 2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDark Prelude, Moonsongs Book 3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Book 2 - E.J. Wesley
33
Witch’s Nocturne
Moonsongs Book 2
E.J. Wesley
Witch’s Nocturne, Moonsongs Book 2
Copyright © 2012 by E.J. Wesley
Smashwords Editions
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or critical analysis. If you didn’t legally obtain this book, please respect the author’s efforts and purchase a copy via an authorized retailer.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between the details found herein and the real world are fictitious or a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
All copyright inquiries can be directed to:
Editing by:
Labelle’s Writing on the Wall Editorial Serviceshttp://labelleseditorialservices.com
Cover art & design by:
Sketcher Girl Studios LLC http://sketchergirlstudios.com/index.html
This is dedicated to my mother and father for their unfaltering love and support. And for also encouraging me to believe that work and dreaming could share a place in the world.
Contents
Dedication
Beginning
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Despite being cocooned inside a warm vehicle, my arms prickled. Outside, a gray November sky churned, spitting moisture on a small, tidy graveyard below. A distant willow tree, limbs only dotted with leaves this late in the season, whipped about wildly in a gusting breeze. Beneath the tree were three graves, but only two of them were filled. I smiled.
There wasn’t much fond recollection in the gesture. Truthfully, I’d barely known any of the names on the headstones. However, I did owe the man who belonged in the empty grave some credit for my excited mood. Thanks to him, my life had been transformed, a revolution twenty-two years in the making.
A glance at my mother’s headstone, the one furthest to the left in the trio, sent my foot stretching toward the accelerator in the floorboard. My hand paused on the gearshift.
I should get out and pay my respects…
That’s why I’d come out here, wasn’t it? I’d only visited Mom’s grave twice since she’d died. One of those times had been at Granny’s funeral, a little over a year ago. I wasn’t even sure if that counted.
A familiar cauldron of anger and regret bubbled over in my gut.
Wasn’t their fault I had no relationship with them…
But was it mine? After Mom died, my alcoholic father had kept me away from my only living grandparents. Dad was dead and gone by the age of sixteen. I’d thought Grandpa had died somewhere in between. That left just Granny and me. We were reluctant housemates until cancer drew a line through her name. Suddenly, I was alone, twisting in the breeze like the last leaf on a barren and dying family tree.
Then Grandpa showed back up.
I revved the engine of the pickup to an angry roar and banged my fist on the steering wheel. A couple of skinny blackbirds perched on a granite cross nearby took to the air. Their muted, laughing squawks filtered through the windows as the engine idled down.
Even they think I’m a chicken shit,
I muttered.
I sighed, and put the truck into drive. Seeing Mom’s and Granny’s expiration dates plastered on a rock—like some kind of fucking geological milk carton—was more than I cared to bite off for one day.
I’d made the trip. Next time, I’ll actually get out of the car, Mom.
By the time I’d driven home, the giddy optimism had been beaten out of me, not knowing why I’d even gone to the graveyard. It’s wasn’t like my ghost family would be hanging out, waiting to give me props for finally beginning to figure my life out. Even if they had been there, I had news for them: their little caterpillar was more of an ugly, floundering moth than dazzling butterfly.
A visit to the rusted mailbox at the curb confirmed just how little I’d grown. Another cutoff notice on my water bill waited for me. I owed thirty dollars. I spent more on my weekly energy drink habit for Christ’s sake. Even at twenty-two, I could still find creative ways to epically suck at being a responsible adult.
Honestly, other than not being able to flush a toilet, I couldn’t say I’d have missed the water much. Any old Western movie was all the proof I needed to know only dying men and animals would drink anything but whiskey out here on the Texas plains. God only knew the last time they ran tests on the stuff they were passing off as tap water.
Most of the H2O came from Lake Hollow, a modest-sized reservoir, located outside of town near the cemetery. The lake was a cool place to throw a keg party—and an algae lover’s paradise—but our little watering hole wasn’t of much use to anyone in need of more than a brown shower.
After shipping a chunk of money off to the bloodsuckers at city hall, I checked my Craigslist accounts. I’d need to replace the thirty bucks soon, or go into caffeine withdrawal.
My computer and video