Yay! Today I have author Camilla Chafer on the blog and straight off, have you seen this GORGEOUS cover? Complete cover lust! I'm excited to be part of the blog tour and this is definitely a book to read...When signing up, I tried to think of the best way to share a feel of the book. Without a doubt, I love book excerpts so I had Camilla choose one and I hope you enjoy it.
Let me show you the cover and blurb first!
More than three hundred years after the most terrifying witch hunts the world has ever known, it's happening again.
Racing from attack by the ruthless Brotherhood in London to the powerful witch council in New York, twenty-four-year-old witch Stella has to put her faith in strangers just to stay alive but she might not be any safer in their midst than from the danger she is running from. Sent to an extraordinary safe house by the sea to learn her craft, Stella discovers there is more than one dark secret in her new family: Étoile’s sister is spoken of in fear and sadness; Marc is supposed to be a powerful witch but is missing his magic; where does the owner of their safe house vanish to every day and why does Evan have the eyes of someone not quite human? There is only one secret that someone will do anything to keep quiet, but whose secret is it and will Stella have to pay the price for silence?
** Book Excerpt **
The man was perfectly non-descript. White face, a little too pale like he didn’t spend much time outdoors, brown eyes, short brown hair and a neatly clipped beard. He wore a black suit and thin blue tie and held a big book in his hands. He seemed utterly relaxed where he sat in a large leather wing chair against a wall papered in taupe stripes. He could have been a professor or a TV grandfather reading a story. His voice, a rich baritone, was the only remarkable thing about him as he began to speak. “We, the Brotherhood, claim responsibility for killing the witches. For centuries, our forefathers have ignored these wicked beings but the time has come to cleanse our world of these...” Here he looked directly at the camera and waved a pointed finger as he spat the words, his mouth twisted in disgust, “Monsters. They who try to dazzle us with their magic, who claim to be good women, why, they are nothing more than witches! They are evil incarnate!”
The man swam out of view and new pictures flickered on to the screen. But it wasn’t the television reception fading again; it was image after image of silent women writhing amidst flames. Someone had filmed them as they burned. I pushed my hand into my mouth so that I could not scream for them.
“We have hunted the witches in France, Germany, Italy, Bulgaria, Spain, Norway, Russia and England,” continued the man, his voice laid over the horrendous scenes. “We will find every witch and we will not rest until every last one of them has burned and their blight driven from this earth. We are the Brotherhood and we have spoken.”
The video abruptly ended and the camera panned back to the horrified news anchor. Her mouth opened and closed like a petulant fish before she recovered her composure. “We have just seen a video reporting to be from the ... Brotherhood, who claim to be responsible for the murder of ... witches ... of women, throughout Europe.” She collected herself quickly, ending in an even tone, “We will bring you more news as developments arise.”
I reached for the remote and switched the channel over. The next station was just finishing the same clip. And the next station, and the one after that and by then I had run out of TV stations. Had all the cable stations just relayed the same message across the country too? Did every viewer have to see those images of the women dying so brutally?
When a fist pounded on my door, I jumped so high that hot tea slopped over the edges of the mug and splashed on my fingers. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming out loud more from fear than from being scolded.
I was tense with fear as I got up. I was sure no one else was in the building other than old Mrs Kemp and she never came upstairs, so whoever was at the door wasn’t someone known to me. I didn’t need to look around to know that there was no way out of the flat other than the door by which I had entered.
I wished I had an arsenal that I could draw on to protect myself or some kick-ass ninja skills. I wished I could have zapped my way out of there but I had to remind myself it wasn’t an exact art and I would probably materialise somewhere I didn’t want to be, like in the arms of a gang who wanted to burn me to death. Not an option.
Instead, I slipped towards the kitchen as lightly as I could, trying not to make the floorboards squeak. I snatched a dinner knife from the drawer and with this pathetic little weapon in my hand, I crept towards the door.
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