Before we get to Episode 19:
Zoraida Grey is up for a RONE Award!! Voting for the Long Paranormal category in Week 2 begins on April 24, but you need to register to vote. Go to www.indtale.com and Click the Subscribe button at the top of the page. You can opt in or out of additional emails and the whole thing is FREE. You will get an email to confirm your subscription. Be sure to do that to be eligible to vote.
If you have not read Zoraida Grey and the Family Stones–now is a great time. Grab a copy HERE and if you enjoy it, please vote for her in Week 2.
Voting for week 1 is under way. To vote, go to www.indtale.com and from the menu bar select InD’Scribe/Rones >2017 Rone Awards > 2017 Rone Awards Week 1. You will be prompted to register if you have not already done so. It’s free and easy.
You have plenty of time to read these short works and decide who to vote for. I recommend these three books in the Novella category now under consideration in Week 1:
- Barbara Bettis: The Lady of the Forest
- Becky Lower: A Regency Yuletide
- Sharon Buchbinder: The Haunting of Hotel LaBelle
The Rone is a prestigious award and Reader voting is only the first step in the process. A limited number of books will progress to the next level. YOUR vote might make a huge difference. Please take a few minutes to support writers who publish independently and with small publishers.
“A Cold Spring”
Need to catch up with the story?
Download Episodes 1-13 HERE or read in the file below.A Cold Spring 1_13
Episode 19: Something Witchy This Way Comes
Far to the east, a full moon rises behind glacier-encrusted mountains shimmering with the last red rays of the sunset. Unruly cataracts tumble from the heights, falling in a silver ribbon and exploding in white mist. The Whispering River runs in a snaking blue line from its ancient bed at the base of the mountains, past the foothills, and into Highmoor Valley. In a wide curve it skirts the valley’s edge. I hear its cold waters leaping from stone to stone as it plunges down the incline Mayebelle and I have just ascended.
The cool, damp breeze carries a sweet scent of meadow grass and early spring wildflowers. From the forest a chorus of spring frogs chirp and an owl glides past with a satiny whoosh.
Dotted with last year’s weeds, the road winds down the incline and comes to a sudden stop. Waist-high wheat-colored remnants of last summer’s grass and the first pale green shoots of the spring growth stretch for acres. No turreted castle, no flames, no Maddock.
The breath I’ve been holding leaves my lungs with a sickening gasp. I sink to my knees, eyes wide in the near dark, searching for any sign, for any hint, for any hope.
I clutch the witch stone with one hand and steady myself on the cold stones of the path with the other. The stone throbs like a beating heart, blood-warm.
Mayebelle rubs a gnarled hand up and down my back but I find no comfort in her touch.
“I’ll build a fire in the hollow,” she says. “We’ll wait for dawn.”
I try to rise, but a sharp pain claws my side. And then another. A warm effluence dampens the inside of my thighs and I stare helplessly at the growing puddle at my feet.
“Your water’s broken,” says Mayebelle matter-of-factly. “The baby is coming.”