Becca, newly single and newly unemployed, wants to believe she has

psychic powers. With nothing but time – and a desire for empowerment –
she’s studying to become a witch. What she doesn’t know is that
her three cats – Harriet, Laurel, and Clara – are the ones with
the real power. And when Harriet – “a cream-colored longhair with
more fur than commonsense” – conjures a pillow for her own
comfort, Becca believes her spells are finally working. Could that be
why Trent, the coven’s devilishly handsome leader, has been showing
her special attention? Or why Suzanne, a longtime coven member, draws
her aside to share a secret – a confidence that may lead to murder?

Excerpt:

Chapter 1.

 

It was Harriet’s fault. It’s always her fault, not that she’ll ever admit it.

That was Clara’s first thought as she tried to settle on the sofa, flicking her long, grey tail with annoyance. As a cat, Clara wouldn’t usually have any trouble getting comfortable. That’s one special skill that all felines share. But even as she tried to calm her restive tail, curling it neatly around her snowy front paws, Clara, a petite, if plump, calico, couldn’t stop fretting.

Harriet was her oldest sister, a creamsicle-colored longhair with more fur than common sense. Still, despite the fluffy feline’s typical self-absorption, she and Clara and their middle sister, Laurel, had cohabited with a nice enough human for almost two years without any problems, until now. Until Harriet.

Yes, Becca, their human, had begun to believe she had psychic powers. Becca, who at twenty-six usually had more sense, was training to be a witch, as if that were something one could learn from books. But to the calico cat who now fumed quietly on the sofa, the petite brunette had always seemed a harmless soul—good with a can opener. Warm. Generous with her lap. And then, last week, Harriet—who cared only for her own comfort—conjured up a pillow.

“I was tired,” Harriet said, in that petulant mew that Clara knew so well, when asked why in the name of Bast she’d be so stupid. “Becca wasn’t even looking.”

“You could have moved!” her younger sibling hissed back, the grey whorls on her sides heaving with annoyance. “And she was!”

Harriet was taking up the sunny spot on the windowsill, as she always did that time of the morning, and Clara narrowed her mysterious green eyes to glare at her sister. Harriet was more than fluffy, she was immense, a pale orange marshmallow of a feline, whose furry bulk and predictable habits prevented her youngest sister from enjoying any of the solar bounty. Still, she probably shouldn’t have hissed. Harriet was Clara’s elder, if merely by a few minutes. As it was, the orange and white cat just shuffled a bit and turned her rounded back on her sister rather than responding.

Clara didn’t know why she even bothered asking. She already knew the answer: Harriet didn’t move unless she had to, and on a warm spring day it was easier to conjure a cushion than make the leap from the sun-warmed sill to the sofa, where Clara now fumed. The sofa where, it turned out, Becca had been trying out a summoning spell. And so now, of course, their hapless human believed she had pulled that pillow out of the ether.

Which was a problem because Becca belonged to a coven. Had for about three months, ever since she saw a flier in the laundromat advertising an opening for “Witches: New and In Training.” That was the kind of thing that happened here, in Cambridge, where the hippies never really went away. Since then, they’d met every week to drink a foul-smelling herbal concoction and try out various spells. None of which ever produced any magic, of course. None of the humans had the basic powers of a day-old kitten, and certainly nothing like Clara and her sisters shared as the descendants of an old and royal feline line. But now, Clara feared, Becca had become obsessed, spending every waking moment trying to reproduce that one spell, while Harriet, Laurel, and Clara looked on.

“Don’t you dare…” Clara muttered in a soft mew as Laurel sashayed into the room, taking in her two sisters with one sweeping gaze. Laurel was the middle one, a troublemaker and as vain as can be. Not simply of her own glossy coat—the cream touched with brown, or, as she called it, café au lait—but of her powers. That she was plotting something, Clara was certain. As Laurel glanced from Harriet back to Clara again, her tail started lashing and her ears stuck out sideways like an owl’s.

“Why not?” Laurel had a streak of Siamese in her. It made her chatty, as well as giving her neat dark chocolate booties. “It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll bring more people!” Clara felt her fur start to rise. The idea of her middle sister meddling—and possibly adding more magic to the mix—made her frantic. “Don’t you get it? They’ll never let up.”

The black, grey, and orange cat—the smallest of the three sisters—didn’t have to explain who “they” were. That night, Becca’s coven would be meeting again at their place, which, to the three felines, was bad enough. Strangers, six of them, would soon be sitting in all the good seats, with their odd smells and loud voices. What was worse was that Becca would think she had to feed them, as well as brew that horrible tea. And as the cats well knew, Becca had no money, not since she lost her job as a researcher for the local historical society.

“Redundant,” her boss had told her. “What with the budget cutbacks and the advances in technology.”

“That means they can get an intern to do a Google search.” Becca had sniffled into Clara’s parti-colored fur the day she’d gotten the news. Harriet might be the fluffiest and Laurel the sleekest, but Clara was the one Becca talked to. The one she had confided in months earlier when she found the book that had started her on this whole witchcraft obsession, a spark of excitement lighting up her face. She’d been researching land deeds, the scutwork of history, when she had stumbled on it, her eye caught by a familiar name—some old relative of hers who had been caught up in a witch trial back in the bad old days in Salem. Then, when she’d seen the flier by the coin machine at the Wash ‘N Dry, she’d been so exhilarated, she’d raced back to tell Clara, leaving her sheets in the drier. And now, without the distraction of her job, Becca had thrown herself into the study of magic and sorcery, spending her days in the library or on her computer, trying to track down the full story of that great-great whatever, and sharing her fears and, increasingly, her hopes with Clara.

Maybe it was because Clara was a calico that Becca whispered into the black-tipped ears of her littlest cat. Calicos had a reputation for being more intelligent and curious than other felines. Plus, that uneven look—a gray patch over one eye and an orange one over the other—made her appear approachable. Inquisitive. Becca couldn’t know that her youngest cat was often teased for her markings. “Goofy,” her sister Laurel said in her distinctive yowl. “Clara the calico? Clara the clown!” Recently, Harriet had taken up calling her that too.

Clara didn’t mind, as long as Becca kept confiding in her. The young woman didn’t really think her cats understood about her being laid off, but, in truth, they were all quite aware of the straitened circumstances. Not that Laurel and Harriet always sympathized. There was that one time three weeks ago that Becca tried cutting back on the cats’ food, getting the generic cans from the market instead of the tiny ones with the pretty labels. After wolfing down hers, Harriet had barfed all over the sofa. She didn’t have to. She was just making a point about what she considered an affront to her dignity.

Tonight, when Becca took credit for conjuring that cushion, Clara didn’t know what her haughty sister would do. Interrupt, most likely. Jump onto the table and begin bathing, if she had to, to be the center of attention. If she tried anything further—like pulling more pillows out of the ether—or if Laurel got up to her own tricks, Clara would have to get involved, she vowed with a final flick of the tail. And that, she knew, just wouldn’t end well.

 

Series: Lords of the Highlands Book 5
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Hachette/Forever
Publication Date: January 8, 2019

Meet Robert Grant, the Fiercest Highlander in Scotland

She is the daughter of his sworn enemy.

Famed for his fierceness, Laird Robert Grant is above all a loyal Highland clan chief. But when redcoats capture his rival’s daughter, he sets aside their feud and races to her rescue. Aye, Janet Cameron is beautiful, cunning and so very tempting, but a Cameron lass is the last woman he should ever desire.

He is her one hope for happiness.

Janet refuses to meekly surrender, not even when surrounded by foes. She takes every chance to escape, first from English soldiers and then from the wickedly handsome Robert. Yet with each day they spend together, his unexpected gallantry chips away at her will little by little. As danger and treachery loom, can she trust him enough to choose love over vengeance?

Purchase Links

The Lords of the Highlands takes you on an epic adventure through the perils of Jacobite Scotland. Passion and danger sear the pages of each stand-alone book with gripping love stories and action-packed plots. For detailed info, visit https://amyjarecki.com/series/lords-of-the-highlands/

Multi-Award winning and Amazon All-Star author, Amy Jarecki likes to grab life, latch on, and reach for the stars. With a black belt in karate, she’s married to a mountain-biking pharmacist and has put four kids through college. Reinventing herself a number of times, Amy sang and danced with the Follies, was a plant manager, and an accountant for Arnott’s Biscuits in Australia. After earning her MBA from Heroit-Watt University in Scotland, she dove into the world of Scottish historical romance and hasn’t returned. Become a part of her world and learn more about Amy’s books on amyjarecki.com.

Website: https://amyjarecki.com

Newsletter: https://amyjarecki.com/newsletter/.

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WIN THE HIGHLAND RENEGADE SIGNED PRINT

Five (5) Signed Print of The Highland Renegade

Contest runs from January 9 – 15, 2019.

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Genre: Contemporary Romance, Suspense, Mystery, Historical
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Publication Date: January 7, 2019

Love blossoms after a chance meeting between Austrian Botanist Andreas Bauer and Charleston Heiress Savannah Sutherland at the Bahnhof St. Valentin. But dark family secrets and an explosive, centuries-old conspiracy cast deadly shadows and threatens to derail their romance.

Botanist Andreas Bauer, passionate about saffron, plans to reintroduce organic farming of the world’s most expensive spice to a region of Austria now known for its wine. Meeting resistance from vintners, he does research in a local abbey and discovers a dark secret regarding a king’s ransom gone astray hundreds of years before. Heiress Savannah Sutherland is on her way to learn the wine business from her uncle, who owns one of the largest vineyards in the area. She has no idea she is expected to marry the heir of a neighboring estate to expand her uncle’s empire.

Sparks fly when Andreas sets eyes on Savannah, and he knows they’re destined to be together. But their growing attraction is threatened by her uncle–and by whoever orders a deadly attack on Andreas. Dark family secrets and a dangerous, centuries-old conspiracy cast deathly shadows over the love Andreas and Savannah share.

Purchase Links

Marilyn Baron writes in a variety of genres, from humorous women’s fiction to historical romantic thrillers and romantic suspense to paranormal/fantasy. The Saffron Conspiracy: A Novel is her 24th work of fiction. She’s received writing awards in Single Title, Suspense Romance, Novel With Strong Romantic Elements and Paranormal/Fantasy Romance and was The Finalist for the 2018 Georgia Author of the Year Awards (GAYA) in the Romance Category for The Alibi and The Finalist for the 2017 GAYA Awards in the Romance Category for Stumble Stones: A Novel. She is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America and Georgia Romance Writers and a member of Atlanta Writers Club. A public relations consultant in Atlanta, Marilyn graduated with a BS in Journalism and a minor in Creative Writing from the University of Florida. She is co-chair of the 2018 Roswell Reads Steering Committee and serves on the Atlanta Authors Committee. Read more about Marilyn at www.marilynbaron.com.

Website: http://www.marilynbaron.com

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WIN AN ORANGE SHOP PRINT AND SAFFRON GIFT BAG

1) Print of The Orange Shop by Florida artist Sharon Goldman
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