Magic is in the blood. That’s how Meekal sees his destiny. But he isn’t the only person to think that way. Sometimes in life we lose the important people we love and who are meant to guide us.
Meekal lost his father when he was three years old.
The evil wizard who killed Jerome Black didn’t realize he opened the door to strengthen a future hero. Some things come back to haunt you.
Meekal comes from a long line of guardians responsible for protecting the Chalice Well in Glastonbury, England. Why is the Chalice Well important?
Because magic also flows from this ancient spring. It dwells within the earth and comes forth to give healing to the world’s inhabitants.
This is a good thing.
So … evil sorcerers are always trying to turn the tide of destiny. They have attempted to shift the balance of power for more than 1000 years.
Lucky for you they have failed.
Because magic flows in the blood. The bloodline must be preserved.
Evil has raised its ugly head once more. But don’t worry, Meekal is ready.
Writing paranormal romance can be so much fun. ;o) Believe me I only want to give my readers a chance to escape into worlds where the heroine is beautiful, but flawed. Then there’s the hero gifted with great strength but with his own issues that must be overcome to achieve a story’s happy ending.
Here’s an excerpt from CONCENTRIC CIRCLES which gives a little more insight into Meekal’s magical life. From chapter thirteen; Separate Ways, it is Meekal’s ‘black moment’ in the story.
Soulful eyes gazed at him. Meekal swallowed the lump in his throat along with his pride and raised a hand to wave.
Shayla tucked a loose strand of wayward hair behind her ear, smiled sadly and blew him a kiss. As though moving in slow motion, she turned and stepped through the door leading to the concourse and her flight back to the USA.
His heart contracted. The distance separating them grew. Stiffening in resolve, he left Bristol Airport, stepping into the night and got into his car. Although the Jaguar was a prized possession, he didn’t usually drive it. Somehow, in some manner, he had wanted Shayla’s departure to bear a fragment of normalcy.
He pressed the smart key button on the console, allowing the engine’s roar to calm his frazzled senses. Some classic rock-n-roll inserted into the player, he pulled out of the car park to the rhythm of Eden Mystic’s ‘Everywhere With You, Baby.’ Memory of Shayla’s glowing face at Harry’s Pub propelled his foot to the floor. The Jag shot out into traffic. He drove as if he were the only one on the road.
Heading north on A38, he wasn’t in the mood to drive south toward Glastonbury and home. Right now, the memories were too new, raw and debilitating. He knew his family would be worried.
His voice activated communication system remained connected at all times. “Chilkwell Manor,” he said and waited as the phone rang on the other end. “Hey, Mum.”
“Are you all right?”
He smiled, understanding the concern in her voice. “Aye. I’m not coming straight home.” He hesitated, gnawing on his lower lip. The action gave his heart a twist. Mirror, my love. He released his lip and a held breath. “Thought I’d go north. Well, it’s been awhile, you know.”
“That’s fine, dear. Just be careful.”
Silence came across the airwaves.
“Call me when you get there?”
He stopped for a red light, staring at the glaring orb impeding his forward progress. “Aye,” he answered low-voiced. He gunned the car forward, the light changing with a blink of an eye. The night scenery flashed by him in patches of human existence. He ignored it all for the sake of driving fast along the northbound lane of A38.
An hour later, he zipped through the roundabout and slipped off A38 into the next exit to B4053, Victoria Street.
“Separate ways,” he muttered, spurring forward to a higher speed. “Put distance between us. Sort things out. Don’t you know your own heart, Kal?”
He ground his teeth and passed a slow moving Morris. The small auto blurred in his rearview mirror. He could travel the Semple Folk way and journey to his destination five hundred thirty-three miles in about eight and a half hours.
Instead, he used a tricky charm, passing everyone so he could arrive in half the time. “Adaptive cruise control tweaked with a little Fae based magic.”
“Okay, so magic is kewl. Life is too short to do without.” He pushed the button to roll the windows down, allowing the cool night air to bustle through the Jaguar’s interior. Having the auto persona of a black cat around him suited him to a T.
Blackpool, Gloucester and the Kincardine Bridge at Glasgow were all a blur. He slowed down and paid the road toll at Erskine.
Thoughts about the last few days banged around in his head like a hyperactive fidget. He laughed roughly at that realization. “Mental,” he grumbled. “Maybe that’s what it takes to put down Syther’s evil plot. Hyper insanity.” He pressed the accelerator roughly and angled into a sharp turn. “Meet wickedness with a headstrong highlander charge. To hell with this!”
He slammed on the brakes and pulled into a roadside car park, squealing the tires. A tree loomed grotesquely, bare limbs swaying in the night air. His breath came fast as he stared at the tree’s broad trunk only inches from his car bumper. “Bloody hell, you’re radgie, Meekal.”
He shoved the door open and stepped out. The empty car park, wind whistling through bare branches and moon glow, all combined to squeeze him in insurmountable loneliness. He kicked the curb. “Dammit!”
The echo, pounding his ears, multiplied heart-splitting anguish. Angry about his inability to push desolation aside, he reached between the driver’s seat and boot, grabbed his coat and yanked it on. He closed the door gently, refusing to take his rage out on his car. Passing his palm over the warm front hood, he murmured, “Miniature.”
The Jaguar XK morphed into a pocket sized black ebony beauty. He bent, picked her up, and placed it protectively in his inner coat pocket.
A truck rumbled past, the only other night traveler. Meekal glanced at his watch. “Three twenty-three a.m.” He sighed. “Must’ve been driving slower than I thought.” He closed his eyes against the empty countryside and spun on his heel, arriving in Fiunary Forest on a chilled wind. He stumbled slightly when his shoe bumped a tree root.
Tucked up in the northern reaches of the Fiunary Forest, Raven’s Gate remained hidden centuries after it had been deserted. He stared at the twin megaliths guarding the sequestered lands of his ancestors.
Cell phone in hand, he dialed. The line buzzed with residual magic projected from the towering stones. He clasped the device and faced south, hoping for a clearer connection.
Thank you for reading. ;o)
~ Aithne Jarretta