By Lisabet Sarai
I seem to have a special connection to places. Anyone who has read any of my books will immediately notice that the settings are described in loving detail, almost as if the locale was another character. Indeed, I believe that the unique combination of place and time strongly determines an individual’s nature. I can’t imagine writing a character without knowing where he or she comes from.
Given that I’ve lived in a variety of locations as well as done a fair bit of traveling, my stories are set around the globe, from Guatemala to Cambodia. One of my favorite tales, though, unfolds in my native Massachusetts, where I lived for many decades before moving to Asia. The Witches of Gloucester is a paranormal lesbian erotic romance set in a historic seaport north of Boston, which I’ve visited many times.
From my first encounter with the town, in my teens, I always felt there was magic in Gloucester. Part of the enchantment was the fact that my husband and I often spent our mid-June anniversary there. We had a favorite hotel directly across the street from Bass Rocks, one of the few coastal areas on Cape Ann that faces the open ocean. The rooms all had glass-doored balconies that offered views of the surf and the lighthouse. I recall making love in that hotel, while the waves pounded the shore and the moonlight poured in. Talk about Romance with a capital R!
The Witches of Gloucester is a fanciful tale that attributes Gloucester’s special beauty and charm to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.
Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.
I have to admit, I love this book... And it’s on sale this week for only 99 cents! Go to https://www.lisabetsarai.com/witchesofgloucesterbook.html and click the link to your favorite bookseller.
Excerpt
“Let’s try something new, Emmy. I’d like to test your scrying ability, if you’re willing.” Beryl rose and turned off the lamp on the bedside table. The waxing crescent moon peeked through the window but scarcely dispelled the shadows. She moved the baked clay vessel closer to Emmeline, careful not to slosh its contents onto the rug. “Look into the bowl now. Tell me what you see.”
Em obeyed. “Not a damn thing,” she said after a few moments. “It’s black as pitch.”
“Be patient,” Beryl replied. “Concentrate. Remember the cards.” She caught Em’s hand in her own. The willowy blond jumped at the touch. Marguerite could almost see the electric arousal sparking through her body.
Beryl broke the carnal connection, not wanting to distract the younger witch. They waited. The wind had died. The music had stopped. Only their breathing broke the silence.
“Oh...” Emmeline gasped. A faint greenish glow illumined her face as she bent over the bowl. “Oh my...”
“What do you see, Em?” Marguerite whispered, trying not to break the spell.
“You – you, wearing a lovely violet gown, with ribbons and lace and a bustle... Oh my! And there’s Beryl, just a girl, in a white cap and apron... It’s true, everything you said, it’s true...”
She can read the past, Marguerite thought. As well as dream the future.
“What else?” Beryl urged quietly. “Look deeper. Tell us what you see.”
Em’s brows knotted as she focused on the bowl of water. “I see... fire. It’s a bonfire I think, crackling against a night sky. I can almost smell the wood smoke... And shapes – bodies – no, dancers, circling the fire, three of them, three women dancing. It’s getting clearer – they’re nude, dancing – oh!”
“What? What is it?” In her eagerness, Beryl forgot to keep her voice low. Emmeline raised her eyes from the scrying bowl. The luminescence disappeared.
“The three women – it’s us, the three of us. It’s the ritual you talked about, isn’t it?” Em’s lovely face showed nothing but wonder. “How could I do that? How did I know?”
Marguerite exchanged a glance with her red-haired partner before answering. “You have the gift of seeing outside of time, Emmeline. Both things that have been and things to come. A rare talent, something neither of us can do.”
“You have great power,” Beryl continued. “We both feel it, in our bones, in our bellies – in our cunts and our hearts. Join forces with us and we will truly accomplish miracles.”
Em rose to her feet, so slowly she seemed to be levitating. “I saw us, around the fire. Does that mean I’ll decide to join you? That I have no choice after all?”
Beryl gathered the girl into her arms. Marguerite circled behind Em, pulled the gleaming cascade of hair aside and pressed her lips to Em’s nape. “The future is malleable,” she murmured in Em’s ear. “It’s your decision. But oh, by the gods, we hope you will choose us.”
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