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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