Praise for the novels of
MAGGIE
SHAYNE
âShayne crafts a convincing world, tweaking vampire legends just enough to draw fresh blood.â
âPublishers Weekly on Demonâs Kiss
âThis story will have readers on the edge of their seats and begging for more.â
âRT Book Reviews on Twilight Fulfilled
âA tasty, tension-packed readâ
âPublishers Weekly on Thicker than Water
âTense⦠frightening⦠a page-turner in the best senseâ
âRT Book Reviews on Colder than Ice
âMystery and danger abound in Darker than Midnight, a fast-paced, chilling thrill read that will keep readers turning the pages long after bedtime⦠Suspense, mystery, danger and passionâno one does them better than Maggie Shayne.â
âRomance Reviews Today on Darker than Midnight [winner of a Perfect 10 award]
âMaggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.â
âNew York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
âShayneâs haunting tale is intricately woven⦠A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night.â
âPublishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man
â[A] gripping story of small-town secrets. The suspense will keep you guessing. The characters will steal your heart.â
âNew York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner on The Gingerbread Man
Kiss of the Shadow Man is a âcrackerjack novel of romantic suspenseâ.
âRT Book Reviews
In her tiny hand she held the vial of mugwort over her steaming cauldron and carefully let three drops escape. No more, no less. Then she looked up at her mom and smiled.
Mamma nodded her approval but didnât let little Magdalena bask in it for very long. âNow the eyebright. Just a pinch.â
Lena set the vial aside and picked up the old brown crockery jar with the dried herb inside. She plucked out a pinch and dropped it into the squat iron pot.
A little more, said Lilia. You have tiny fingers, after all.
She didnât say it out loud, of course. She spoke from inside Lenaâs head. Though her mom called Lilia an imaginary friend, to Lena she was a big sister and very real, even though no oneâexcept Lena herselfâcould see her. No one else ever had. But that didnât mean she wasnât real.
Lena grabbed another pinch and popped it into the bubbling brew, eliciting a satisfying hiss from the pot.
Mamma frowned at her. âHow did you know to add a little more?â
âLilia told me to,â Lena explained.
âAhh. All right, then.â
Mamma didnât mean it, though. She didnât believe in Lilia. Magic, yes. Witchcraft, most certainly. But not Lilia. Grown-ups could be so odd sometimes.
Aside from that, her mom was the best grown-up Lena knew. She was beautiful, first off. The prettiest mom in the whole town. And she didnât wear jeans like the other moms. She wore flowing dressesâshe called them captains. No, wait. Kaftansâin bright oranges and yellows and reds, and sometimes deep blues and greens. And big glittery jewelry that she made herself. And she knew all about magic. So much that other witches were always asking her about stuff.
And she loved Lena more than the whole wide world. And Lena loved her back. So with all of that, it wasnât so bad that she didnât believe in Lilia. And anyway, she never came right out and said it. Just said she was âkeeping an open mind,â whatever that meant.
Lena took the wooden spoon and gave her mixture a stir, leaning over to sniff the steam. She had insisted on a drop of dragonâs bloodânot from a real dragon, of courseâas she did in almost all her potions. She loved the smell, and it always felt like a kick of extra power to her.
Her mom, whoâd been a witch since sheâd been in college, which was a long time ago, had taught Lena to trust her instincts.
They let the cauldron simmer for exactly thirteen minutes, then Lena blew out the candle that was heating it from underneath its three long legs and let things cool for thirteen more. Then she dipped a soft cotton ball into the concoction and used it to wash Mammaâs magic mirror.
It was Samhain, the perfect time for divination, and her mom wanted to teach her how to scry. Lilia had said it would be easy and promised to help.