Beth

Blythe cursed every increment of this glorified horse trail. He was too far from a reliable service area for his device to be of any use, and all the radio picked up was static, morning hymnals, and talk radio about feed prices or something. He settled for his thoughts and the plink of gravel against …

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Geneviève Gauthier marched toward the paddock with her rifle at the ready, a conjure light at her hip, and her dog, Hugo, glued to her side. He had alerted her to an intruder, one that had given her the slip three nights running. Her sheep huddled at the edge of their enclosure, as far from …

Prologue Read More »