Shadow of the Witch
Israel Cutler,
dealer in second-hand goods, discovers the journals of Doctor Winter. Detailing
the doctor’s relationship with a hanged witch, he recognises an opportunity.
Seeking out a lawyer he knows with an interest in the occult, Cutler tries to
sell the journals, but soon finds himself involved in a terrifying ritual—one
that could bring black witch Lizzie Pickin back from the dead. Again.
Forced into a
dangerous partnership, the witch leads Cutler on a trail of murder and revenge.
In this horror
series set in London, Shadow of the Witch is book #2 in the Black Witch Saga.
Purchase Links
AMAZON https://geni.us/r4kqMtb
SMASHWORDS https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1480253
Excerpt:
Wandering over to the
other side of the room, Cutler keeps one eye on the box. Longing for an
opportunity to continue reading, he knows displaying too much interest might
alert one of the other buyers. He makes a big show of bidding on the oak court
cupboard but loses out to one of the late arrivals.
By the time the auctioneer
comes to the sale of the boxes, most of the other buyers have lost interest and
busy themselves making arrangements to uplift the items they’ve bought. Cutler
hesitates to make a bid and it is only when the sale looks like being
abandoned, that he holds up a finger.
‘Ah, Mister Cutler,’ says
the auctioneer, his sneering smile acknowledging the low esteem he affords most
of the buyers. ‘One shilling?’ He shakes his head as if Cutler’s bid is
ridiculous. ‘Surely three, at least?’
Cutler holds up two
fingers.
The auctioneer sighs.
‘Very well. One box of assorted books to…Israel Cutler.’ He makes a note in his
ledger, then nods to one of the assistants, who carries the box to the end of
the room. Having settled his account, Cutler hangs around for a while, unwilling
to appear too eager to leave.
Later, Cutler leads one of
the assistants to the cart he’s left around the side of the house. Unfastening
the tailboard, they heave the box onto the back, then Cutler digs in his pocket
for a penny.
‘Fanks fer nothin,’ says
the lad, glaring at the coin.
As soon as he’s gone,
Cutler leaps aboard the cart and sets off towards the city. Out of sight of the
house now, he pulls over to the side of the lane and scrambles into the back.
Pulling out the medical books, he tosses them aside until he reaches the journals.
Finding the fourth one, he flips it open to the first entry that caught his
eye. He starts to read.
A fwirl of black mift did
furround uf and we three did huddel togeth’r within the boundery of the pentagram
markens on the floor. The witch howl’d but even as I did watch, the mift
retreet’d away. I did look toward Jane Norrif and fhe affur’d me of her
welfear. But of Faulkner and the Witch Lizzi Pickin, I did obferve no fign.
The thumping in Cutler’s
chest resumes and he sits for a moment, staring at the book, breathing deeply.
Then, flicking back to a page earlier in the volume, he runs a finger down the
notes until he finds what he’s looking for.
He studies the second
relevant entry. ‘Cateaten Streete,’ he mutters. A location he’s familiar with
and what it could mean. He rubs a hand over his mouth, feels the rough bristles
of an unshaven face. Yes, there are possibilities here—the means of negotiating
more than a decent finding fee, perhaps even a small fortune. But it will have
to be handled with care. No half-arsed bargaining for a few sovereigns this
time.
Allowing the idea to take
shape in his brain, he lifts his head, gazing off across the darkening
landscape. The night is properly dark now and the lights of the city glisten
along the horizon. He laughs. This is madness. As mad and wild as those poor
souls Doctor Winter cared for in Bedlam. If this Lizzie Pickin really had
revealed herself as a witch—a creature Doctor Winter most definitely banished
into dust—why would anyone want to bring her back to life? Or indeed, how?
But Cutler knows one man
who might answer these questions. A man who might offer considerable
remuneration to whoever provides him with, not only means to acquire a pocket
of land, but a route to accessing the darkest of arts.
Packing up the books
again, he throws a blanket over the box and clambers back onto the seat. A
noise close by makes him jump. His head snaps round, fearing someone is
watching. But no, it’s only a crow on the fence post. Or a raven, maybe. A
shiver runs up his spine as the creature takes flight. Fastening his coat
against the chill of the evening, he lights one of the lamps, hangs it from a
hook on the side of the cart, and heads for home.
Author Bio
Colin Garrow grew up in a former mining town in Northumberland. He has worked in a plethora of professions including taxi driver, antiques dealer, drama facilitator, theatre director and fish processor, and has occasionally masqueraded as a pirate.
His short stories
have appeared in several literary mags, including SN Review, Flash Fiction
Magazine, Word Bohemia, Every Day Fiction, The Grind, A3 Review, 1,000 Words,
Inkapture and Scribble Magazine. He currently lives in a humble cottage in
Northeast Scotland where he writes novels, stories, poems and the occasional
song.
He also makes rather
nice vegan cakes.
Social Media Links –
Twitter https://twitter.com/colingarrow
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/colinngarrow/
Website https://colingarrow.co.uk/
Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/colin-garrow
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/colingarrowthewriter
TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@colingarrowauthor
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