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The Cabbottown Witch Novels
by Bruce Jenvey
Genre: Paranormal Fantasy
Release: October 21, 2011
Editor: Lea Schizas
Line editor: Nancy Bell
Cover artist: Mike Zambrano
Reggie Sinclair is an aging British rock star living in New York City who has just found out he is terminally ill. He also has a very dark secret: When he was still an undiscovered teenager, he sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for his great fame and success. As his life draws to an end, he prepares to face the inevitable until he stumbles upon a very enchanting, modern-day witch named Angela, and her untraditional coven.
Angela gradually introduces Reggie to her world of old school Witchcraft with its roots in alchemy and ‘natural chemistry’ dating to the Dark Ages. As their relationship grows, they devise a plan to break Reggie’s contract and save his soul.
This is a story of the struggle between good and evil with a cast of characters that ranges from guardian angels to young witches-in-training. Together, they have to come to terms with the uncertainties of love, loss, and life decisions to save Reggie from an unbearable eternity. Here is a plot filled with unexpected twists and surprises to the very last page that will also cast an entirely different light on anything you may have ever considered as faith!
“All it takes is some connection between those two people… and just a little bit of magical energy…that’s all.”
“Sounds like rubbish,” He tried to dismiss the whole idea.
“Said the man with the Dream Catcher hanging in his window.”
“Okay, but what can I do about it?”
“Well, you can sleep with the Dream Catcher until whoever gets over it all or gives up.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Either way, you could also send them a ‘Boomerang.”
“Boomerang? What the hell is that?”
She took a deep swig off her beer before continuing. “It’s a reflector for negative energy. It’s a way of bouncing back to the sender the negative energy they’re giving off.”
“And that would work… how?”
“Well, the Boomerang would bounce the negative energy back to them and it could manifest itself in a bad dream of their own…something pulled from their own memories. If the dream is being deliberately sent to you, it’s kind of like punching the bully full in the nose…lets him know you’ll fight back if need be, and lets him know it’s going to hurt. If the sender doesn’t even realize they’re giving you a bad dream, one bad dream of their own is usually enough to distract them from thinking about you and more about themselves. Either way, you win. Think of it like the ‘star-6-9’ of the dream world.”
“And I’ll bet you have this Boomerang attachment to fit my Dream Catcher?”
“No, but I can easily make you one.” She got up from the table and stepped back into the other room. From there, he could hear her opening a draw or two, and the rattle of glass jars. When she returned, she had a small collection of interesting objects stacked on her clipboard. She set them on the table as she found her seat again. She started by opening a paper envelope and removing what looked like a small plant root, barely an inch long.
“What’s that?” he asked with keen interest.
“Oh, it’s got a lot of names, but I know it best as ‘St. Isaac’s Root.’ It’s just part of an herb plant.” She then opened the first of two jars, this one filled with a fine, gray powder, and began to rub the powder into the surface of the root, one pinch at a time.
“And what’s that?” he asked with even more anticipation. She paused a brief moment to look at him with a smile on her face.
“Patience, little boy. It’s a mixture of other herbs, mixed, boiled down and then ground into a powder… I guess you’d call it a ‘concoction.’ There are more things like this simmering on the stove over there.”
“You mean, this didn’t come from the ‘Mysterious Far East?’”
“Some of it…part of it…but it’s what you do with it and how you combine it that makes it all work.”
“That’s what’s on the stove?”
“Among other things. It takes days, sometimes weeks, to make something like this. You have to simmer slowly, never boil. Sometimes, you have to simmer twice, down to nothing, and then grind what’s left into a powder you can combine with other powders. It’s all pretty complicated… really.”
“I was going to ask about the electric stove…”
“What? You think I should be ‘bubbling, bubbling, toil and troubling’ in some big, black cauldron over an open fire someplace? Well, this is New York City and they frown on open fires you know.” She was teasing him pretty hard as she continued to work the gray powder into the herb root. And as she did so, the root’s color slowly changed from off white to a bright yellow.
“It would fit the image…”
“You mean the stereotype. The misconception.”
“What would you call it?”
“Basically, it’s chemistry, that’s all.”
“And there’ll be no magic words or spells to cast?” He tried to hide behind his sarcasm and snicker.
“No,” she said casually as she closed the jar with the gray powder and opened the second jar filled with a nearly black powder. “When you go to your doctor for a flu shot, does he chant or dance around the room before he injects you?”
“No,” he said sheepishly.
“No magic words?”
“Other than ‘If you don’t cry, Reggie, I’ll give you one of the suckers I save for the children’?”
“Yes, other than those magic words.” She laughed.
“No, I guess not.”
“It’s all chemistry, and that’s what you’ll find here, too. Maybe a long forgotten chemistry, but simple chemistry just the same.” As she worked this powder into the root, it slowly changed its color again, this time, into a bright, emerald green.
“So, what’s in that jar?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know…really…and yes, I will be washing my hands before I do anything else.” And she laughed again. A really delightful laugh, too, thought Reggie.
When the root was sufficiently treated, she closed the jar and produced a small wire hook that was probably nothing more than one of those used to hang Christmas ornaments. She forced the small end through the root, much like baiting a fish hook, and then held up her finished work with a sense of pride.
“There you go. One Boomerang.” She gently dropped the root and its hook into a small plastic zipper bag and sealed it. “Just hang this in the center ring of your Dream Catcher between the Dream Catcher and the glass. That’s the important part, it has to be right next to the glass.”
“And what do I owe you?” asked the rock star, reaching for his wallet.
“Dinner!” she answered without hesitation. “Here, tomorrow night. I’ll cook.”
“Cook?” he said with reservation as he pointed to the stoves next to him. She laughed again.
“No…nothing from there. Upstairs. I live upstairs and I actually cook and eat real food, too. No roast Hansel, no grilled Gretel…I promise.”
“Well, that’s comforting…” he said with a genuine relief.
Bruce Jenvey was raised in rural Michigan with a great interest in history, popular culture and the paranormal. After twenty years in the advertising industry, he founded “Great Lakes Cruiser Magazine” and spent the next decade traveling the region as both historian and journalist.
Along the way, Bruce had unique access to untold incidents and documentation of the unexplained. He collected and chronicled these experiences in every place he found them, from the shores of Lake Michigan to Upstate New York. As he did so, he was struck by how consistent and similar these accounts were from region to region leading him to the conclusion that all we see may not be all there is to know...
Today, Bruce is pleased to share with you so very many of these real-world experiences and accounts, all pulled together and retold here, in the fictionalized saga of his Cabbottown Witches.
In Stock: 99
Customer Reviews:BarbaraE (Tuesday, 10 April 2012)
suepernz (Sunday, 08 April 2012)
Jim Zinser (Tuesday, 24 January 2012)
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