The Lost Witch by Paige Crutcher EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Paige Crutcher
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
1922—Before
Brigid Heron was a mother and a witch, and she refused to give up being
either. There was nothing a mother wouldn’t do—and no power a witch
wouldn’t master—to save her child. Fortunately for Brigid, the power she
needed was right beyond her doorstep.
The town of Evermore floated outside the ring of Kerry, off the coast of
Ireland. It might have appeared sleepy if anyone could see it. Mists circled
the island most of the year, and when they didn’t, there was a wildness to the
land. A once celebrated abbey crumbled along the lone mountainside and
multiple croppings of ash and hawthorn trees made the land there near
impassable. A coven of unruly witches, seeking an ancient and unattainable
power, was rumored to reside on that side of the town. To the other side,
though, were stretches of beaches and a dock, and inset from the dock a once
thriving and inviting town. Almost five miles outside of the center of town,
and there wasn’t a lot of town to begin with, was a slumbering lough. A lake
rumored to contain power to heal any ailment, to best any enemy, to
transform the world … if only a witch could tap into the rebellious magic
swirling beneath its surface.
Just over the hill and down the lane from the lough of Brionglóid, the lake
of dreams, sat Brigid’s house. A white stone house with a slate roof and a
bright blue door, the house (like Brigid) bucked tradition. She planted a sprig
of a hawthorn tree in her front yard in honor of her mother. She grew
lavender and roses and hydrangeas out of season, vibrant pinks and purples
and blues that seemed to grow even more alive in the rain and the frost. Her
yard was always a brilliant green. Irish green, she called it. It was the perfect
garden for walking barefoot across, letting your feet sink into earth softer
than the best rug money could buy.
“It’s blessed by the fairies,” Molly O’Brian, Brigid’s closest neighbor
who lived three kilometers away, liked to tell anyone who would listen. She
would stand in front of her iron gate and push away the curls perpetually
falling in her eyes, glaring in the direction of the lake. “That lough is, and I
wouldn’t be going into it after the sun sets. There’s an angry howling that
comes from it, like something awful is trapped beneath the surface waiting to
get out.”
“It’s not just anything trapped under the surface, but the heart of magic.
That lough is sought after by dark witches,” Peter McGee, with a shock of
white hair and who was never without a pick of some kind between his teeth,
often said from his teetering perch on his pub stool. “It’s that damn beating
heart, has been calling to them centuries it has.”
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