A Different Witch

A Different Witch By Debora Geary


A Modern Witch Series: Book 5


Prologue

Beth stirred in her sheets, dreaming. The eyes had come again.

Her fingers reached for magic the way they always did, hoping for the light brush of other that would mean she’d found it. The touch didn’t always come. Magic was fickle.

And he watched, the man with brown eyes.

Her circle stood in silent support, not trusting the stranger in their midst. A decade of study and work, building the magic together—invaded by a man who could make a fire globe in two breaths.

She’d made one. Ever. And it had taken three days of careful, laborious preparation.

Jealousy stirred in her veins, knowing where the dream went next.

The eyes were distracting her—she needed to pay attention. Circle work required focus. Mellie’s rich alto called to earth, a steady beat in a circle of nerves. The stranger called on air, his deep voice an odd counterpoint to the female energies she’d always associated with magic. Beth felt the soft presence of Liriel behind her, friend and partner. Watching the circle, monitoring.

And then the stranger reached out his hand, air to fire, his energy to hers. Closing the circle.

Her circle.

Or it was hers—until their magics touched.

Ten years of hard work, and she almost dropped her circle on its head.

It wasn’t the power he fed to her, although she knew, somewhere in her dreaming mind, that he kept it well throttled. It was like touching the whisker of a lion—soft, sturdy, and attached to something fearsome.

It wasn’t the power that rocked her soul—it was the window that came with it. Three gently glowing lines of energy, undulating gently, one beside the next. She knew without asking what they were. Every time she worked a circle, she trusted that the elemental magics would come. She felt them rising, the murky, mysterious energies that witches sought to power their craft.

But she’d never seen them before.

With careful, reverent fingers, Beth reached for the glowing lines, barely breathing even in her dream. Mesmerized by the dancing light, she wove the delicate, finicky spell that would light a candle if done exactly right.

Felt victory flare in her veins as the first flame lit.

And then, fueled by joy, did it again.

Her circle rejoiced. And still the stranger watched with his distant, daring eyes.

Beth cuddled deeper into her blue silk sheets, waiting for the words that would shatter her world.

Her best moment as a witch—and they’d been doing it all wrong.