Praise for the novels of
MAGGIE
SHAYNE
“Shayne crafts a convincing world, tweaking vampire legends just enough to draw fresh blood.”
—Publishers Weekly on Demon’s Kiss
“This story will have readers on the edge of their seats and begging for more.”
—RT Book Reviews on Twilight Fulfilled
“A tasty, tension-packed read”
—Publishers Weekly on Thicker than Water
“Tense… frightening… a page-turner in the best sense”
—RT Book Reviews on Colder than Ice
“Mystery and danger abound in Darker than Midnight, a fast-paced, chilling thrill read that will keep readers turning the pages long after bedtime… Suspense, mystery, danger and passion—no one does them better than Maggie Shayne.”
—Romance Reviews Today on Darker than Midnight [winner of a Perfect 10 award]
“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”
—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
“Shayne’s haunting tale is intricately woven… A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man
“[A] gripping story of small-town secrets. The suspense will keep you guessing. The characters will steal your heart.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner on The Gingerbread Man
Kiss of the Shadow Man is a “crackerjack novel of romantic suspense”.
—RT Book Reviews
Also by Maggie Shayne
The Portal
MARK OF THE WITCH
Secrets of Shadow Falls
KISS ME, KILL ME
KILL ME AGAIN
KILLING ME SOFTLY
BLOODLINE
ANGEL’S PAIN
LOVER’S BITE
DEMON’S KISS
Wings in the Night
BLUE TWILIGHT
BEFORE BLUE TWILIGHT
EDGE OF TWILIGHT
RUN FROM TWILIGHT
EMBRACE THE TWILIGHT
TWILIGHT HUNGER
TWILIGHT VOWS
BORN IN TWILIGHT
BEYOND TWILIGHT
TWILIGHT ILLUSIONS
TWILIGHT MEMORIES
TWILIGHT PHANTASIES
DARKER THAN MIDNIGHT
COLDER THAN ICE
THICKER THAN WATER
Look for Maggie Shayne’s next novel
BLOOD OF THE SORCERESS
available April 2013
Daughter of the
Spellcaster
Maggie Shayne
MILLS & BOON
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For Michele, Gayle, Chris, Laurie, Ginny and Theresa. Whoever said that writing is a solitary profession never attended one of our loud, laughter-filled, munchy-fest plotting sessions! What fun would this stuff be if we had to do it alone?
Love you all!
Prologue
In her tiny hand she held the vial of mugwort over her steaming cauldron and carefully let three drops escape. No more, no less. Then she looked up at her mom and smiled.
Mamma nodded her approval but didn’t let little Magdalena bask in it for very long. “Now the eyebright. Just a pinch.”
Lena set the vial aside and picked up the old brown crockery jar with the dried herb inside. She plucked out a pinch and dropped it into the squat iron pot.
A little more, said Lilia. You have tiny fingers, after all.
She didn’t say it out loud, of course. She spoke from inside Lena’s head. Though her mom called Lilia an imaginary friend, to Lena she was a big sister and very real, even though no one—except Lena herself—could see her. No one else ever had. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t real.
Lena grabbed another pinch and popped it into the bubbling brew, eliciting a satisfying hiss from the pot.
Mamma frowned at her. “How did you know to add a little more?”
“Lilia told me to,” Lena explained.
“Ahh. All right, then.”
Mamma didn’t mean it, though. She didn’t believe in Lilia. Magic, yes. Witchcraft, most certainly. But not Lilia. Grown-ups could be so odd sometimes.
Aside from that, her mom was the best grown-up Lena knew. She was beautiful, first off. The prettiest mom in the whole town. And she didn’t wear jeans like the other moms. She wore flowing dresses—she called them captains. No, wait. Kaftans—in bright oranges and yellows and reds, and sometimes deep blues and greens. And big glittery jewelry that she made herself. And she knew all about magic. So much that other witches were always asking her about stuff.
And she loved Lena more than the whole wide world. And Lena loved her back. So with all of that, it wasn’t so bad that she didn’t believe in Lilia. And anyway, she never came right out and said it. Just said she was “keeping an open mind,” whatever that meant.
Lena took the wooden spoon and gave her mixture a stir, leaning over to sniff the steam. She had insisted on a drop of dragon’s blood—not from a real dragon, of course—as she did in almost all her potions. She loved the smell, and it always felt like a kick of extra power to her.
Her mom, who’d been a witch since she’d been in college, which was a long time ago, had taught Lena to trust her instincts.
They let the cauldron simmer for exactly thirteen minutes, then Lena blew out the candle that was heating it from underneath its three long legs