Deadly Magic

Published: 02/19/2016

ISBN Digital: 9781509204205
ISBN Print: 9781509204199
Page Count: 340
Word Count: 80595
Rating: Spicy

Norah Redfox, a child advocate with powerful paranormal gifts, meets Jackson Marino, a skeptical cop. Although the attraction between them sizzles, Jackson doesn't trust the spooky woman who claims she can channel ghosts.

When an ex-con murders a woman and kidnaps her son, Norah must convince Jackson to help her pursue the kidnapper to the Arizona desert where the powerful spirit of an ancient Sinagua Magician overtakes and possesses her.

Following a trail of stolen artifacts, Jackson tracks Norah to a hidden grave atop a remote mesa where they confront the ghost, the kidnapper, and their love.


Norah sat on the cool dirt floor, her hands folded in her lap. Firelight flickered through her closed eyelids.

Grandfather poured water on the heated stones and steam billowed around her. Ritual herbs crackled in the embers, overlaying the heat with an acrid tang.

Sweat tricked down her brow. She opened her eyes. The ethereal woman she’d seen before stared across the flames at her with sad, golden-brown eyes.

“A ghost?” Norah whispered.

Rattles shook, and she pulled the rough wool blanket closer. Even though the sweat lodge was stifling, she shivered. “I can’t do it, Grandfather. I can’t see the way forward.”

“It is never easy to forge a new path,” Grandfather coaxed. “Sometimes you must falter first. Trust and the vision will come.”

Breathing deeply, she focused her thoughts again, feeling the packed earth under her. She slowed her pulse to match the cadence of the drums. White light and shadows danced, and the drumbeat faded until all she heard was her own heartbeat.

Then she was transported to a new place, a round, Southwestern kiva, tucked inside a limestone cliff. A narrow shaft of sunlight penetrated the fissured rock, highlighting dust motes in the hot, parched air.

A sun-browned man stood before her, armed with a flint knife and holding a staff that coiled and twisted in his hand.

They were alone, but she wasn’t afraid.

In the dimness, she recognized his pale brown, gold-flecked eyes. The elder she’d seen before. A beautiful turquoise amulet shaped like a jaguar’s head hung on his bare chest. His long, black hair, crested with silver, had been braided with leather thongs and an eagle feather. Shaman.

She lowered her eyes and sensed his radiating strength. A very ancient, but very powerful spirit.

Setting down his staff, he folded his legs and sat before the smoldering fire. He lifted a water pot with a black and white snake design and drank deeply. Then he opened a closely woven basket and sifted through the grain inside, pulling out a small, bone flute that fit in his palm.

She frowned, but she held out her hand. “Shall I take it?”

Smiling gently, he shook his head. “It’s not my place to play this for you, daughter.”

“Then what do you wish of me?”

The light folded in on itself until she saw nothing but a pinpoint. “Come to me, and you will know.”

Something shifted under Norah’s head, and she bolted upright. The roar of the airplane engines startled her after the peace of the vision. Her face flamed. How had she wound up with her head on Jackson’s shoulder? Flustered, she sat up and stared out the window.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.