Meet the Author:
Once upon a time, USA Today bestselling author Shereen Vedam read fantasy and romance novels to entertain herself. Now she writes heartwarming tales braided with threads of magic and love and mystery elements woven in for good measure.
Shereen's a fan of resourceful women, intriguing men, and happily-ever-after endings. If her stories whisk you away to a different realm for a few hours, then Shereen will have achieved one of her life goals.
About the Book:
A kidnapped child. A witch on the warpath. A church guard in crisis.
In the year of our Lord 1815, Thomas Drake Saint-Clair, Earl of Braden, a Guard of the Green Cross, is tasked by his archbishop to rescue a missing boy and return him to his warlock father. The order lands Braden in the middle of an unholy war between witches and warlocks and shoves him headlong past a sacred line he'd sworn never to cross.
Newly confirmed Coven Protectress, Merryn Pendraven, rushes to rescue a witch's son. She's convinced the same evil warlock who was responsible for her younger brother's death is behind this kidnapping, too. She has no intention of letting this vile villain get away with the same crime, twice.
When Merryn discovers Braden is also on the case, she's tempted to join forces. Yet, how can she truly trust him when her aunt has warned that Braden's second secret charge is to destroy their coven? Finding love in this cauldron of trouble might prove to be Merryn's deadliest mission and Braden's complete undoing.
If you liked A Discovery of Witches and Dr. Strange or Mr. Norrell, you'll love Coven at Callington, an anime-inspired witchy tale that will whisk you away on a rip-roaring Regency ride.
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EXCERPT:
Once outside, noting no one else was about the churchyard, Merryn looked up at the statue. “My lady, may we speak?”
The statue of Saint Agatha did not move. Merryn's shoulders dropped with resignation.
How long might this take? Braden could walk out that door at any moment. She wasn’t ready to face him again, not just yet. Whenever he drew near, she could not rid herself of an acute awareness of his presence. Even knowing who he was and what he represented made not a jot of difference. How could such attractive features and that daunting sensual energy have all been packaged into one man? It left a myriad of others sadly wanting.
Forget him, she chided herself. You’ve more pressing matters to worry about.
Another glance up showed the statue remained immobile and uncommunicative. She was about ready to give up, then shook her head. She couldn’t walk away when Trystan needed her. “I wonder if a truth spell would work on a church,” she murmured aloud.
The saint tilted her head downward. “What troubles you, my child? Are you fleeing from a suitor? Do you need my protection?”
Merryn hid a smile at the suddenly conversant saint. “No, my lady. I seek information.”
“I see,” Saint Agatha said, and Merryn received the distinct impression the saint was on the verge of losing interest.
“A boy was brought here for baptism two weeks ago,” Merryn said quickly, hoping to get her question out before Agatha moved on to more pressing matters. “He was six years old. Before the baptism could take place, he was stolen. Do you know who took him or where he is now?”
“I’m the patron saint of martyrs, torture victims and eruptions,” Saint Agatha replied, adjusting her arms as if to hold her severed breasts in a more comfortable position. “Does your request fall into one of those categories?”
“I thought you were the patron saint of bell ringers,” Merryn said.
Saint Agatha frowned. “That is a misconception,” she replied with asperity. “Are you a bell ringer?”
“No. However, I am searching for someone who may have fallen victim to imprisonment.”
“A boy?”
That didn’t sound promising. “I seek him on behalf of his grieving mother who is worried her son may be in peril.”
“Very well, then. What is it you wish to know?”
“How could a man with ill intentions in his heart have gained entry into the church?”
“You have answered your own query. Why do you bother me with it?”
Merryn frowned, thinking through her words. Her eyes widened as comprehension settled. “A woman stole the boy?”
The saint shrugged her marble shoulders. “A witch, a hellhound, a warlock, they were all here that night. Any one of them could have taken him.”
“And you let them into the church?”
“I’m not the boy’s guardian! And the church is in need of repair. If you truly wish to do some good, you’d see to my weakening structure, not beleaguer me about a missing boy.”
“He’s an innocent in trouble.” Merryn wove her way through the saint’s illogic, and back to the crux of the matter. “While he was inside your church, were you not compelled to protect him from all harm?”
The lady’s eyebrow rose with cynicism. “How innocent could he be? He had not been baptized for six years. Besides, his father is a warlock and his mother a witch. Such disparate unions are fraught with difficulties. You should know, also being a child of such a merger. Nevertheless, I gave them permission to enter. After all, God teaches us to be generous of spirit and open to those who seek the greater truth.”
Merryn sighed. At least they were in agreement with that theological outlook.
“Best if you forget that whole unpleasant episode,” the saint continued, her gaze returning to the horizon. “I have.”
“I cannot forget the boy and walk away,” Merryn replied. “I will not abandon him.”
The saint’s gaze swung back to her with such ferocious swiftness, Merryn teetered on her heels.
“The boy is a powerful warlock in his own right, though untrained,” Saint Agatha said in a hard voice. “As powerful as you, Protectress, I don’t doubt. What harm could possibly come to him? We all do what we can, but sometimes we must step back and let the world take a turn to see how events evolve.”
The saint then shut her eyes as if she wished to blot out Merryn’s existence as easily as she seemed to have Trystan’s.
Merryn ground her teeth in frustration. She stared up at Saint Agatha’s stony pose for a restrained count of ten and then asked in as calm a tone as she could muster, “Would you at least relay the details of what happened that night?”
The earl’s voice said, “Talking to yourself, Miss Pendraven? Or are you praying again?”
Merryn lowered her gaze and found his lordship leaning against the closed porch door. How had he come out and she not heard him? Had he been listening to her for long? The one time she needed to sense his presence and he’d crept up on her like a snake in the sand.
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