Blood Fugue & Witch's Nocturne By: E.J. Wesley *Book Excerpt & Giveaways*

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Book 1 Goodreads Description

“Some folks treated the past like an old friend. The memories warmed them with fondness for what was, and hope for what was to come. Not me. When I thought of long ago, my insides curdled, and I was left feeling sour and wasted.”

Jenny Schmidt is a young woman with old heartaches. A small town Texas girl with big city attitude, she just doesn’t fit in. Not that she has ever tried.

Life has pummeled her heart into one big, lonely callus. She has no siblings, both parents were dead by sixteen, and her last grandparent—and caretaker—was in the ground before she turned twenty-one. She’s the last living member of her immediate family. Or so she thinks…

“We found my ‘grandfather’ sitting at his dining room table. An entire scorched pot of coffee dangled from his shaky hand. His skin was the ashen gray shade of thunderclouds, not the rich mocha from the photo I’d seen. There were dark blue circles under each swollen red eye. A halo of white hair skirted his bald head, a crown of tangles and mats. Corpses had more life in them.”

Suddenly, instead of burying it with the dead, Jenny is forced to confront the past. Armed only with an ancient family journal, her rifle, and an Apache tomahawk, she must save her grandfather’s life and embrace her dangerous heritage. Or be devoured by it.

Book 2 Goodreads Description

After receiving an ancient tribal journal from her grandfather, Jenny is sent on a mission of discovery in an attempt to unravel clues to her family's monster hunting past. The journey becomes more than academic when she is asked to confront a coven of dangerous witches who plan to cast an insidious spell on the plains of West Texas.

Witch's Nocturne is the second of the Moonsongs Books, a series of paranormal-horror-action novelettes by author E.J. Wesley. These stories contain language and content better suited for mature readers.

Check out this Book Excerpt from Witch's Nocturne!

Not wanting to come off as desperate, I waited until five after nine to make the call. I’d spent all day coming up with the perfect, professional-sounding introduction. I finally decided on something along the lines of, “This is Jenny with Moonsong Investigations.”

Solid damn gold.

A pause after the third ring. I prepared to unleash my company line. A tired female voice cut me off before I had the chance.

“Hold on a sec, I’m taking off my bra.”

“Uh … er, sure.” The unmistakable sound of clothes scratching over the receiver came through the phone.

“I’d like to find the bastard who invented underwire boob shackles and put his balls in a vice. You still there?”

Call me crazy, but I already knew this lady and I were going to get on real well.

“This is Jenny. You sent a message? About my Craigslist ad?”

“Thank God, you’re a woman.”

According to the birth certificate and last bathroom stop. “Don’t let it get out.”

“Sorry, I’ve just dodged enough swinging dicks for one day.”

I smiled. “Know the feeling.” I searched for my next words, wanting to sound like a pro. “What kind of crazy can I help you with?”

I pulled the cell phone down to my chest, cursing under my breath.

Marshal is right. I am a goddam Ghostbuster.

“Right,” she said, going silent. “It’s just…”

She sniffled. My hands moistened around the phone. Crying from such a ballsy chick put my nerves on edge.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to put you off. I’m likely to believe anything you tell me at this point, trust me. Just kind of new at this … uh, stuff.”

“I’m fine. And trust me. You didn’t hurt my feelings. Most people call me a freak to my face, so my hide is pretty thick. I’m just not sure I want you mixed up in all of my garbage.”

People openly thought she was a freak? Awesome. Not that I couldn’t relate, but my mind jumped to unpleasant visions of vampires, were-things, and serial killers who preyed on self-employed, Internet patsies. Oh my!

At last, I said, “I’m new, but I’m determined. Maybe start from the top.”

If chewing your lip made a sound, I was pretty sure that was what I heard coming from her end of the phone.

“You’re right. How to start this…” Her voice was still shaky but more assured than before. “I’m a witch.”

She was waiting for a response. Damn.

“Going to confess, I don’t really know what that means. Do you, like, fly on a broomstick?”

A bad joke to make her relax, sure, but I was truly lost when it came to witches. Outside of what I’d seen in movies, that is. I slid my laptop in front of me. No reason to wait to start doing the research.

She laughed, and I knew I’d accomplished half my plan.

“No. I only fly coach, and usually on the cheapest flight I can get.”

She made a sound like a rim-shot, cymbal-crash to announce her own lame punch line. I grinned, liking her more by the second.

“No, it’s more like a religion—or a profession.”

My fingers paused on the keyboard long enough to say, “Still not sure I follow.”

“Lots of people practice witchcraft. It isn’t what you think,” she said with the passion of someone used to explaining things to skeptics. “We hang out together on the weekends, take care of each other’s kids, have Super Bowl parties—basically anything normal people in a group would do. Our group just has a slightly different set of operating principals.”

I nodded, switching the phone to my other ear. She wasn’t kidding about the different part. The article I’d pulled up on the computer listed about a dozen different kinds of witchcraft—from African to Green. Some believed magic was subconscious, and could be done while sleeping. Others used things found in nature, like herbs, to create items with magical properties. And some relied on more unusual methods, like convening with spirits, to cast spells. None of it was what I’d have called normal.

But what the hell did I know about normal? Nearly six-foot girls with purple Mohawks and large, red feathers tattooed on their forearms weren’t exactly commonplace in rural Texas, either. Well, the tattoo was new, but still…

“You don’t hide it?” I asked with a healthy dose of skepticism.

I was still a little reluctant to tell folks here in Texas my father had been a registered Democrat.

“Nope.”

“You just meet up with other witches at the local bookstore, swap recipes for witches brew and whatnot? That’s a pretty brassy thing to do in a place that still isn’t entirely comfortable with the outcome of the Civil War.”

Another laugh. I was on a roll.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Anyway, I think it’d be best if we could meet face-to-face. I live in Lubbock, so—”

“Whoa, at least tell me what’s going on. Maybe your name?”

I was gullible, sure, but that didn’t make me a whore when it came to risking my neck.

“You’re right. You deserve a chance to back out,” she said with a nervous sigh.

I winced, mentally ducking the poop flying toward the fan.

“You need to understand, there are all kinds of witches. Good, bad, indifferent. I’ve only ever wanted to be helpful.”

An unexpected sob came from her end. I brought the phone closer to my ear.

“I believe you. I’m sure it’s not as big a deal as you think. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“You don’t understand. Witches, especially the young ones, usually operate within a group. A coven. The larger the coven, the more powerful it is. I belong to one of the largest covens in West Texas, and they’re about to do something horrible—”

About The Author

Born and raised in Oklahoma, E.J. grew up in a land of good earth and better people. He holds degrees in psychology and counseling, but prefers to spend his time in the heads of imaginary people to real ones. He writes and lives in South Texas, and loves to chat about movies, books, music, food, and family.

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