Sneak peek: In the Spirit

Hello lovelies,

Here's a sneak peek at my newest book - co-written with the wonderful Nova Blake. Let me know what you think!

Prologue

Constance Mōhio sat in her usual chair as dawn crept through the window, her bones creaking like the old villa around her, watching steam rise from her cup. The land around Kotahi Bay felt emptier now. Had done since word came of Sylvie's sudden passing.

"You always said you'd outlast me, old friend," Constance murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of the earthen cup, its glaze the deep blue-green of pāua shell. Strange, how quickly Sylvie had declined.

Constance frowned. Sylvie had given her this cup. Everything beautiful in this house seemed to carry her old friend's touch. Her white plaits, still thick despite her years, swung forward as she leaned to inhale the steam. Kawakawa tea, for memory and grief.

The herbs hung in great bundles from the ceiling beams – horopito, kawakawa, mānuka. So many years of gathering, of learning the old ways together. Above her head, tūī and pīwakawaka called their morning songs, but there was a note of warning in their voices today. They knew, as she did, that a great uncertainty spread out before them. 

What did Sylvie's passing mean for Kotahi Bay…? 

Constance touched the rich jade-green pounamu pendant at her throat, feeling the steady pulse of power there. The boundary still held, but for how long? The old guard were slipping away. Now she alone remained, and her own thread grew short. 

Outside, the first rays of sun caught the tips of the pōhutukawa trees that lined her property, their red flowers in full bloom, always bringing festive cheer to the summer. 

The younger ones would be here soon – Matai and Samantha – coming to discuss what must be done. But for now, in this quiet moment between night and day, Constance let herself feel the full weight of her grief. A mighty tōtara tree had fallen indeed. 

As the sun rose higher, the sound of car tires on gravel drew her attention. Constance smiled despite her heavy heart. She levered herself up from the chair, joints protesting, and shuffled to put the kettle on again. 

There was a friendly knock just before the back door creaked open – they knew better than to use the front, which was purely for show these days, its path overgrown with kawakawa forming a natural barrier, the magic subtle but effective at turning away those who didn't belong.

"Aunty!" Samantha's voice carried down the hallway, bright despite the early hour. Not blood relation, of course, but family all the same. 

"In the kitchen, where else would I be?" Constance called back, setting out cups from the shelf. 

Matai appeared first, ducking his head under the dried herbs. His tattoos shifted in the morning light, the protective runes flowing like water across his skin. He pressed a kiss to Constance's weathered cheek, setting a paper bag on the table. 

"Fresh bread," he said. "And honey from my bees." 

"Showing off again?" Constance raised an eyebrow at him. "Your bees make the best honey because you sweet-talk them." 

"I prefer to think of it as diplomatic relations." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

They all felt Sylvie's absence, like a missing heartbeat in the rhythm of their small community. 

Samantha drifted in, her blonde hair caught up in a messy bun, wearing one of those flowing dresses that made her look more like a fairytale character than a serious witch. But Constance knew better – there was steel under all that gauze, and power in those silver-ringed fingers. 

"I felt it," Samantha said, sinking into a chair. "When she…when Sylvie…" She swallowed hard. "The boundary rippled." 

Constance nodded slowly, pouring tea for them all. "I felt it too. The pīwakawaka have been warning of it – listen to them now, how their song has changed." 

They fell silent, hearing the urgent notes through the birds' morning chorus. 

Matai's jaw tightened. "She wasn't supposed to go first," he said quietly. "She was the strongest." 

"Strength isn't always enough." Constance settled into her chair with a sigh. "Sometimes, the mightiest trees fall first, making way for new growth." She stirred honey into her tea, watching the golden swirls. "Sylvie knew what was coming. She tried to prepare…" 

"The granddaughter?" Samantha leaned forward. "Alyssa?" 

"Mm." Constance's lips twisted. "That's a tangled root system if ever there was one. It’s a concern, especially with the strange goings on at the council. Mrs Nolan cannot be trusted. She should be kept away from Alyssa. The girl has power – how could she not, with her bloodline? But she turned from it years ago. Sylvie spoke of her often, though mostly in regret." 

"Something scared her away," Matai said. It wasn't a question. 

"Yes." Constance watched a pīwakawaka dart to her windowsill, its tail fanning out as it landed, momentarily, before disappearing again. "Power without control, fear without understanding. A dangerous combination." The bird cocked its head, as if listening, then flew off with a sharp cry. 

"But she's coming back now," Samantha pressed. "To claim the house, at least. That has to mean something." 

"It means the wheels are in motion." Constance set her cup down with a decisive clink. "But claiming a house is one thing. Claiming a heritage – especially one you've rejected – that's another matter entirely. Especially when we don’t know what really happened that night. No one understands Sylvie’s power. She was always so cryptic about that."

“How can we help Alyssa then?” Samantha asked. “We don’t know her, and we don’t understand her magic – not properly.”

“We’ll do what we can,” said Constance, firmly. “Give her some space and offer our support. That’s all we can do. The rest will be up to her.”

Chapter 1

Alyssa shut the front door and slid the bolt across, leaning against the weathered wood. She kept her limbs tucked inside the frame, out of sight from any prying eyes peering through the windows flanking the entryway. Her strawberry blonde hair was at an awkward length now, escaping the tidy bun she'd had it in, making her look more crazed than grieving. Her makeup was no doubt cracked and ruined, and the only decent dress she'd been able to locate was a touch too small.

As she stepped over the threshold, the air shifted – warmer than it should be given the drafty entryway, carrying an elusive scent reminding her of childhood visits: herbs and old wood, with an underlying current of something less definable. 

Magic, though the thought of the word brought a constriction to her chest. The house seemed to exhale around her, settling, as if recognising her presence. Alyssa shoved the sensation away. It was just grief and exhaustion. Magic was not something she was allowed. Not ever.

All day she'd been drowning in a sea of other people's condolences and expectations. The constant noise, the awful small talk had been exhausting. Right now, the only thing she craved was blessed solitude and quiet. And to have this house – her house now – all to herself.

She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled and opened her eyes, taking in the foyer. It was one of those grand old villas she'd always fantasised about owning someday. If she was being completely honest, it was this specific house that had captured her imagination since childhood, though she'd never dared hope it would actually be hers. Dreams like that didn't come true for people like her.

Though once, she'd believed differently. Back when she’d spent summers here with Gran, learning about herbs and crystals, watching with wide-eyed wonder as her grandmother coaxed plants to grow and whispered to the earth. Before the incident…Before her mother had forbidden any mention of magic or Gran's "peculiarities." Before Alyssa had locked that part of herself away so thoroughly that she'd almost convinced herself it had never existed.

And of course, this house came at a terrible cost. Gran was gone, taken too soon. The only thing that made the intense grief easier to bear was that for some reason Gran had willed the house to Alyssa. The escape this gave her couldn't have come at a better time after everything that had happened – that fateful meeting with the doctor that preceded the break up with Grant… 

Of course, Alyssa had long been suspicious there was something missing inside her, something wrong with her. But recent events had only driven that home.

Since then, she'd been drifting aimlessly, stuck in a thankless dead-end call-centre job, no clue what the future held. Unmoored by the news that she'd never be a mother.

She'd actually been planning to visit Gran for the first time in over a decade, desperate for the special brand of comfort and counsel Alyssa remembered from her childhood.

Alyssa felt like a failure in every possible way. Not only couldn't she give her ex the family he wanted, but she'd been a crappy granddaughter. She hadn't even known the old woman was ailing, despite their regular phone calls.

She should have known. 

Alyssa gripped her stomach, sick with so much grief. Gran was the only one in the family who could have helped her pick up the pieces, but now she was gone and Alyssa had missed out on being here to comfort her or even to say goodbye. 

"I wish you were still here," Alyssa sighed, an ache blooming in her chest. Raw grief battled with guilty relief and bittersweet nostalgia, tangling together until she couldn't tell how she truly felt. In time the emotions would settle, she told herself, for now she should just appreciate the house and try not to think about the future.

Buttons, Gran's aging cat, sauntered across the hardwood floor and twined himself around her ankles. Absently, Alyssa scooped him up, nuzzling her face into his soft fur as she gazed into the living room. She felt a slight chill. Buttons was colder than he had any right to be, but still comforting. Memories flooded back, overlaying the present. Dancing with Gran in circles on the worn carpet, reciting poetry by the crackling fire, learning to make little charms and spell pouches. All the magic they'd shared, now lost like autumn leaves scattered by a brisk wind.

“Of course, inheriting a house in a quirky town is the start of a thousand cosy mysteries,” she muttered to herself. And to top it all off, Gran was a witch. Everyone knew that. But what was Alyssa? She had the gift as Gran always said, but the magic itself…she couldn’t think about it. Not after the incident.

Now that she was here, would her mother still talk to her? Or would she give Alyssa the silent treatment until she’d come to her senses and returned to her normal life?

She hadn’t realised just how lonely inheriting Gran's house would feel; she knew no-one in this town, and the absence of friends and family made the silence that much more intense. The house seemed to whisper to her, secrets in the walls, magic thrumming under her feet. It recognised her, it knew her magic, even if she wanted to deny that part of herself.

A sudden sharp knock at the door startled her. Buttons yowled in protest as her arms tightened reflexively. "Sorry, sorry," she murmured, setting him down and smoothing her rumpled black dress. She finger-combed her messy hair, set her face into a suitable expression, and opened the door.

A reedy, uncomfortable-looking man stood on the step, tugging at his too-tight collar. "Miss Whenua? I'm Derek McDermott. The, uh, lawyer?" He said it like a question, as if not quite convinced of his own qualifications. And to be fair, he didn’t look like a lawyer, or anyone she would trust with her last will and testament. They’d only spoken on the phone before now, and his appearance was utterly bland, which matched his voice.

Alyssa folded her arms. "Right. Hi…What can I do for you?" She kept her voice polite but brisk.

He glanced around, confirming the driveway was empty, then lowered his voice. "I know it's an imposition, but I must speak with you. Privately."

She frowned. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for—"

"Please, it's important. It won't take long." He held up a placating hand. "Your grandmother left something for your eyes only. I couldn't in good conscience give it to you in front of your…other relatives. They were rather…" He trailed off.

"Obnoxious? Pushy? Aggressive? Assh—"

"Just so," he said hastily, cutting her off. "Sylvie was beloved here, you see, so it was quite shocking how some of her family behaved."

"Believe me, I'm used to it," Alyssa said dryly. "I've dealt with their crap my whole life."

Derek hesitated, eyes darting around as if afraid of being overheard. "Sylvie hinted that there were things about this town, about your family history, that might put you in danger. I wasn’t told the details, but she was adamant that you be careful. That you watch for signs."

Alyssa's fingers brushed against the worn wood of the doorframe, and for a moment, she felt a spark – like static electricity but warmer, more alive. She jerked her hand away, but not before catching a glimpse of Derek's knowing look. He'd noticed something, though he was too polite – or too wary – to mention it.

"Signs of what?" Alyssa asked, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She was rather cryptic. But she told me she believed you have the power to face whatever is coming. That it is your destiny."

Destiny. The word clanged through her like a discordant bell. Gran had always said Alyssa had a great fate ahead of her, but she'd stopped believing in fairy stories a long time ago.

Derek cleared his throat. "In any case…" He pulled out an old VHS tape and held it out to her. "Your grandmother was very insistent that this was for you alone.”

“What is it?” Alyssa asked, staring at the outdated technology.

“I believe it’s a personal message she recorded for you,” he replied. “I haven't viewed the contents. She said it was private." He checked his watch, already edging back from the threshold. "Watch it when you're ready."

He thrust the case into her hands, then turned and strode briskly back to his car before she could even thank him.

"Weird," Alyssa muttered as his taillights disappeared down the drive. "Very weird."

Strangest of all was imagining Gran, with her love of analogue antiques, recording a video message. The mental image conjured a wry smile before melancholy crashed back over her. She wasn't ready to see Gran's face again. Not so soon after watching her coffin lowered into the cold earth. But if Gran had taken the time to record something, it must be important.

As Alyssa contemplated the tape in her hand, another knock sounded at the door. She sighed, wondering if she'd ever get a moment's peace. 

She opened the door to find a woman standing on the porch, her silver hair neatly coiffed, eyes twinkling behind wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a pale pink cardigan over a simple floral dress and carried a wicker basket, the aroma of freshly baked muffins wafting from beneath the checked cloth. Alyssa had a feeling she’d seen this woman at the funeral service, though that was all a blur.

"Alyssa, dear!" she exclaimed, her smile warm and grandmotherly. "I'm June Hardwick, a dear friend of Sylvie's. I thought you could use a proper welcome to the neighbourhood." She proffered the basket. "Blueberry muffins – Sylvie's favorite. Oh, the times we spent sharing these over a cup of tea!" June’s gaze softened in remembrance. 

Alyssa shook her head. Were blueberry muffins Gran’s favorite? That didn’t sound quite right, but it must be true because here was a sweet old woman telling her so. June's gaze swept the room, a fleeting look of calculation in her eyes before it was replaced by gentle concern. "My, you must be overwhelmed with all this. Why don't I help you sort through some of those boxes?" She pointed to a stack of boxes in the hall.

Alyssa hesitated, torn between her need for solitude and a desire not to piss off the neighbours before she’d had a chance to settle in. "That's very kind of you, June, but it's been a long day. I'm still trying to process everything. Maybe another time?"

June nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Of course, dear. You take all the time you need. I'm just two houses down on the right if you need anything." She set the basket on a nearby table. "Do enjoy the muffins. They always brought a smile to Sylvie's face."

As June left, Alyssa found herself alone once more, surrounded by the whispers of the old house, the lingering scent of fresh muffins, and the weight of the mysterious VHS in her hands.

She wandered through the house, trailing her fingers along the papered walls. The patterns were faded and peeling in spots. She knew if she picked at them, she'd find old newspapers plastered underneath, a hidden archive of bygone years. To Alyssa, that was the allure of these old houses – the secrets buried within, waiting to be discovered.

Secrets all belonging to me now…A shiver rippled down her spine. Anticipation or trepidation? Both, if she was being honest.

As she made her way down the hallway, a floorboard creaked loudly under her foot, then a rumble sounded. Just a gust of wind rattling the windows, but Alyssa froze. All the windows were closed, and there was no sign of a draft. Another gust sent the gauzy curtains in the lounge billowing. A whisper seemed to curl through the room, snatches of indecipherable words. The hair on Alyssa's arms stood up. There was something strange about this house. She had the distinct feeling of being watched.

In the kitchen, she stopped and stared. It felt so familiar yet alien to her. She half-expected to see Gran puttering about, flicking on the kettle and pulling down two mugs for her famous hot cocoa. The best.

Alyssa set the VHS on the counter and went through the motions of making herself a cup of cocoa, trying to stave off the sense that Gran would appear and scold her for brooding.

Movement outside the window caught her eye. A white shape jutted out from the edge of the woods. As she watched, it turned and glided towards the house.

Alyssa's breath caught. The shape moved strangely, more floating than walking. Like something out of a horror movie.

And it was heading right for the door.

Heart pounding, Alyssa grabbed a knife from the block on the counter. She crept towards the back door, listening hard. Silence. Then, a thump on the porch, like something heavy being dropped.

She inched closer, knife raised. The door rattled in its frame as if shaken by an unseen hand. Alyssa's mouth went dry. The rattling stopped as abruptly as it began.

Holding her breath, she lunged forward and yanked the door open. The porch was empty. No sign of the figure in white.

But on the welcome mat sat a bouquet of dead flowers, as if someone had placed them there only moments before. Alyssa whirled around, scanning the yard. She caught a glimpse of white vanishing into the tree line. Was that long white hair, or a cloak?

"Hey!" she yelled. "Who's there?" But the figure was gone. It had moved far too quickly to be human, hadn’t it?

Dread curled in Alyssa's stomach. Was Gran trying to tell her something from beyond the grave? That lawyer had warned her to watch for signs that she was in danger. Was this what he meant?

With a shaking hand, Alyssa gathered up the dead flowers. They smelled sickly sweet, cloying. Like a funeral home. A thorn pricked her finger and she dropped them, watching a bead of blood well up.

She sucked the blood from her finger and glanced back into the shadowed house. The home that should have been a sanctuary now felt like a trap. What secrets had Gran kept from her?

***

? https://mybook.to/InTheSpirit