The Witch's Daughter

From Publishers Weekly This pleasantly romantic historical fantasy debut flips lightly between the past experiences of ageless witch Elizabeth Anne Hawksmith and her present-day life in Matravers, England. After a plague kills young Elizabeth's father and siblings in 1627 Wessex, her mother, a gifted healer, seeks help from ruthless warlock Gideon Masters. He exacts a high price, and Bess survives only to be accused of witchery along with her mother, who is captured and hanged while Bess escapes and begins her new life of immortal solitude. Fast-forward to 2007, when Elizabeth trains teenage Tegan to be a hedge witch and shares stories about Gideon, meeting Jack the Ripper while ministering to the Whitehall prostitutes in 1888, and serving as a nurse in 1917 Flanders. Bess's past adventures are fascinating, but there's a sketchy quality to the contemporary sections that diminishes the effect of the grand finale. (Jan.) (c) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved. From Booklist After nearly four centuries of life on earth, Elizabeth Hardwick settles in a small English village where, always wary of danger, she befriends lonely teenager Tegan and gradually tells the story of her life. Left alone in 1628 after her father, brother, and sister die of the plague, and her mother is hanged for witchcraft, 15-year-old Bess seeks shelter from warlock Gideon Masters, who trains her in magic and wants her for his eternal soul mate. Bess escapes both the witch finder’s noose and Gideon, but he continues to search for her when she’s Dr. Eliza Hardwick in London in 1888 and Nurse Elise Hardwick in Flanders in 1917. Each time, Gideon takes human form and another anagrammatic name to lure her as she works only to heal, and he leaves the bodies of innocents in his wake. In 2007 Gideon reappears, predictably finding a chink in Elizabeth’s defenses as she makes Tegan her disciple. Brackston’s first novel offers well-crafted characters in an absorbing plot and an altogether delicious blend of historical fiction and fantasy. --Michele Leber “Lushly written with a fascinating premise and an enthralling heroine, The Witch’s Daughter will linger long in memory after the last page has been savored.xa0 Highly recommended.” -- Sara Poole, author of The Borgia Betrayal "A beautifully written, brilliantly crafted page-turner that completely invests you in the lives and loves of the witch's daughter. A true reading event." --Melissa Senate, author of The Love Goddess' Cooking School “A lyrical and spell-binding time travel fantasy featuring an immortal witch who must summon all her powers to defeat the evil hounding her through the centuries.” –Mary Sharratt, author of Daughters of the Witching Hill "Brackston’s first novel offers well-crafted characters in an absorbing plot and an altogether delicious blend of historical fiction and fantasy." -- Booklist "This pleasantly romantic historical fantasy debut flips lightly between the past experiences of ageless witch Elizabeth Anne Hawksmith and her present-day life in Matravers, England... Bess's adventures are fascinating." -- Publishers Weekly “With her first novel, author Paula Brackston conjures up a riveting tale of sorcery and time travel. By mixing feminine heroism with masculine might, Brackston successfully captivates readers with characters Bess, an immortal witch, and sinister dark lord, Gideon….xa0 It's almost impossible not to root for the underdog in this magical twist on the classic David vs. Goliath tale. Plus, the skill with which Brackston weaves her characters through time makes this book a fascinating take on global history.” – Marie Claire “Stretching her tale over several centuries, British-based Brackston brings energy as well as commercial savvy to her saga of innocence and the dark arts….xa0 History, time travel and fantasy combine in a solidly readable entertainment.” -- Kirkus "An engaging, well-written novel that will appeal to fans of historical fiction and fantasy alike." -- Portland Book Review "Part historical romance, part modern fantasy, The Witch’s Daughter is a fresh, compelling take on the magical, yet dangerous world of witches. Readers will long remember the fiercely independent heroine who survives plagues, wars, and the heartbreak of immortality to stay true to herself, and protect the protégé she comes to love." --NightOwlReviews.com" The Witch’s Daughter is a wonderful combination of historical fiction and paranormal. Brackston’s story alternates between past and present as she mixes tales of Elizabeth’s early life with the present day, tying in historical events including Jack the Ripper and the horrors of WWI... Overall, a really enjoyable read." --BookBitch.com"Readers who enjoy historical fantasy built around an epic struggle between good and evil should enjoy this original take on the theme." --HistoricalNovels.info"An enjoyable read." --Genre Go Roundxa0Reviews "This tale spans centuries and walks the line between good and the darker side of magic.xa0 Magic and those who possess it have been feared and persecuted throughout most of human history.xa0 Find out what it is like to live for hundreds of years, mostly in solitude, and have to struggle with having the power to help people, but being afraid to use that power." --Affaire de Coeur “Women will certainly love the independent, feisty female characters, but the narrative is wonderfully imaginative and the plot fast-moving and filled with action. This novel is highly recommended for witches and warlocks alike.” –Historical Novel Society "The combination of stories from the past and the present meld nicely, and the author adds some clever twists so the reader never knows exactly from whom the next Gideon apparition will arise. Perhaps the best twist is the ending--leaving an opening for another book, but at the same time furnishing the reader with quite a satisfactory ending." --The National Examiner (UK) Paula Brackston is the author of a travel book, The Dragon's Trail. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University in the UK, and herxa0autobiographical writing has been published in severalxa0anthologies. She lives halfway up a Brecon Beacon with her partner and their two children. Visit her online at www.paulabrackston.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Batchcombe, Wessex, 1628 Bess ran. The clear night sky and fat moon gave ample illumination for her flight. She feared the dawn, for with it would come the discovery of her absence, and then the hunt would begin. The fetters still fastened around her legs rattled against her anklebones with every stride, a single broken link on each all that remained of her chains. Metal rubbed through young skin until a thin slick of blood trailed in her wake. Her bare feet slapped through the shallow mud, retracing a route that was so familiar as to be imprinted on her mind, clearly mapped, allowing no false turns as she fled beyond the village boundary and ran toward the woodland. Still the short journey felt longer than it ever had, the trees seeming to recede before her, recoiling from her boiling panic, never coming nearer however hard she ran. An illusion. Merely a trick of the moon shadows. I must not falter. Her breath sounded loud in her ears, loud enough to wake a light sleeper in an outlying cottage, her heartbeat surely too thunderous to go unheard. She pressed on, at last reaching the cover of the first slender trees. The darkness in the copse was of a different nature. The early spring foliage admitted only fractured moonbeams, and roots and brambles clutched at her from both sides of the path. On she ran. She gasped as stones scraped her soles. She splashed through a brook, the chill water momentarily numbing her wounds before gritty earth from the forest floor forced its way deeper into the lacerations with every footfall. An owl screeched his disapproval of her presence. A badger drew his snout back into his sett, waiting for the disturbance to pass.The freshness of the night air stung Bess’s throat. Even as it made her cough and fight for breath, she did not slow her pace; nor did she think to care, after so many hours in the stifling confines of her prison cell. Here at least was air to breathe. She crested a small hill and paused, steadying herself against the trunk of a great ash. She could taste the woodland on her tongue: the moss, the silver lichen, the rising sap of the trees. Beyond that, two more things clearly described themselves: her own fear and the sea. Both saltinesses spoke of terror and of freedom. She peered forward along the path and into the heart of the forest. That way lay escape from her captors. That way he would be waiting for her, horses ready, provisions, a plan, a destination to ride for. She pushed herself from the tree, summoning what strength she had left, but something held her back. Something inside her made her wait. Consider , it said, consider the cost of that freedom. A distant noise caused her to start. Hounds. They would be upon her in moments; she could not hesitate. Yet still that voice would not be silenced. Consider, it warned. Mother? What should I do? By way of an answer the night breeze carried the scent of the sea to her nostrils. From the village the baying of the dogs grew louder and was now accompanied by shouts. A movement in the darkness ahead caught her eye. She was sure now she could make out the silhouette of rider and horses. Those who hunted her would take her life, that she knew. But what price would she pay Gideon for her freedom? No. I shall not go to him. I will not. She turned and sped down the eastward path, away from the trees, away from the hungry hounds, and away from him. In moments she had broken free of the woods and was racing across springy turf, out in the open, heading toward the one choice left to her: the sea. She felt rather than heard him come after her. She dared not look back now. As she reached the cliff path, a watery sun raised itself above the horizon, bleeding bitter red into the sea. A flat, shadowless daylight replaced the night, leaving Bess exposed. At the cliff’s edge, she stopped. Looking toward the village, she could see torches spluttering in the grayness and make out featureless shapes moving rapidly nearer. Even above the hypnotic rasping of the waves on the rocks below, she could feel hoofbeats shuddering through the earth. Though he did not call out, she could hear his voice inside her head, Bess! Bess! Bess! Bess would not turn. To meet his gaze would be to lose her own will. Below her the high tide allowed no glimpse of sand, only deep water and bone-shattering limestone and flint. The sun climbed higher, so that when she lifted her eyes heavenward, it was to see an apocalyptic sky before she stepped forward into nothing. My name is Elizabeth Anne Hawksmith, and my age is three hundred and eighty-four years. Each new settlement asks for a new journal, and so this Book of Shadows begins. Copyright © 2010 by Paula Brackston Read more