Eventually
It will be, at first, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a pickup truck, two people stargazing, and a small group of teenagers with cigarette tips glowing red in the darkness, all cloaked beneath the deepening shadows of a half-finished construction site. At the foothills’ crisp horizons, nuit-blue blankets itself gently over gleaming gold. A crescent moon shines coolly in this thick heat, and the dusk holds such a depth of silence that the growling of the truck’s engine and occasional shouts of adolescent laughter all seem to lift briefly, sink quickly, fall into the silence and disappear. And then, whisper. The truck’s engine revs and quiets. Whisper, whisper. The crickets begin to sing. Whisper, and a broad scattering of starlights converge into a flash. Light floods the construction site. The shadows startle into hiding; the half-built home teeters stark and naked in the brightness. The laughter dies; the cigarettes fall; the engine’s growl is wrathful. The battle has begun.
The prologue of the first book in a series that I’d like to write someday about a group of middle-aged witches.
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