ISBN:9781976063474

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Concentric Circles is the kind of story that leaves you breathless and lingers in your thoughts long after the last page is turned. Characters and settings so richly detailed, that the words weave a magical tapestry of adventure. Ms. Jarretta has penned a tale of epic proportions.

KyAnn Waters ~ Author

Shrouded in the Mists of Avalon
is a Hidden Legacy.

Enter this mythical in-between realm
of Power and discover…

Syther the Quitch is angry. Someone new has arrived in Glastonbury, England.

Shayla Brinawell carries many secrets.
Destiny propels her path. Paths have twists… Magic astounds her.
Death chases her. Love saves her.

Meekal Magdal-eder Chilkwell, Chalice Well Guardian has always known his destiny. A protector of all that is good,
even in the face of possible death,
he insists on standing strong.

[1] Circle’s Threshold: Hawthorn & Heart

The email from Barb popped open presenting the broad shoulders of a hunky naked guy, back turned to the camera, standing under a rushing waterfall of exquisite sensuality.

Mesmerized by the sexy image, Shayla Brinawell breathed deeply. Beneath the picture Barb had written:

“Just because you meet your soulmate, doesn’t mean your life will be a bed of roses. Or maybe it does—thorns and all. Don’t forget, that’s what you told me when I met Jeff.

We just broke up.”

Shayla stared at the red letters, stunned. Barb, her best friend since kindergarten, truly believed in love. Now, she was out of it. Shayla wondered briefly about life’s circumstances. Only talking face to face could soothe this type of pain.

She gnawed her lip as she thought about skipping out on work. “Better not,” she muttered. A shiver raced down her spine. She decided what she needed right now was a good dose of humor to chase away the sadness.

She clicked the favorites file and scrolled down the list. Tap the keys and move forward with your life. Forget about love. Just do want you are compelled to do for the sake of a good life. Answer questions. Laugh when you get the chance. Go for adventure and inner joy. That’s what she must do. Forget love.

She needed something for a good laugh—she would think about Barb later. Maybe they would get some dinner after work and Barb might be willing to talk about it. She leaned forward when something finally caught her attention, tickling a deep-seated, wonky sense of humor.

Birl?

Shayla laughed at the letters looking back at her from the computer screen. The online Scottish vernacular dictionary proved irresistible and amusing—in a lifting of the spirits sort of way. Exploring language inspired her creativity.

Birl: To twirl or spin, particularly to the point of dizziness.

Laughing, she clicked the back button and made her final decision. She would go, across the pond that is, because the Atlantic Ocean beckoned her to go on a mission of personal adventure with the potential for self-discovery. At least that’s what she hoped it would be.

Compelled toward destiny’s call, she opened a new Internet window to place her reservation for the tour.

A portal to the future? Step through the threshold. The thought made her smile with anticipation. First stop would be Glastonbury, England where the history that fascinated her began.  

“It’ll be fun. Come on, Shay,” Barb coaxed.

Coercion. Shayla stared at the shop window adorned with an assortment of oddments; green glass bottles, candles of various colors and ancient, well-worn books. “It isn’t really my forte. How’d you find out about this place?”

“Gary. And no one will know—about you.” 

“Figures. It isn’t that easy.”

Barb snorted. “You don’t like Gary because he has a pink Mohawk and numerous piercings.”

“No,” Shayla said, trying to push the subject of personal, mysterious origins and funky happenings away. “I don’t like him because he tried to get me to drink a love potion. Who knows what was in that thing—maybe GHB.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Right,” she growled back and shook off a sense of déjà vu that had blanketed her since putting the car into park. “Is that why you wanted to come here? Buy a love potion?”

Tears threatened to spill over thick black lashes. Barb dabbed the corner of one eye, blinking to keep the moisture at bay. “It wouldn’t do any good. Jeff’s history.”

“You’re better off. He’s a cheating louse. A slug under a rock.”

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s go in.”

When Shayla pushed the door open, delicate tinkles sounded from a chime. Inside, the small shop presented a welcoming atmosphere. Celtic music played softly, brushing the senses with dreams of fluffy white thunderhead clouds against a backdrop of cerulean blue sky and rocky highland craighs.

A round water fountain, displaying ancient Celtic symbols, dominated the center of the floor, added its own musical harmony.

“Good evening. Welcome to Circle’s Threshold into Ancient Journeys. I am Connell. Is there something I can help you find?”

 “Elixir of Witch’s Grass,” Barb grumbled under her breath.

“We’re just looking. Thank you,” Shayla said, elbowing Barb.

“Take pleasure then.” Connell returned to his station behind the glass case where he began placing new items on shelves that ran the breadth of the store.

“Witch’s grass won’t lower libido. I was just kidding about that,” Shayla said low-voiced, eyeing one of the many lit candles on a table that featured ritual books and tools for every purpose.

“I know. Just wishful thinking.”

“Find something else to take your mind off him,” Shayla said. Barb would take awhile to get over Jeff. She knew that as certain as she knew her own twice broken heart. “Lot’s of books.”

Barb disappeared toward the back into the small library section where double stacks of books hid her.

Shayla stared at the place where Barb previously stood. With a low sigh, she turned, focusing on the curious items in the lighted case. Small crystals cut in different shapes, made to carry in a purse or pocket lay on black velvet, gleaming with mystic allure. She moved down further, past an assortment of wands, feather quills and parchment, to the jewelry section.

“I see the garnets draw you.” Connell smiled and indicated a beautiful necklace. “It’s healing and protective properties will see you through your intended journey. Would you like to try it on?” Eyes, the palest shade of sky blue glistened in candle glow.

“It’s beautiful, but I’m sure it’s too expensive for my budget.”

A bark-like laugh erupted from Connell and lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes, giving the impression of agelessness. “Perhaps, it’s something else you seek. For while the hawthorn and heart have powerful symbolism combined with garnet, all that is in existence goes to whom it is intended.” He winked and opened the display case door. “It’s always free to look.”

The heart shaped pendant warmed her fingertips when Shayla held the necklace. But, the warmth wasn’t enough. She passed her thumb over the garnet, held it up in the candlelight, and waited. It glistened and twirled in the ambient golden glow of the shop. The pendant, although beautiful, didn’t speak to her. She handed it back to Connell. “It’s exquisite, but I don’t think so.”

“Ah. A young woman who knows herself. A true treasure.” The corners of his mouth tucked into a smile, as he placed the necklace back on its velvet rest, smoothing the filigree chain out to perfection.

Shayla moved across the shop. Passing by the stacks, she heard Barb, muttering like a fiendish bookworm.

“Typical. Naw, have that one. Just give me something different.”

Shayla suppressed a laugh. Barb, always fascinated with magic, kept a veritable library in her closet and considered herself a closet witch. Shayla, however, wanted nothing to do with the hocus pocus found in those books. She didn’t have anything against witches. She was different. The whisperings in her soul told her so. Problem was she didn’t know the language spoken within her mind. If she could just figure it out, perhaps the mystery that was her life could be resolved.

The display cases on this side of the shop housed athames, an assortment of bolines and other curious blades. The various athames were the same she’d seen before. However, Shayla stopped and bent closer to study the curved bladed bolines. Only having seen them online, she wondered about their use.

“British Sheffield Steel and hawthorn handle. I must say, you are definitely drawn to hawthorn. It’s your tree. When are you planning to leave?”

Shayla straightened, a frown pushing down her brows. “What do you mean, it’s my tree?”

“Everyone has one,” Connell said. “A species of tree that draws them. For some it’s oak. Others, pine.” He shrugged and pointed to the boline. “That particular boline is meant for ritual use when preparing your herbs. It’s custom made with a carved hawthorn handle straight from Glastonbury, England. The garnet necklace you admired was created by a former resident of Glastonbury.”

“Is it coincidences that make you think I’m leaving?”

“There are no coincidences—”

“Yeah, right.”

“Mine is apple.”

Shayla choked. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, turning to stare at the glass case. The sound of water falling into the fountain carried her into a daze of jumbled thoughts. Apples? Avalon. Glastonbury. Hawthorn—holy thorn.

“If you’ll excuse me, I believe your friend has found something.”

She nodded.

Although the shop owner offered many items from Glastonbury, the next case shifted geographically. Blood red velvet, laid over unseen items gave the interior a layered look, dominating the vignette. Highland tartan accented.

Shayla leaned forward, mind and heart racing. “There are no coincidences.”

The reason for her sense of déjà vu glistened under the glass. There it is…

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