The Arrival of Magic

Bethany faces a changing world.

Light escaped through a crack in the closed curtains. Bats hunted overhead. Strains of music carried on the crisp winter air. Occasional lyrics describing hazy, lazy days of summer seemed out of place beneath the canopy of stars.

Above, a clear sky offered a breathtaking display of the Milky Way. Bethany and Mark both peered into their own piece of precious equipment. Intense focus isolated them from the world. Beth’s camera clicked and her intake of breath drew a grunt from Mark. Hunched over the eye piece of a telescope he didn’t lift his head, but angled it slightly, as though waiting for her to elaborate.

“Fantastic.” Her warm breath formed into mist.

“You get a good image?” Mark muttered. “I have the most amazing view here, too.”

 Venus and Jupiter shone as a single entity. The clear night and distance from civilization enabled perfect viewing of the phenomena. Bethany turned her focus to Sirius, taking a long exposure of the dog star. It seemed fitting to include Orion’s dog in her night’s images. The Northern Hemisphere was enjoying their ‘dog days’, named after the bright star. Her internet contacts complained about the heat of their sultry summer, while she shivered through winter. 

“Thank goodness we could book the cabin. What a great idea. I can’t believe the others are more interested in keeping warm.” Bethany grinned. “They have no sense of adventure.”

“Wine, cards, the open fire. They just don’t understand the awesomeness of the moment.” Mark shifted the stool he perched on. “Their loss.”

“It makes such a difference not having the lights of town to interfere with my photos.”

“Ditto.”

Bethany changed the aperture setting and adjusted her tripod. Silence fell. Only the quiet strains of music disturbed the perfect night. Sharing a passion with Mark cemented their growing friendship.

Friendship, not relationship. Her initial disappointment faded as she discovered Mark’s interest in keeping her company came from his wanting to meet her colleague, Ethan. Mark though, proved to be a trusted friend and Bethany felt comfortable confiding in him.

A shower of bright lights flickered across her line of sight. Snapping the camera’s shutter, she scowled. What sort of shooting star, satellite, or UFO would cause such a display?

She glanced across to see if Mark noticed the strange event. His head remained low over the telescope. His shoulders appeared slumped, as though he had fallen asleep. 

Unlikely. Not when the stars provided such a magic display.

Background music slowed, as though running on failing batteries. The lower tones sounded like a whale song, gone wrong.

“Don’t panic.”

Bethany turned toward the voice. Normal speed. Normal tone. Sudden fear gripped her. The voice seemed to come from a cloud of soft light. A spiderweb of luminescence swirled slowly in the darkness beneath the cottage’s garden hedge. She breathed in. The scent of honeysuckle surprised her. Odd scent for winter. Terror filled her heart. Panic rose to choke her.

“Bethany, tonight you must make a choice.”

Bethany resisted the urge to scream, run, or laugh aloud. Wondering how she overcame her initial horror she remained standing, stock still. The whirling light took the shape of a human figure. No details, but obviously once human. Bethany bit her cheek. Did insanity ran in her family? What weird herbs did Stella mix into the stew she had consumed for dinner? Were they to blame for this hallucination? 

The figure seemed oblivious to her dismay.

“You have been tested.” The earnest voice continued. “You have proved your ability to withstand temptation, your soul is pure. You are exactly what we need.”

Bethany nearly choked.  “Need? Need for what?”

“Tonight magic is returning to this world. If you choose to accept your role in this momentous occasion, you will be one of the first diviners.”

“Whoa.” Bethany trembled. Not from the cold, though she became aware of the biting air entering her lungs. Fear didn’t make her shake, but the tone the voice used bordered on melodramatic. The cloudy figure shimmered. Bethany shook her head, trying to find a logical explaination for the voice and her vision. “Who are you? Better still, what are you? And why have you been testing me?”

“Fair enough. I suppose an explanation is warranted, though there isn’t much time for chit chat.”

“So, explain. I am all ears.” Trying to remain calm took most of her concentration. Above her the night sky stretched, clear and crisp. The cottage light still filtered through the cold air. Mark appeared unharmed, relaxed where he slumped over his telescope. No bats crossed the sky, and the strains of music still sounded strained and odd. The scent of blossom remained. Bethany steeled herself and focused on the voice and the words it spoke.

“You can call me Warlock." 

The voice paused, as though assessing the name. 

"Warlock is a title fitting my skills." The moment of introspection passed and the tone returned to businesslike and efficient.  "You have the ability to be a diviner. As magic spreads we need diviners who can assess souls to offer the gift of magic to. Your job will be finding and evaluating candidates, and allocating the types of skills each recipient will receive.”

“Magic? Skills?” Bethany's breathing returned to normal. Her pulse settled. Almost as though she fell under the spell of the warlock's words. 

“Healing, telepathy, energy conversion, seeing into the future and the past, controlling the elements. You know the sort of thing… what you don’t know, you will learn. If you accept the role of diviner you will be equipped with the power you need for your task.”

“I will be able to do magic?” Bethany grinned. If she was dreaming, she didn't want to wake, until she learnt more. Magic. Cool. “So, is there a downside?”

“Sadly, yes. You show wisdom asking this. Diviners have the ability to give the gift of magic, but where they choose a damaged soul or mis-assess a recipient, they also have the obligation to rescind the gift.”

“Fair enough.” She didn't really want to know. The  responsibility sounded pretty intense.

“Think about it, Bethany. Those who are chosen must be pure of spirit. Should a diviner’s assessment be clouded; by emotion or magic, the sorcerer with the damaged soul is not going to give up power willingly. Diviners need protection. There is no guarantee every witch or wizard they create will be perfect. The human race sadly has proven over the ages to be deceptive. Your task comes with a certain  amount of risk.”

“But I will have the skills necessary to perform it?" Doubt eroded her confidence. "You said as much.”

“Allowing for my choice being correct and you passing the tests… you didn’t fail the test of temptation with the cube. Your handling of a change in luck has shown your true colours. Forgive my clichés, but we don’t have much time to elaborate. Your innate skills should suffice, with the added ability of perception you will receive. I will also leave you with a talisman.”

Around Bethany's wrist a delicate silver bracelet curled. It spread warmth and calm through her body. She caressed it. The surface tingled beneath her fingertips. Confidence returned.

“So my mission, should I accept it…is to find other people to share the magic. I get to give them power? But my choice could backfire if I choose the wrong person, with the wrong outlook. Good vs evil type thing?” 

The bracelet vibrated and Bethany could hear the warlock's voice in her mind, rather than through the chill night air. The smell of spring blossom filled her. Warmth spread through her body. Words flowed through her mind. “Basically, in a nutshell.”

“Right.” Bethany shivered and chewed her bottom lip. After a moment she continued. “How do I get training?”

“Training. Yes. Time is important. First thing to do is find a guide and a protector. These must be souls you trust… with your life. Give them a bracelet, you will know how, when the need arises. They can shape them to suit their taste. The bracelet will allow communication between you and your team.  You can’t waste time choosing your team, either. This task must be accomplished as soon as possible. Second, you should choose a familiar. You do know what they are?”

“I’ve read a few fantasies." Bethany frowned. "Where I live is not pet friendly.”

“Think outside the box then. Your choice. Your familiar will be vital to your growth, so choose well.”

“What about you?" Bethany lifted her hand to peer at the silver bracelet twinkling in the warlock's light. "Will you be around to answer questions? Can I contact you?”

“If you need to contact me, each team member needs to be involved in the summoning." The vibrations paused. Bethany waited. After a heartbeat the warlock continued,  "Don't call unless you have dire need. It is my task to find and deliver magic to diviners. You are not alone. I doubt we will meet again, unless you make a mess of things. Trust yourself and the magic. I have done my research.” The figure shimmered. The scent of blossom grew stronger. Bethany struggled not to sneeze.

"Can I contact other diviners?" Bethany asked in an urgent breath. The thought of the warlock leaving left her feeling nervous and confidence eroded again.

"They will most likely be looking for you. You are the first to be given their gift, Bethany. At least in this region. Others will look to you for guidance."

"No stress then?" Bethany sagged beneath the perceived burden. 

"Don't doubt yourself. Or my choices. Trust the magic, be yourself and trust your instinct." The warlock seemed to gather his light form. 

 “Now, time is passing, even though I have slowed it down.” The warlock’s image tightened. Bethany could recognise human features within the light. For a moment he appeared dressed in a tailored coat, high collar, cravat, double breasted and ornate cuffs. His face appeared younger than Bethany expected. Almost handsome, bright friendly expression, a neat goatee. An even smile revealed crooked teeth. He raised a translucent hand to adjust the broad brimmed hat, complete with flourishing feather. His outfit could have been lifted from a picture book of the Musketeers. Warlock's smile evaporated. “You must consider well before sharing this new role with your friends. Do you trust any of them?" His expression matched his earnest tone. "Don’t let physical attraction overshadow common sense and gut instinct. Find your protector and guide as soon as you can. This is vital. You must be protected and guided. Is everything clear? You accept your role?”

Bethany nodded. “I do.” She grinned. “I can’t believe I am saying this. It will be disappointing when I wake tomorrow morning with just a headache and no talent.”

The figure of light swirled and the warlock’s illumination began to fade. “Sorry, Bethany, I must be on my way. Use your powers sparingly until you have mastered them. Trust your heart.”

Bethany shivered again. Despite the band of warmth around her wrist cold seeped into her bones. The night closed in around her, darker and less inspiring than previously. 

Mark roused, snuffled and coughed. “Well that’s odd,” he said scratching his forehead beneath his beanie. “I feel as though I have been asleep. My fingers are numb, I am freezing. I wasn’t cold a moment ago.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bethany closed the lens cap on her camera. “Wanna go inside and get warm?”

“Reckon. It’s been a brilliant night’s viewing, Beth.” Mark proceeded to disassemble his telescope. "Magic."

“Magic.” Bethany repeated the word, wondering how her life would change as the stars rolled through the heavens and magic became part of her world.

***

Rosalie Skinner resides on the east coast of Australia when not totally immersed in the fantasy world of her writing.

Rosalie’s love of the ocean, nature, history and horses has enabled her to give her books an authentic air. Her latest achievement has been to ride through the Australian Snowy mountains and see the wild brumbies run. When not watching the migrating whales pass her doorstep she has more humble pastimes.

Other than being a published author, her greatest thrill is being a grandmother. Born over fourteen weeks early her granddaughter’s perfect development and growth are a miracle and joy.

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I AM SIRIUS by Crystal Collier

My feet touch down on the ground, and I’m grateful for the solid earth. I glance back to the sky, the heavenly beacon I’ve left shining in my absence—a guide to my place in the great black once my month-long sojourn on earth ends. But for now, I’m free.

And there’s only one place I want to go.

I’ve had so many names through the centuries: Yoonir, Sigu Tolo, Tishtrya, An-Nahm, Tianlang, Tenro, and Canicula, but my favorite is Sirius—Sir if I don’t like you. Rius if I do.

Tonight I’m in a Rius mood. And who could blame me? After eleven months in the black heart of nowhere, I’m ready to break out a keg and party like it’s the end of time. Instead I’ll go around making plants wilt, weakening men, and my personal favorite, turning on the ladies. It’s my animal magnetism, which is ironic considering how many people associate my name with a dog.

A dog.

Loyal, fierce, blood-thirsty. Everything I’m not. Everything the goddess Ishtar wanted me to be.

I breathe in the pollen-laden wind, the scent of ripe corn and hay filling me with nostalgia. The satisfaction of a bounteous harvest after months of work. Good, honest work. The kind I miss followed by festivals and partying late into the night. I’m definitely primed for the partying, but there’s one thing I have to do first.

The “stars” holding my place wink down at me: Don’t be gone too long.

I give them the finger. “Go burn yourself. I’m never coming back.” I say that every year, and every year I’m sucked back into that hole of an existence by the invisible leash I feel even now tethered to my immortal heart. There is no such thing as true freedom. But if I could, I would escape.

According to mythology, I am a star, a whole collection of stars, a constellation. I don’t believe in mythology.

My soles scuff across asphalt, a wide black path leading me home. The night is quiet, except for the chirp of insects. The houses I pass are silent. Their windows are giant glassy eyes witnessing my sober ascent before the fun can begin: A man condemned to light the sky for eternity after offending a lesser god by passing her up for his wife. A man who cared about crops more than making eyes at pretty, petty things.

Ishtar, called me a dog. You know what they say about a woman scorned—especially one who presides over war? She thought she had me trapped, stuck out there in the black and all to herself, but I’m a resourceful guy. Nine centuries in, I found myself an ambrosia blade and slit her throat.

One celestial war later, I was back behind bars. But, as it turns out, the big guy up there really didn’t like his bratty little goddess, so he granted me one month off every year.

Source

Wind whistles between the metal bars guarding the cemetery. A gentle shove and the gates swing wide, admitting me into a sea of mausoleums and floral bouquets. Plants shrivel as I pass. It’s why I never bring flowers, though I would if I could. A whole field of them. Petunias and daffodils, forget-me-nots and daisies—all her favorites.

The tombs shrink in grandeur and grow older as I progress, until I’m standing before a little hill, a single white pinnacle beckoning me.

I take a deep breath, exhale, and move.

Nineteen hundred years. So much can change in nineteen hundred years. I’ve rebuilt her grave once every century since winning my freedom, and although the land has altered much in that time, her place is always the same. Wind and wear have smoothed the carved flowers on her stone to indistinct bumps, but the symbol of her name remains—the half crescent with underlining squiggles. My moon over the sea.

My fingers graze the weathered stone.

Rhea took a boy who flirted with anything (including goddesses, much to my detriment,) and turned him into a respected man, a pillar of the community. And then she paid for it with her life.

I kiss my fingers and press them to the faded stone flowers. “Sleep peacefully, my kuvalya.” My waterlily.

The issue with living forever is that I won’t see her again. Not in this life, not in the next. Never have the chance to hold her, to apologize, to promise she lives in my heart always and that I have no regrets. Except I do have one.

That our life together was cut short. Because of me. Which is why I’m going to get drunk out of my gourd and spend the next thirty days not caring about anything but becoming oblivious.

A dog whistle pierces my ears. Its pitch pulsates down my spine, resonating with the marrow in my bones, synchronizing with the vibration of my very atoms. I drop to all fours. My muscles lock. I twitch to break free, but it’s useless.

“Hey dog boy,” a sultry voice grazes the back of my ear.

My fingers dig into the dirt, aching to turn on the voice and demolish its source. She shouldn’t be here. She’s dead, and yet I know that voice from the heart of my cold nightmares. “You’re not real,” I hiss though a locked jaw.

She circles me, translucent skirt revealing the length of her legs. I glare at the ground.

“Oh, I’m very much real, and very much in the mood for vengeance.” Her final word lingers like the jangle of a rattlesnake, pulling my gaze to the source of danger—ultra-white teeth between crimson lips.

I look back at the grave before me. She had her vengeance ages ago, along with my desire to live. “How are you here, Ishtar?”

She sits on my Rhea’s gravestone, crimson nails curling over olive skin as she crosses her arms. A curtain of ebony hair silhouettes her shapely form, emphasizing the smallness of her bustier and width of exposed bosoms. She leans forward to give me a better view. “I thought you believed in reincarnation, dog boy.”

Any man would find this she-demon irresistible. Any man but me. I roll my eyes and focus on a tree in my periphery.

“Every thousand years I am born again in mortal form.” Her voice is like ink, dripping in my ear, drowning my brain.

“How wonderful for you,” I mutter, and then the last two words sink in: mortal form. She’s mortal. She’s vulnerable.

If I could break free from this paralysis…

She laughs. “Soon I will ascend to my place on high.” She points to the heavens. “I wanted you to know before I leave that your efforts to end me were futile. Oh, and your brother’s bloodline, the people you check up on year after year? They are going to die. Very soon. All of them.”

Rage surges through me. It pounds in my head like a drum, calling for strength, tremoring down to my toes. Though my body no longer possess blood, the immortal substance that fills my veins burns like magma, igniting my being.

“And this?” Ishtar pats Rhea’s headstone, “This will be crushed and the entire plot of earth turned into a cesspool.”

My fists are locked. Something cracks inside me, like my veins have broken open and leaked the inferno pulsing through me. Fire throbs from my knuckles into my core, barely contained by my skin. It simmers, liquidifying everything inside me, eating away my organs and replacing them with molten fury. The essence of a star.

“And the best part?” Ishtar lifts a hand to the sky, cupping the light that holds my place. “You will watch me do it, powerless to stop me like the leashed dog you are.”

Ishtar is fixated on my place in the sky, oblivious to the transformation occurring right in front of her. I am burning. My skin crackles and I release the last stands of restraint. I will never, NEVER let her harm another innocent. She will not enslave another person so long as I live. This. Ends. Now.

I growl and blinding light breaks through my skin. The grass beneath me shrivels and blackens, turning to dust. Cold heat rips free and I scream, exploding into a billion pieces. The night is nothing but light, freedom, and consuming wrath.

I am a star.

***

I wake to the dawn, the sun barely free of the horizon. With a gasp, I feel my arms, solid and human. I sigh in relief.

Blackened earth stretches out around me, all except for a star shape circling Rhea’s grave. A sliver of crimson fingernail remains on the stone, singed across the top as if burned free by a blow torch.

Ishtar is dead. For now.

Another thousand years and she’ll be back, as conniving and vicious as ever. And I’ll be here, waiting for her, ready to hunt her down like the dog she claims I am.

I am Sirius.

Crystal Collier is a young adult author who pens dark fantasy, historical, and romance hybrids. She can be found practicing her brother-induced ninja skills while teaching children or madly typing about fantastic and impossible creatures. She has lived from coast to coast and now calls Florida home with her creative husband, four littles, and “friend” (a.k.a. the zombie locked in her closet). Secretly, she dreams of world domination and a bottomless supply of cheese. You can find her on her HERE.

Orion's Dog

Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky

On summer nights, star of stars,

Orion's Dog they call it, brightest

Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat

And fevers to suffering humanity.

Homer, The Iliad

***

Sirius A (white star on left) and Sirius B (blue star on right)

***

Lady Jane Blackmore crept down the darkened hallway, her hand fisted around her father’s pocket watch. It was one of a handful of his possessions that she retained, the remaining items having been sold off to cover his debts when he passed.

Penniless and orphaned, Jane had almost been forced to the foundling hospital. But, she was saved from such a travesty by her father’s dearest friend, Lord Wickware. For eight years, Lord Wickware treated her as a member of his family, and not a mere responsibility or a burden. She was greatly grieved by his passing last year, for he had become a second father to her.

Now she was the ward of the new Lord Wickware, Nashland, the boy she regarded as a brother. In her mind he would always be Nash, her playmate and co-conspirator in childhood pranks. Now he was her provider and protector. At least until a suitable marriage was made, or until three years hence when she reached her majority.

She hoped her lack of dowry would allow her to remain single until reaching her majority, having no wish to enter a loveless marriage. Not that she opposed marriage, mind you. But the one she longed longed to marry would never do. It would be a scandalous affair, one that must be avoided.

Banishing her wayward thoughts aside, she slid the watch into the pocket of her borrowed trousers praying no servants, or worse Nash himself, would see her attired thusly. Her steps light, she inched past her guardian’s room and hurried to the stairwell leading to the attic. Breathing a sigh of relief that she remained undetected, she climbed the stairs, stepping over the squeaky third step so as not to disturb the household.

In the attic, she climbed the short set of stair leading into an window enclosed cupola. After his father’s passing, Nash had ordered this room built. He drew the designs himself, claiming he needed a place to observe the heavens without obstruction from the trees surrounding the country manor.

Tables were pushed against the east and west windows allowing for maximum light while compiling notes and making drawings of Nash’s scientific observations. On the northern wall, a ladder led to an unenclosed observation deck where only a waist high railing surrounded the platform that sat four stories above the ground.

Moving to the east windows, Jane set the paper and charcoal beside a handheld telescope that lay on the table. When Nash first showed her the device, she had thought it a spyglass, as it looked similar to the one of her father’s that sat on the shelf in her bedroom here at the manor. Jane picked up brass tube and tucked it into the pocket of the borrowed trousers she wore. Satisfied the instrument was secure, she continued on with her task.

Jane had never been atop the cupola without Nash. Until tonight.

She nimbly climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap door, and stepped onto the flat, slate roof. Outside the air was still and quiet. And warm, as an August morning should be. It was too dark to see, but Jane knew a haze filled the air. One always did during the sultry days of summer.

With a shake of her head, she banished her drifting thoughts and set about her work. Dawn would break soon, and her chance to spot the constellation she sought would vanish.

Her heart filled with memories of happier times, she withdrew her father’s pocket watch from her pocket. With the time noted, she allowed the watch to dangle from its chain, knowing she would need to lift it quickly. Hands steady, despite her proximity to the edge, she raised the telescope and focused on the eastern sky near the horizon. A blurred white dot glowed against the deep blue of the pre-dawn sky. Her fingers gripped the tiny dial on the side of the contraption and moved it in tiny increments until the dot became a star. Not just any star, but Sirius. Orion's Dog. Omen of evilness.

Or so the unlearned believed.

Jane believed it a coincidence that Sirius’ rise afore the sun was followed by hot and humid days. Nor did she attribute the stormy seas, the spoiling of milk, or the madness of creatures, dogs most especially, to the Dog Star. If Nash had taught her anything it was that there must be a logical explanation.

When the star was swallowed by the glow of the rising sun, she grabbed the chain of her watch and lifted it, noting the time once more. With a sigh, she returned both the telescope and her watch to her pockets.

She took a moment to enjoy the sunrise, awed at the beauty as the horizon blazed red. The red faded to orange, which melted into a pale yellow as the sun itself lifted into the sky, bathing the world in its light.

“Jane! What the deuce are you doing up here?”

She started at Nash’s voice, so transfixed by the sunrise that she hadn’t heard him approach. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and pulled her close to his muscled body and away from the perilous edge of the roof.

“Steady. I have you.” His breath trickled over her ear and she shivered. “You are right to be afraid,” he scolded. “Once we are back inside we will discuss your transgressions.”

Jane jerked free from his grasp and spun toward him, glaring. “I am not afraid, Nash.”

His gaze raked over her and her cheeks heated, knowing she had broken many of society’s rules this morning. He lifted a brow and pointed at the ladder. Without a word, Jane huffed out a breath and climbed back inside with Nash following close behind.

Nash secured the trap door before descending the ladder into the cupola. “Now Jane, shall we discuss your sins?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before listing her faults. “You were on the roof. Unchaperoned. Wearing my old clothes.”

She lifted her chin and ticked off her answers on her fingers as she spoke. “You were sleeping and I did not wish to wake you. None, save yourself, have seen me dressed thusly. Wearing your discarded trousers seemed safer than attempting to navigate the ladder in a skirt.”

Nash’s lips quirked in a semi-smile and a chuckle escaped him. He schooled his features and his gaze bore into hers, suddenly quite serious. “Well, I can see you are not the least repentant for your misdeeds. Tell me Jane, was your disobedience worth it?”

Jane dropped his gaze for a moment, then looked him dead in the eye, excitement bubbling up inside. “Sirius rose afore the sun this morn. We are still in the Dog Days.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You know as well as I that the Dog Days are mere superstition.”

“Truly?” Jane smiled. He had taken her bait as expected. Now if she could get him to commit to more. “Then why do we not prove it superstition. Perhaps you can discover what causes the days to be so warm, if it is not the heat of Sirius combining with our very own sun.”

“It would take more equipment than I own to prove that, Jane. However, there are some other myths about the days we can put an end to, if you so wish.”

Jane nodded, pleased to have any excuse to spend more time with Nash. “I so wish.”

“Excellent.” He grinned. “But first, you must change into proper clothing and fetch your maid. If a prospective husband learned of our time alone, and your manner of dressing as a boy, it would be scandalous.”

“Only to you.” Jane rolled her eyes. Sometimes Nash was too much a stickler for society’s rules.

“Although we were raised as siblings, we are not flesh and blood, Jane.” He grasped her elbow and ushered her toward the door, “I am your guardian, and an unwed male. Society would damn us both. Now change, gather your maid, and return here. I will have Cook send up breakfast for us and we shall begin breaking the myths of the Dog Days.”

***

While mulling over this month's topic, I wondered where the phrase "dog days of summer" came from. So I did some research and learned it came from the belief that when the constellation Canis Major rose before the sun, the star Sirius adding its heat to our son, making the days hotter and people and animals act in odd manners. Of course, this set my mind off and running about a girl coming of age, raised by a guardian-with whom she was in love- who dabbled in the sciences of astronomy and weather.

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Twisting tales one story at a time. 

YA author Mary Waibel’s love for fairytales and happy-ever fill the pages of her works. Whether penning stories in a medieval setting or a modern day school, magic and romance weave their way inside every tale. Strong female characters use both brain and brawn to save the day and win the heart of their men. Mary enjoys connecting with her readers through her website: marywaibel.blogspot.com

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