Shadows embrace, p.1
Shadow's Embrace, page 1
part #1 of Stonebridge Witches - Book Three Series
Shadow’s Embrace
Stonebridge Witches - Book Three
Nicole R. Taylor
Shadow’s Embrace
(Stonebridge Witches - Book Three) by Nicole R. Taylor
Copyright © 2024 by Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved.
This book is written in British/AU English.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.nicolertaylorwrites.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
NEXT: SHADOW’S CYPHER
Stonebridge Witches
VIP Newsletter
About Nicole
Chapter 1
June Morgan treaded lightly along the cobblestone streets of Stonebridge, her boots tapping against the stones as she wove through the throng of early risers. The town was shrugging off the last glimpses of winter, the morning frosts becoming few and far between as spring began to take hold of the town.
The first flowers of the season dotted window boxes and cast gardens with splashes of colour, the greenery crisp and vibrant under the morning light. The air smelled of damp earth and new growth, a scent that filled June with an unfamiliar sense of excitement. After so many years of living in London, the changing of seasons was a much different affair in the north of England.
After months of cold and grey, it felt as if her spirit was waking up from a deep hibernation. It’d been a challenging winter, filled with dangers both magical and mundane. Challenges that she was still coming to terms with, if she was being honest with herself.
The elemental entity beneath the lake had been a harsh lesson in the raw power that slumbered within the earth of Stonebridge. Its awakening had nearly been the end of her—falling through the ice had been a harrowing experience she wasn’t going to forget anytime soon. The freezing waters claiming her breath and strength as she struggled beneath the ice haunted her dreams sometimes, but knowing that Lucas had been there for her…
June grimaced, but couldn’t stop the memory of his strong hands hauling her from the deathly grip of the lake from filling her mind.
Passing The Corner, the local café where Lucas reigned with his moody disposition and secret kindness, she felt a pang of regret. She missed his rough laughter and the warmth that occasionally broke through his gruff exterior. It was all her fault, though. She couldn't balance her need to keep her magic secret with the honesty that true friendship required, and now their strained silence hung heavy as the steam that fogged the café’s windows.
And then there was Harriet.
Her bookstore lay just beyond, its quaint sign swinging gently above the door. Fortune’s Books had always been a sanctuary for June, during childhood and since returning. It was a haven of paper and ink where the problems with her parents couldn’t touch, and magic seemed so far away. But now, an invisible wall stood between them, erected brick by brick with every half-truth June uttered to keep her magic hidden. She longed to share her world with her best friend, to share the wonders and dangers alike, but the fear of what might happen kept her silent. There was also the Stonebridge coven’s rule of not revealing their magic to anyone…which had already led June to alter Harriet and Lucas’ memories once before. If they ever found out what she’d done, would they ever forgive her?
A sigh escaped June’s lips, its warmth visible in the crisp morning air. This path she walked was solitary by necessity, because as humans, they had no way of protecting themselves from the darkness that constantly threatened the balance of nature. Yeah, she could make them trinkets to help, but they wouldn’t safeguard against an entity like the elemental.
She checked the time on her phone and quickened her pace as she saw she was borderline late. Today was her first lesson in a new magical discipline. After graduating basic witchcraft with her longtime mentor Alistair Blackthorn, and elemental magic over winter with Elaine Parker, she was excited to move onto something a little less action orientated—herbalism and potion making.
Hopefully spring will be a bit quieter, she thought. Perhaps the softer, subtler magic of herbs and plants would help her find some balance again. Less stress, more slow living, like a social media aesthetic. She chuckled to herself as she reached the end of the lane.
Lydia, who was much closer in age to her as her other mentors, would be her new teacher.
June’s boots crunched along the gravel path, leaving a trail of footprints behind her as she approached the quaint cottage nestled on the edge of Stonebridge. The dwelling seemed to have sprouted from the earth itself, with moss-covered stones and climbing ivy adorning its walls. The wooden door stood ajar, and as June lingered at the threshold, a wave of herbal scents greeted her.
“Hello?” she called. “Lydia?”
A head of mousy hair appeared from behind the kitchen counter. Her green eyes sparkled as she brushed a stray lock behind her ear. “Ah, you’re here!” Lydia’s voice was like a melody intertwined with the rustling leaves outside.
June looked around the kitchen, her eyes widening at the chaos. The small living space was taken over by everything green and growing. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters, their fragrances mingling in the air. The table was disorder and creation: pestle and mortar sets, vials of varying hues, and books with pages splayed open, each with ancient recipes and botanical illustrations. On the wall behind Lydia, jars stuffed with an assortment of leaves, roots, and petals labelled in a delicate hand lined the shelves, and there were so many of them it was a wonder they didn’t crash to the floor.
“Come in, come in,” Lydia said, moving aside to let her fully enter. “I hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty.”
“If you’re talking about dirt, then definitely,” June replied, her eyes wide as she took in the organised disarray. Each item, no matter how cluttered it seemed, had a purpose, a place in the grand scheme of natural magic. “I’ve had enough battles to last me a lifetime.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” she replied. “Shadows and elementals? This is the most action I’ve seen in Stonebridge. Ever.”
June hesitated. “How long have you been with the coven?”
“Well, I wasn’t born into it like most,” Lydia explained. “My family never really believed in being in a coven, or any group activity, for that matter.” She sighed and wiped her dirt stained hands on a rag. “We did our own thing.”
June nodded. She’d heard about witches who remained solitary—lone wolves. There was nothing wrong with it, but she couldn’t imagine facing the things she’d had in the last six months without the help of a coven.
“I was always the black sheep in that regard,” Lydia went on. “I’m a joiner, so I went looking for someplace where I could grow things, and kind of stumbled across Stonebridge. That was about six…no, seven years ago.” She grinned at the memory, her eyes taking on a nostalgic glow. “It’s been quite the journey since then, I assure you.”
So, she wouldn’t know anything about my parents, June thought. Something fluttered in her heart—disappointment, frustration? It was hard to tell.
“Oh, I’m so happy I have someone older to teach.”
June frowned. “Older?”
“Yeah, I’m mostly helping teenage fledglings along, but there aren’t that many adults who look to expand their knowledge. Plants aren’t sexy.”
June laughed. “I would beg to differ,” she said, running her fingers along the leaves of a vibrant plant. The stem shimmered with a faint, otherworldly glow, its petals fanning out in an array of colours she’d never seen before.
“Well, let’s go into the garden,” Lydia suggested. “We’ll start with the foundations.” She led June through the back door, and as the witch moved, the plants seemed to lean toward her as if she was the brightest thing in the room. She must have cultivated everything in the room for there to be such familiarity.
As June stepped outside, the transition was like being sucked through a portal into another world, one where the town with its modern amenities and traffic didn’t exist.
The garden was a mosaic of greenery, each plant vibrant and pulsating with life. Leaves unfurled toward the sunlight, and the first flowers of spring bloomed with colours so vivid they had to have been altered with magic.
“Wow,” June said. “It’s like a jungle out here.”
“A jungle with a purpose. Every herb, flower, and root here has a story, a spirit,” Lydia explained. “Understanding them is more than just knowing their uses. It’s about respect, harmony.” She touched a leaf gently, and June could swear there was a faint glow at the contact. “This way.” She moved along a grassy path, the toes of her boots dampening with dew.
A small greenhouse stood in a sun-dappled corner, its glass panes fogged slightly with the humidity within. Inside, more exotic plants thrived, eac
“Herbalism is the art of listening to the earth and responding to its needs,” Lydia continued. “The plants will teach you if you’re willing to learn.” She knelt by a patch of soft, velvety leaves and gestured for June to come closer. “Feel the texture of lamb’s ear,” she said, brushing her fingers over the silvery foliage. “It’s not just the medicinal properties you need to know. It’s also how to harvest without harming the plant or its surroundings.”
June crouched beside the witch, mirroring her movements with reverence. She extended a tentative hand and grazed the leaves, her touch light as a feather. The plant seemed to lean into her caress, an interaction that felt deeply personal, like an exchange of trust between witch and nature.
“Always cut above the leaf node,” Lydia instructed, showing a clean snip with her shears. “That way, the plant can heal and continue to grow.”
“Like pruning,” June murmured, absorbing every detail, committing the fragrances and textures to memory. Lamb’s ear.
“Yep.” Lydia’s green eyes shone with approval. “It’s about balance—a witch’s favourite word. Take only what you need and always give thanks.”
June reached out, clipping a small sprig. She held it up to the light, studying the patterns in the leaf.
“Good,” Lydia smiled. “Now let’s see what else the forest has awakened for us this new season. It’s still early, so it’ll be a surprise for us both.” She picked up a wicker basket from beside the greenhouse door and handed it to June. “We’ll gather some cuttings, and hopefully some seeds, but we’ll just see what we can see.”
They ventured beyond the cultivated safety of Lydia’s garden and into the wilder embrace of the forest that butted up against the far edge of the property.
“I didn’t realise your cottage was so close to the woods,” June said as they walked. “Aren’t you worried?”
“Worried?” Lydia remarked, raising her eyebrows. “Not at all. The forest isn’t something to be feared. Yes, there is a lot of ancient magic in the earth, but it’s always been a nurturing presence for me. Just like the old tales tell us, it gives and it takes. We must respect that balance.”
June nodded as she looked up at the trees, which stood tall and ancient. The air felt cool and primordial, filled with the scent of earth laced with morning dew.
“Keep your eyes open,” Lydia advised as they walked. “Spring hides her treasures well. The earth after the snow melt is rich and full of the good stuff.”
“Good stuff?” June asked. “You mean, nutrients?”
“More than that.” Lydia laughed, her voice echoing in the quiet of the forest. “Magic. It seeps through the ground, infuses the roots, bursts from the buds. The plants that grow here bloom early and often, more so than any other part of the Lake District. When you learn to see it and feel it… Well, you’ll understand then.”
June followed Lydia’s steady pace, her gaze flitting from one budding plant to another. There were nettles pushing through the thawing earth, their stingers warning off the untrained hand, and clusters of snowdrops bowing their delicate heads.
“Here,” Lydia pointed to a knot of early blooming yellow flowers. “Evening Primroses. They’re more than just a pretty face. Their essence helps to soothe and bring comfort. The petals can be dried and infused, but simply having some in a vase, or growing a plant in the home, can have much the same effect.”
June noted the warm yellow petals, vibrant against the dark soil. She used the shears to collect a few blooms, placing them in her basket.
“Everything is connected,” Lydia instructed. “When you make potions, you’re not just combining ingredients. You’re weaving together pieces of the world.”
June liked that statement. It felt wise and romantic.
“Look there,” Lydia said, pointing. “Hawthorn leaves—excellent for heart-related potions, but you must wait until after they’ve flowered. Taking leaves too early can weaken the plant and the magic within.”
June nodded, absorbing every word so she could write them down in her grimoire later.
“Ah, here are some wild garlic shoots, ready for harvest,” Lydia exclaimed, her fingers avoiding the soil as she plucked the stalks. “These are perfect for cleansing and protection spells.”
“Protection spells?”
“Yep. Used properly, these herbs can shield you from malevolent forces.”
June added the wild garlic to her basket, thinking about how she could’ve used some long before now, but wrinkled her nose when she realised she wouldn’t smell that appetising.
“All right,” Lydia finally said, eyeing the full basket. “We have what we need for today—these ingredients will be perfect for a simple healing balm.”
Once inside, the real work began. The table was cleared to make room for a pot and brewing instruments, which were a simple saucepan and an electric induction hob. Not very mystical, but witchcraft wasn’t about cast iron cauldrons and open fires in the twenty-first century.
“Measure out one hundred and eighty millilitres of water,” Lydia directed, watching as June poured the liquid into the pot. “Good. Now, add the primrose petals. The more the merrier.”
June did so, watching as the water took on a slight golden hue as the fresh flowers began to wither in the hot water. Lydia explained the significance of timing and temperature, the way a few seconds or a degree too high could alter the potion’s effectiveness.
“Stir counterclockwise to unwind the ailment,” Lydia said, guiding June’s hand.
“Unwind the ailment? What does that mean?”
“The ailment is what you seek to cure with the potion. Unwind is just another term for cure,” Lydia explained. “Feel the potion. It’s not just ingredients. Its intention, will, and the desire to heal. This is the magic part of the recipe.”
June focused, allowing her senses to tune into the rhythm of the stirring. Fragrance rose from the cauldron—a mix of earthiness and subtle floral notes.
“Magic is a spiritual thing, but it’s also a science,” Lydia reminded her. “We’re scientists in a laboratory.”
“I like the sound of that,” June said. Her hand moved with care, the wooden spoon creating a gentle vortex in the simmering water.
“Good. Now let that simmer. Magic is much like nature itself—it requires patience.” As the mixture bubbled, Lydia leaned against the counter, her green eyes reflecting the hue of her garden just visible through the window.
“What other kinds of potions are there?” June asked, glancing around the room. “There are so many plants…”
“Oh, countless,” Lydia replied with a soft chuckle. “Potions for love, luck, protection, transformation, plants to induce visions and spirit-walking… The list goes on. Each plant carries its own energy and properties. And like everything in life and witchcraft, there is the light and the dark.”
“Poisons.” June’s eyes widened as she gazed at the rows of herbs lining the shelves.
“And antidotes,” Lydia added, her voice taking on a sober note. “In our craft, there is always a balance. We can’t know healing without understanding harm.”
“Oh, the potion’s changed,” June exclaimed. The liquid in the pot had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, its surface catching the light that filtered through the cottage’s small windows. Lydia nodded at June, a signal that it was time for the final step.
“Careful now,” Lydia advised as she handed June a glass vial. “Use the funnel and pour steadily, and don’t let your thoughts wander. Focus on the intention—to heal.”
June held her breath, steadying her hands as she tipped the pot ever so slightly. The liquid flowed into the funnel and into the vial, a perfect pour without a single drop spilling.
