Pitch
After an (explosive) incident she would rather not talk about, the Coven banned seventeen-year-old Medea from using magic. But not to worry, she has a plan to make them give her license back. A plan that involves summoning a Demon to enter the Witch Tower Trials, winning them, and becoming the official Mage of Mistwatch. The problem is, it seems this Demon she’s summoned isn’t really a Demon at all, but a confused punk rocker named Jane.
Jane is having the worst night of her life. She’s just been dumped by her girlfriend, got kicked out of her band and drunkenly acquired a strange new tattoo which she suspects might be infected…but it gets a whole lot worse when the tattoo starts to glow and she’s pulled into a world of floating cities, talking rabbits, demons and witches.
This queer fantasy follows Medea and Jane’s chaotic adventure as they try to find a way to win the Trials and send Jane home. But as feelings bloom between them, will Jane still want to go?
Chapter One
Demon summoning 101
For the second time that day, the stone mortar cracked in Medea’s hands. She inspected the imperfection, huffing a sigh through clenched teeth. It was shallow, the spell would still hold. When she reached for the pestle, the tool fissured and broke into two halves. Glancing around her, she stuffed the pieces into her cloak pocket and took one of the spares from her drawer of infinite usefulness.
‘I saw that.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a toe mushroom,’ she stuck out her tongue at the judgemental rabbit stretched out on a pillow on top of her workbench. If she didn’t concentrate on grinding the nightshade and nimroot, the consistency would be all wrong.
‘Don’t be so nervous, Mede. You’ll ruin it.’
The crack in the bowl lengthened, forking into several prongs like a lightning strike.
‘Great advice, Clive. Maybe I can just stop breathing too, at least then I wouldn’t have to do these fracking trials anymore.’
The rabbit’s long black ears flicked in annoyance, his pink nose twitching. How could a rabbit look so snooty?
‘I’m trying to help you. If you’re not careful you’ll bring half the building down.’
‘Clive!’ The last of the nimroot flew at the rabbit’s head without Medea touching it. He dodged easily, hopping from the workbench to a stool and the root splattered against the wall leaving a brown stain. As if the dingy attic needed anything else to add to the grungy atmosphere.
Medea resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. ‘You promised not to bring that up again.’
If a rabbit could roll his eyes, that’s what Clive would be doing, Medea could tell. A weasel would have suited him better than a rabbit.
‘Are you nearly done?’
‘Don’t touch my pentagram,’ she warned.
Continued…