Book Description Provided by Goodreads:
"Dreams are sacred..."
At the age of twenty-six single, geeky bookseller Till Nesbitt inherits the shock of a lifetime: a huge Victorian farmhouse filled with unique tenants, and the knowledge that there is a reason she’s always been different. She’s destined to become a Fairy Godmother, because the skills are written into her DNA.
Till embarks on her fairy education at Dreams Come True University with much trepidation, guided on her journey by a unique mentor: a Celtic hybrid with a secret by the name of Gus.
When Till falls head over heels for Gus, will she break the most serious law in the Fairy Code, or will the truth of what really happened to Gus’s parents keep them from repeating history?
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Excerpt:
“There’s no one I’d rather leave it to, dear,” Aunt Tilda answered. “I’ve told you: you are my rightful heir. A portion of the estate will be donated to a charitable institution to which I owe a great deal, buteverything else that I choose to leave you is yours.”
“How do you do that?” Till cried. She stepped back from the stove and turned to face her aunt again.
“Do what, dear?”
“Answer questions I haven’t asked out loud?”
“If I told you now, you wouldn’t believe me. Come; you need to eat.”
Till eyed the bowls cautiously, wondering just what a woman with such deep delusions might put into a pot of soup. “Why... what’s in it?”
“Potatoes— your favorite, if I’m not mistaken. I knew you were coming, so I made it for you. Now, if you would please, bring the bread and butter and let’s sit down and eat.”
Till was too hungry to object even if the soup were indeed poisoned. She sat down across the table from Aunt Tilda and lowered her spoon into the bowl, waiting for it to stop steaming before she finally tried it. She couldn’t help but sigh contentedly; the soup tasted like it came straight from heaven.
“Take some bread, too. You’re so thin... you could do well to add a little.” “I’ve always been this way,” Till said, as she sank her spoon back in her bowl. “I probably always will be.”
Aunt Tilda laughed. “Wait until you hit thirty and your metabolism comes to a screeching halt.” She dipped her spoon into her bowl and stirred. “It doesn’t matter, though. Mark my words: you are only going to get prettier as you get older. That’s just how this works. We’re lucky; most women have to worry about laugh lines and covering up their gray hair. We, on the other hand, get to show off our silver manes as our crowning achievement, knowing that we earned every last strand.”
“What do you mean, ‘women like us’?” Till managed to say between sips. “You keep saying things like that.” She was ravenous now, and in danger of burning her mouth. But she just couldn’t stop eating.
Aunt Tilda looked at her, warmly but without smiling. “We who are beyond the average, Till; we who are a blending of worlds, and all they have to offer. Of course, it’s not without a price that we receive the gifts we’ve been given— gifts you haven’t even begun to tap into yet. You will find there is a great life to be had, even for all the things you must give up... even considering the things you can’t have.”
Till didn’t understand what the old woman was saying at all... yet somehow she felt comforted by the words. “Thank you for your honesty. It’s refreshing.”
Now it was Aunt Tilda who seemed perplexed. “How so?”
“All my life, people have told me out of one side of their mouth that girls — that I — could have it all and be anything I wanted to be, if I just tried hard enough. And out of the other side, they’ve taught me to expect disappointment. It’s been rather confusing.”
The old woman nodded. “Understandably so. But it isn’t our own disappointment we must fear the most, Till; it’s the disappointment of others.”
Till sipped again. “Why do you make it sound like I’m destined for a life as a ladies’ maid?”
“Because you’re destined for something of the sort, dear girl,” Aunt Tilda replied, finally taking a spoonful of her soup. “Something not too far from it, anyway.”
A twisting sensation in Till’s stomach caused her to stop eating. “Something wrong, dear?”
The girl put down her spoon. “I have an eerie feeling all of a sudden.”
The old woman looked at her eagerly. “What do you think it means?”
“That my life is never going to be the same after today.” She cast her bright blue eyes upward. “It isn’t... is it?”
Aunt Tilda answered slowly, but truthfully. “No, dear... it isn’t. It’s never going to be the same again.”
“I knew it.” Till poked at her soup with her spoon, stopping only when she felt a slight, bony hand reach across the table and squeeze hers.
“It’s going to be so much better; you’ll see. You’ll look back on today and cry tears of joy at the memory— I promise you. You’ll realize that this was the day your life really began.”
“How do you do that?” Till cried. She stepped back from the stove and turned to face her aunt again.
“Do what, dear?”
“Answer questions I haven’t asked out loud?”
“If I told you now, you wouldn’t believe me. Come; you need to eat.”
Till eyed the bowls cautiously, wondering just what a woman with such deep delusions might put into a pot of soup. “Why... what’s in it?”
“Potatoes— your favorite, if I’m not mistaken. I knew you were coming, so I made it for you. Now, if you would please, bring the bread and butter and let’s sit down and eat.”
Till was too hungry to object even if the soup were indeed poisoned. She sat down across the table from Aunt Tilda and lowered her spoon into the bowl, waiting for it to stop steaming before she finally tried it. She couldn’t help but sigh contentedly; the soup tasted like it came straight from heaven.
“Take some bread, too. You’re so thin... you could do well to add a little.” “I’ve always been this way,” Till said, as she sank her spoon back in her bowl. “I probably always will be.”
Aunt Tilda laughed. “Wait until you hit thirty and your metabolism comes to a screeching halt.” She dipped her spoon into her bowl and stirred. “It doesn’t matter, though. Mark my words: you are only going to get prettier as you get older. That’s just how this works. We’re lucky; most women have to worry about laugh lines and covering up their gray hair. We, on the other hand, get to show off our silver manes as our crowning achievement, knowing that we earned every last strand.”
“What do you mean, ‘women like us’?” Till managed to say between sips. “You keep saying things like that.” She was ravenous now, and in danger of burning her mouth. But she just couldn’t stop eating.
Aunt Tilda looked at her, warmly but without smiling. “We who are beyond the average, Till; we who are a blending of worlds, and all they have to offer. Of course, it’s not without a price that we receive the gifts we’ve been given— gifts you haven’t even begun to tap into yet. You will find there is a great life to be had, even for all the things you must give up... even considering the things you can’t have.”
Till didn’t understand what the old woman was saying at all... yet somehow she felt comforted by the words. “Thank you for your honesty. It’s refreshing.”
Now it was Aunt Tilda who seemed perplexed. “How so?”
“All my life, people have told me out of one side of their mouth that girls — that I — could have it all and be anything I wanted to be, if I just tried hard enough. And out of the other side, they’ve taught me to expect disappointment. It’s been rather confusing.”
The old woman nodded. “Understandably so. But it isn’t our own disappointment we must fear the most, Till; it’s the disappointment of others.”
Till sipped again. “Why do you make it sound like I’m destined for a life as a ladies’ maid?”
“Because you’re destined for something of the sort, dear girl,” Aunt Tilda replied, finally taking a spoonful of her soup. “Something not too far from it, anyway.”
A twisting sensation in Till’s stomach caused her to stop eating. “Something wrong, dear?”
The girl put down her spoon. “I have an eerie feeling all of a sudden.”
The old woman looked at her eagerly. “What do you think it means?”
“That my life is never going to be the same after today.” She cast her bright blue eyes upward. “It isn’t... is it?”
Aunt Tilda answered slowly, but truthfully. “No, dear... it isn’t. It’s never going to be the same again.”
“I knew it.” Till poked at her soup with her spoon, stopping only when she felt a slight, bony hand reach across the table and squeeze hers.
“It’s going to be so much better; you’ll see. You’ll look back on today and cry tears of joy at the memory— I promise you. You’ll realize that this was the day your life really began.”
About the Author:
February Grace is a writer, artist and poet who lives somewhere that is much colder than she would like most of the time. She sings on key, plays by ear, and is more than mildly obsessed with music, clocks, colors, and meteor showers. Her poetry, prose, and/or flash fiction have appeared in The Rusty Nail Literary Magazine, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and Rose and Thorn Journal. Her work can also be found in the following anthologies: Poetry Pact Volume One, Anything Prose...And Poetry, Too! and Orange Karen, Tribute To A Warrior. GODSPEED, her debut novel, is a labor of love she refers to as "Literary romance with steampunk embellishments." Her second novel, OF STARDUST, is a modern, romantic fantasy tale.
Thank you so much for hosting a stop on the blog tour. I really appreciate it! :~)
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