Seismic Evil
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Return to the magic with Chance Monroe as she battles survivor’s guilt and a world turned upside down by earthquakes devastating the Northern Virginia area she calls home. Chance’s fear that she is the source of earthquakes devastating the land, she tries to shut down her connection to the Earth. But when enemies aware of how to shatter her bond to the earth kidnap her, she now must turn to lover Jack and close friends Sydney and Jaime as well as uneasy ally Callanport for the strength to face the mad Hedge Witch Ava. If she fails, millions may die.
Reviews
Night Owl Romance Reviews – 4 Stars
Chance Monroe is a hedge witch, and as such, it is her sacred duty to care for the earth. When a series of catastrophic earthquakes begin, Chance becomes concerned that she is the one responsible. She would never purposely hurt the earth or it’s inhabitants, but perhaps she has not fully recovered from her recent trauma, and that is what’s causing her to lose control. It is only with the support of her lover, Jack, her guardian, Jamie and her best friend, Sydney that Chance is coping. Is it possible she is unknowingly causing the destruction, or is something much more sinister going on?
With every story I read, Heather Long continues to show why she belongs on my must reads list. Her stories are full of personality, with unique plots and fascinating characters. Chance Monroe may just be one of my new heroes. She is one tough lady, who, time after time, took a licking and continued to pick herself up and fight back. Jack completely stole my heart. With his patience, love and devotion to Chance, how could I not adore him? The connection between he and Chance was practically tangible and their love was obvious. Long was able to show the depth of their passion for each other without needing to be overly explicit, and she did it well. Seismic Evil had plenty of action with a great cast of characters and I greatly enjoyed it.
Guilty Indulgence 4 Chocolate Dipped Strawberries
Picking up where Prime Evil left off, Chance appears to be healing from the insanity of the last book. You know, in retrospect, there are aspects of this series that feel like an X-files episode: lots of building up, teasing characters, intersecting plot lines and then BAM a frenetic ending that leaves you scratching your head a bit. I can dig it though, no pun intended. So, for those who were disappointed in the lack of development of secondary characters and missing romantic elements from book one…Long delivers us in book two!
Goodreads – 5 Stars
Seismic Evil is an intriguing continuation of Chance Monroe’s story. As a hedge witch, she has a responsibility to the land that she is bound too. No matter what is happening in her personal life. When earthquakes start causing issues in her Virginian territory she has to deal with the emotional trauma she has been hiding within herself and use the feelings as a weapon against an unknown enemy.
The character development and growth is significant from the first installment in the series. The plot is unique to this genre and keeps the reader wondering what will happen next. A wonderful read from an author who I think will be climbing the ranks within the genre.
Excerpt:
I like three a.m.
I see it often enough from first planting to final harvest when the land needs me.
I like three a.m.
I sense it often where I travel when the balance must be restored.
I like three a.m.
Except when the cat’s claws stab into my late autumn’s lazy sleep, kneading frantically into my leg. His normally throaty purr, a low, moaning cry. An irritation to an otherwise pleasant, passing acquaintance with three a.m.
I shifted on my oversized four-poster bed, burrowing into the thick, blue jersey cotton sheets and heavy pile of hand-stitched quilts. Romeo protested being disturbed, but the long, lean black cat settled back against my hip.
There, all made up.
I fluffed my pillow and settled onto its softness. Drifts of sleep carried me until the first jolt hit. I bolted up. My gaze darted around the room, eyes struggling to focus in the dark. My stomach lurched, threatening to bring dinner up as disorientation struggled with vertigo.
I’m a Hedge Witch, dedicated to the protection and preservation of the earth. Maintaining nature’s balance and bounty is my legacy. The land provides my family’s bounty, but its balance is our responsibility. A lineage of hedge witches assured my connection and my ancestors intermarrying with the people of this land assured the charge.
Did the earth shake?
Seconds or maybe minutes later, a second jolt flung me out of bed with hip-bruising force. My charge that screamed for me. Screamed for help. Romeo squawked and vanished in a puff of black hair.
Crap! That wasn’t my imagination!
Skin vibrating like two bells struck together, I fumbled my mental and spiritual coupling with the land as a third jolt shuddered the two hundred-year-old plantation house. The whistling wind whipped against the second-story windows, rattling them in their frames. Tremors rolled the landscape, physical and spiritual. Quaking shivering under the foundation jostled my stomach, muscles cramping in sympathetic response. The old elm floorboards creaked. The bucking land echoed in my brain, my blood and my bones.
Pools of heat raced in my skull as the pressure of a dozen small fissures deep within the earth swelled, pulling at me, demanding. My body echoed the earth’s choked pain for release. Without another channel for the pressure to escape, the mass would gridlock, swell and explode.
My chest constricted under the crushing force of the hot spots. Sweat collided with tears and dripped off the tip of my nose. Pressure, running together, levering kinetic energy to the bursting point. My heart shuddered.
Must release the pain.
Must release the power.
Must release the pressure.
My body sprawled, half-forgotten, muscles jerking as my entire will focused on the Earth’s panic. I struggled against the inexorable force, nudging at the edge of a swollen channel. In Reston a creek-bed rumbled, thrusting a rock upstream. In Washington D.C. a sinkhole opened draining off the heat. In Manassas a spout of earth exploded, shooting fifteen feet into the sky.
Muscles cramping, joints freezing, organs pounding, I’m overwhelmed with icy hot drips trickling away the force of the quakes. Soaking the land with tremors of pent-up emotion.
Too slow. The rivulets clogged with urgency, eyes burning, tears falling, fists clenching. My will collided against the cork bottling the blocked channel of pressure.
Pressing. Pushing. Pulsing.
Boulders cracked and crumbled. The pressure whistled out, wailing until the Wilson Bridge that connected Alexandria, Virginia to Oxon Hill Maryland, reverberating with wanton force, buckled. The steel cable snapped.
The Earth wheezed a sigh and another jolt rocked the region.
Time fell away.
When a new fissure screamed for release, I lanced the boil of relentless tension, draining it away to new channels. Energy-swollen rivers spilled into the rocky hills, forests, creeks, the tributaries and the wetlands, leaving debris strewn in the wake of its force…surface damage, containable, controllable, correctible.
Two hours later I drooped against the side of the bed too spent to pull myself off the floor into its haven. Drained. Fragile. Spent. .
Romeo returned from his vanishing act and rubbed his head against my arm. I rolled to the side, using the bed for support. “A little more warning next time, okay Romeo?” A smile was too much effort for my face.
He purred and leapt on the bed.
Mocking me.
The cat was pushing ten years old. While not extremely old by cat standards, he was no spring kitten. I only hope I am that agile when I stretch the rubber band around middle age.
I groaned. The clock read five-thirty, now. Three a.m. might be a pleasant repose, but five-thirty made me downright cranky.
Betty!
Crap! Get up. Get up. Get up.
Go check on Betty!
My bruised hip complained as I grabbed a fistful of quilt and hauled myself up. Wobbling, I pulled on some Eeyore pajamas and shambled in the half-light toward the door.
The knock preceded me by three heartbeats.
“Are you all right, Betty?” I yanked open the door. Betty Sullivan, the elderly woman, an old family friend, served as both my landlady and surrogate grandmother. She was a stout, seventy-five year old with blue-gray hair. This morning it was set in sponge rollers. She wore a familiar soft blue caftan. That she was knocking on my door rather than the other way around spoke volumes. Guilt slunk through me.
“I’m fine. I was asleep when it started and then just stayed put.” She gazed at me, curiosity and concern wrinkling her cheeks. “Are you all right Chance? That was an awful long time for the tremors to continue. I kept thinking they would stop or you would come down. You look terrible.”
I can only imagine how wild I looked, sweaty, exhausted, and my brown hair sticking up in places. My typically blue-grey eyes burned and were probably smudged with shadows, announcing that beauty sleep was a necessity in my world. My bones throbbed. Sore, aching and bruised from nature’s punishment.
“I think so.” The words lacked power. They did not offer comfort. They did not offer conviction. They did not offer confidence. I caught Betty’s hand, squeezing it, ignoring the throbbing and trying to inject emotions I didn’t have the energy to feel. “It’s been a long time since tremors that strong shook this area—a very long time in fact.”
“But one this bad, Chance? I don’t remember any this fierce in your lifetime.” Betty’s concern wrapped around me like a warm shawl.
“No, but I usually wake up while they are still tremors and can offset the force. Having it toss me out of bed was pretty unexpected. It’s okay now. I’ll be fine.” The mild understatement wasn’t exactly a lie, but I didn’t want Betty worrying either.
“Are you sure?” She still didn’t look convinced.
I straightened, sifting through the dross of my depleted reserves and smiled. “I’m positive. A shower and some coffee and I’ll be as right as the garden after a spring rain.”
“Hmm, maybe you should go back to bed. For a little a while at least.” The tension in her tone tugged at my heart.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea, but I’m up. You’re up. Let’s have coffee and maybe a cinnamon roll or three?” Baking was the panacea of all things topsy-turvy in the world. In Betty’s house, gained pounds often followed calamity and crisis.
Betty nodded. “All right. Take your shower. Then we can watch the news to find out what they are saying. I am sure those geologists will have something to say.” I loved the emphasis that Betty gave to those geologists. She’d known my grandmother and me for so long she didn’t believe the scientists could possibly know more than we did.
I laughed. In comforting me, Betty would be comforted. Asking for the cinnamon rolls was the right call.
Despite how spry Betty appeared, I lingered at the door until she’d made the last step. Every muscle in my body hurt, even the soles of my feet. The wood floor seemed to slap at the bottoms of my feet despite my sliding shuffle towards the bathroom, exhaustion trailing my steps. The last thing I wanted was cinnamon rolls or conversation or CNN, but if I didn’t go downstairs, Betty would worry more.
No rest for the heroic—or Hedge Witches for that matter.
Romeo paused in mid-preen to give me an owlish look from the center of the bed.
“I’m not going to disturb you. I don’t get to take a long leisurely nap.” I wrinkled my nose at him.
He considered me for a moment longer before returning to his personal grooming.
Dismissed by the cat.
I turned on the water in the shower and then sagged against the closed bathroom door, exhaustion leaving my muscles loose and rubbery. I focused my attention on the familiar clanks and complaints of the pipes rather than my wound-too-tight-to-tick insides. It would take exactly two-point-four minutes before the freezing cold well water heated up to something tolerable to human flesh.
I could (and have…ugh) taken a cold shower upon occasion, but the need has to vastly outweigh the cost. I’ve encountered little that can encourage me into a frozen shower. Not even the shivering sensation of tremors that continued sliding up and down my spine.
Stop lollygagging.
I shoved away from the door, stumbling the half step to the sink. I went through the motions of brushing my teeth, washing my face, brushing my hair. It was mechanical. It was methodical. It was mundane. The mundane helped me to get a grip on the worms of worry niggling their way through my brain. I dropped the pajamas on the floor and slid under the heated water, hissing as it pounded against my flesh.
Everything was too sensitive. Despite what I’d said to Betty, I was in worse shape that I’d imagined. Unfortunately¾or maybe fortunately considering the water stung like nettles drawn across my skin¾my water heater wasn’t up for more than fifteen to twenty minutes of shower time.
The shower helped, despite the ache. I settled for loose sweatpants and an oversized shirt, whose weight sat heavy on my throbbing bones. I skipped shoes and makeup, unwilling to inflict more pain than necessary. Romeo darted ahead of me to the door.
I let him out and he took the stairs in three agile leaps.
Yeah, what I wouldn’t give to be that agile. I followed behind but at painfully sedate pace, one step at a time, hand firm on the railing.
Below in Betty’s living room, an on-scene reporter¾one I vaguely recognized from a major network¾reviewed the damage reports coming in related to the earthquake. Morning stubble and tie askew, he probably wasn’t ready to be up this early, either. I paused, feigning interest so I could take a break.
“The U.S. Geological Survey Hazards Commission and FEMA are reporting that the earthquake, felt throughout the region in the pre-dawn hours this morning measured five-point-two on the Richter scale. Damage in the District appears to be limited to a few areas around the Capitol Mall…” The camera panned from the heavy-lidded reporter to show cracks in the National World War II Memorial fountain. Water trickled from the cracks. Heavy benches lay strewn on their sides, toppled as though made of plastic rather than cement.
“Sinkholes have closed intersections near K and Seventeenth and Constitution at Fourteenth. Engineers are inspecting the White House and other landmarks. We expect to have more information on these later. Meanwhile, the Woodrow Wilson Bridge remains closed until further notice.”
The scene segued to the Channel Four air-cam bobbing from a helicopter over the bridge. Snapped cables dropped like a weeping willow branches towards the water below.
Well, that can’t be good.
