Today I’m on the tour for The Ghost of Ivy Barn by Mark Stay, thank you to Anne at Random Things Tours for organising it and inviting me to take part.
I have an extract for you today! but before I post it let me tell you about the book!
This is book 3 in The Witches of Woodville series!
Synopsis: The Witches of Woodville Part 3
In a quiet village in rural Kent, the enemy is at the gates . . .
The Battle of Britain rages and Faye Bright encounters the ghost of a pilot who won’t give up the fight. Before she can help him, Faye is whisked away to join a motley crew of witches to perform a top secret ritual on the White Cliffs of Dover that could repel the invaders.
But there’s a catch. The ritual must be executed in the nuddy. Mrs Teach threatens mutiny. Miss Charlotte is intrigued. And Faye wants to call the whole thing off when she suspects there’s a spy in their midst.
It’s up to Faye Bright to uncover the traitor, all while dealing with the ghost haunting Ivy Barn who may hold the key to the truth. But first, Faye has to learn to fly . . .
About the Author:
Mark Stay got a part-time Christmas job at Waterstone’s in the nineties (back when it still had an apostrophe) and, despite being working class and quite lippy, somehow ended up working in publishing for over 25 years. He would write in his spare time and sometimes those writings would get turned into books and films, including the Witches of Woodville series from Simon & Schuster, and the forthcoming Warner Bros. horror movie Unwelcome.
Mark is also co-presenter of the Bestseller Experiment podcast, which has inspired writers all over the world to finish and publish their books. Born in London, he lives in Kent with Youtube gardener and writer Claire Burgess and a declining assortment of retired chickens.
And now for the extract 🥰s
Bertie Butterworth’s Battle of Britain Diary Friday 9th August, 1940
Started with distant gunfire in the morning. Air raid warning from 3–7pm. Big raid at night. Lots of flashes. Maybe twenty planes shot down. Think two planes crashed nearby. Must investigate. Made Spam hash today. Bit salty. Had a strange dream where me and Faye were riding bicycles
in the sky. It was so peaceful up there. I wanted
to hold her hand, but the wind kept pushing us apart. Can’t stop thinking about Faye. I think about her when I wake up, I think about her when I’m fixing Dad’s tractor, I think about her when I’m pulling a pint in the pub, and I think about her when I go to sleep. Is that normal?
Faye Bright’s teeth rattled as her Pashley Model A bicycle shuddered down the bumpy coast road towards the village of Woodville. The moon lingered, pale in the brightening sky, though the morning sun was already warm and the sea glistened. Waves beckoned her to hop in and splash about. Faye was tempted, though the beaches were littered with barbed wire and wrought-iron crosses and other such invasion defences, so a quick paddle was out of the question.
Faye was also knackered. Having just finished an all-night Air Raid Precaution coast watch with Freddie Paine, she was ready to curl up into a ball, duck under her bedsheets and kip the whole day.
It had been an intense evening. Faye lost count of how many planes tumbled into that same sea last night. At least twenty. The Luftwaffe bombers stayed high, and some of the fighters would come down and shoot barrage balloons like it was a game. Mr Paine seemed calm enough. Standing stock-still, gripping his binoc- ulars, calmly telling her how he had seen the bodies of pilots fished out of the water the day before, all while the sky was lit up like fireworks night. Faye had always felt safe on ARP duties with Mr Paine, but last night was the first time she’d had the terrible thought that they might actually lose this war. She tried to shake the thought away, but it lingered even now like a bad smell.
Faye hadn’t felt right for weeks. Not since that busi- ness with the Bavarian Druid Otto Kopp. In an effort to save three Kinderstransportchildren from a raven- ous demon, she had been forced to take them across a magical threshold into an endless void. For some time she stood alone in that strange darkness with the moon, and its incredible ancient power had coursed through her. She could feel it still, fizzing in her belly and her brain as if waiting for something.
Faye rounded a bend and could see the bell tower of Saint Irene’s Church poking over the tops of trees when Larry Dell ran out into the road and flagged her down.
‘Faye! Faye Bright, have you got a mo’?’
Larry’s farm was one of the biggest in the area. He mainly grew brassicas, hops and barley, and had recently dabbled in a bit of livestock, starting with a dozen sheep. Larry was a pleasant enough fellow, with a lower jaw that jutted out and an impressive dent in the top-right corner of his forehead. Rumour had it that he got the dent while leading a charge at the Battle of Ypres, though Faye’s dad said Larry was kicked in the head while shoeing a horse and had never fully recovered.
Faye squeezed her bicycle’s brakes and came skidding to a halt.
‘Morning, Larry. Where’s the fire?’
If you like the sound of this it can be bought here!