The Unseen Spirits must be entertained, so that the city may prosper......
About the Book:
In the summer of 1914, Jane Fairchild, a young English musician, is kidnapped by magic and sent to Spellhaven, an island city ruled by magicians. Here, peace and prosperity are maintained with the assistance of Unseen Spirits bound to the service of the Lords Magician. The Spirits must be kept in good humour by the performance of all kinds of shows, dance, drama and music. Jane is one of many people kidnapped from the outside world and forced to contribute to these entertainments for a set period of service.
Only Jane is having none of it. She will not perform for her kidnapper, Lucian Palafox, but agrees to undertake an apprenticeship with another magician impresario, provided she is taught magic in return. Jane's forays into magic lead her deeper within the mysteries of Spellhaven, her rivalry with Lucian escalates and the quarrels between them grow strong enough to shake the city to its foundations.
Genres: Fantasy, Adventure
Release Date: August 17, 2017
Publisher: Mirror World Publishing
Follow the tour to read guest posts, reviews, and exclusive excerpts!
https://saphsbookpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/08/book-tour-schedule-spellhaven-by-sandra.html
Purchase Links:
Exclusive Excerpt:
Next morning, Jane woke with a headache and a restless twitch
in all her limbs. When she looked at the clock, she was unreasonably distressed
to see how early it was. She could not wake anyone else at 5 o’clock but she could
not lie in bed so hot and feverish. She disentangled herself from the
bedclothes and crept to the window. Mary, with whom she was sharing the room,
did not stir. Jane pulled back the curtain to look out on a hazy view of fields
and wooded hills. It would be cooler up in those woods, she thought, and a walk
before breakfast would shake out her muscles.
She was at the bedroom door before she realised she ought to get dressed, but she could only see her outfit from last night, an expensive silk dress, specially cut to perform in. She could not remember where her day clothes were or take the time to look for them. She had been a supporter of the Rational Dress movement since she became a music student, so she never wore stays, but even in the country she could not go out of doors without underwear. So she put on her bodice, petticoat, and stockings, with her nightgown back on over the top. She left her hair in its wispy night time plaits. She went downstairs and found her walking shoes and an ancient tweed jacket, which went on over her nightgown. She collected her music bag, with the vague thought that she might find somewhere to practice while she was out.
After that she could stay indoors no longer. She let herself out of the cottage and went down through the garden. She had not been in this part of the Chilterns before. She and her friends had borrowed this place for a few days as a base for last night’s concert, and a weekend where they could practice together, but they had arrived the previous day and not done much exploring so far. All the same, Jane knew where she wanted to go; into the hills she had seen from upstairs.
An hour later, she climbed up a steep path between banks of beech trees. At the top, she came out onto a turf ridge and paused to catch her breath. When she looked back, she could not see the cottage, which must be tucked into a curve somewhere below, but it did not matter. She was not ready to turn back yet, though she wished she had brought a flask of tea with her, and maybe some bread and butter. If she diverted from the path, she could look for a farm to ask for a drink of milk, but she had no money with her and anyhow, her headache tightened its grip at the thought of any delay.
The sun was high overhead when she came to a small stream in the shade of some rocks. She knelt and scooped up the cold water in her hands, swallowing small grateful mouthfuls until her teeth hurt. Then she splashed her face and neck. She pushed back the sleeves of her borrowed jacket to bathe her wrists and saw a new mark on her left forearm. It was about the size of her palm, with a sharper edge than a bruise, like a sore shadow under her skin. It was the shape of a spider, with a round body and long, crooked legs. She stared at it, jolted out of the daze in which she had walked all morning.
She did not know where she was by now or where she was going. Her jacket was too hot, the other clothes too insubstantial to wear without it. She had seen nobody except at a distance and from here, high in the hills, she could see only stones and turf, or tangled scrub in the valleys below. Her headache was as painful as ever and grew worse every time she stopped, even for a few minutes. She thought she must be ill; in a fever, maybe about to come out in blotches all over her body. And if she was ill, she ought to go back to her friends or try to find a village with a doctor. But these possibilities made her nauseous and she sprang to her feet to hurry onwards instead.
She was at the bedroom door before she realised she ought to get dressed, but she could only see her outfit from last night, an expensive silk dress, specially cut to perform in. She could not remember where her day clothes were or take the time to look for them. She had been a supporter of the Rational Dress movement since she became a music student, so she never wore stays, but even in the country she could not go out of doors without underwear. So she put on her bodice, petticoat, and stockings, with her nightgown back on over the top. She left her hair in its wispy night time plaits. She went downstairs and found her walking shoes and an ancient tweed jacket, which went on over her nightgown. She collected her music bag, with the vague thought that she might find somewhere to practice while she was out.
After that she could stay indoors no longer. She let herself out of the cottage and went down through the garden. She had not been in this part of the Chilterns before. She and her friends had borrowed this place for a few days as a base for last night’s concert, and a weekend where they could practice together, but they had arrived the previous day and not done much exploring so far. All the same, Jane knew where she wanted to go; into the hills she had seen from upstairs.
An hour later, she climbed up a steep path between banks of beech trees. At the top, she came out onto a turf ridge and paused to catch her breath. When she looked back, she could not see the cottage, which must be tucked into a curve somewhere below, but it did not matter. She was not ready to turn back yet, though she wished she had brought a flask of tea with her, and maybe some bread and butter. If she diverted from the path, she could look for a farm to ask for a drink of milk, but she had no money with her and anyhow, her headache tightened its grip at the thought of any delay.
The sun was high overhead when she came to a small stream in the shade of some rocks. She knelt and scooped up the cold water in her hands, swallowing small grateful mouthfuls until her teeth hurt. Then she splashed her face and neck. She pushed back the sleeves of her borrowed jacket to bathe her wrists and saw a new mark on her left forearm. It was about the size of her palm, with a sharper edge than a bruise, like a sore shadow under her skin. It was the shape of a spider, with a round body and long, crooked legs. She stared at it, jolted out of the daze in which she had walked all morning.
She did not know where she was by now or where she was going. Her jacket was too hot, the other clothes too insubstantial to wear without it. She had seen nobody except at a distance and from here, high in the hills, she could see only stones and turf, or tangled scrub in the valleys below. Her headache was as painful as ever and grew worse every time she stopped, even for a few minutes. She thought she must be ill; in a fever, maybe about to come out in blotches all over her body. And if she was ill, she ought to go back to her friends or try to find a village with a doctor. But these possibilities made her nauseous and she sprang to her feet to hurry onwards instead.
Follow the tour to read guest posts, reviews, and exclusive excerpts!
https://saphsbookpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/08/book-tour-schedule-spellhaven-by-sandra.html
Purchase Links:
Mirror World Publishing eBook:
Mirror World Publishing Paperback:
Amazon US:
https://www.amazon.ca/Spellhaven-Sandra-Unerman-ebook/dp/B072YRDLD2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1500909249&sr=8-1&keywords=Spellhaven+by+Sandra+Unerman
Amazon UK:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Spellhaven-Sandra-Unerman-ebook/dp/B072YRDLD2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1500909290&sr=8-1&keywords=Spellhaven+by+Sandra+Unerman
Kobo:
Amazon UK:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Spellhaven-Sandra-Unerman-ebook/dp/B072YRDLD2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1500909290&sr=8-1&keywords=Spellhaven+by+Sandra+Unerman
Kobo:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/spellhaven-sandra-unerman/1126613810?ean=9781987976342
Meet the Author:
Sandra Unerman lives in London in the UK. When she retired from a career as a Government lawyer, she undertook an MA in Creative Writing at Middlesex University, specialising in SF and fantasy, and graduated in 2013. Since then, she has had a number of short stories published. In 2016, these included stories in Three Drops from a Cauldron, the Midwinter issue and Aurora Wolf, the September issue, both available online. She writes reviews and articles for the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society. She is a member of London Clockhouse writers and other writing groups. Her interests include history, folklore and medieval literature.
Connect with Sandra :
Website:
https://sandraunermanwriter.com/
Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/Sandra-Unerman/e/B0034NS9VM
Goodreads Author Page:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6566116.Sandra_Unerman
Goodreads Book Page:
Meet the Author:
Sandra Unerman lives in London in the UK. When she retired from a career as a Government lawyer, she undertook an MA in Creative Writing at Middlesex University, specialising in SF and fantasy, and graduated in 2013. Since then, she has had a number of short stories published. In 2016, these included stories in Three Drops from a Cauldron, the Midwinter issue and Aurora Wolf, the September issue, both available online. She writes reviews and articles for the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society. She is a member of London Clockhouse writers and other writing groups. Her interests include history, folklore and medieval literature.
Connect with Sandra :
Website:
https://sandraunermanwriter.com/
Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/Sandra-Unerman/e/B0034NS9VM
Goodreads Author Page:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6566116.Sandra_Unerman
Goodreads Book Page:
