by Marsha A. Moore
Genre: Magical realism fantasy
Description:
Joyce Runsey spends her life savings to open a
yoga studio in an historic Victorian St Augustine house, only to discover the
property is haunted. A female ghost’s abusive and very much alive husband still
tortures her by using dark witchcraft. The disruptive energy thwarts Joyce’s
ambition to create a special environment to train students to become yoga
teachers.
Joyce engages in a deadly battle with not only
the tormented spirit, but also the dangerous husband. To protect her students
from harm, she must overcome mounting obstacles. An unknown swami pays an
unexpected visit to give advice on how to free the anguished ghost. Can Joyce comprehend
and follow the wise man’s guidance in time to save everyone who depends on her?
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Excerpt:
from Chapter One:
“Stop looking
outside.” Eric slipped behind the main desk, a curved leg Queen Anne piece that
had been a business-warming gift from her previous clients and teachers, and
powered up the computer. “Do what you always tell your beginning teachers to do
when they fidget while waiting for students to show up—go lay out mats for the number
of students you want to show up tonight.”
Joyce
straightened her posture and marched to the mat storage bin. She grabbed two
armfuls without counting. In the classroom, she quickly unrolled a front row of
five. Progressing to the second row, she hesitated and slowly laid three more
in the middle. Looking at the pile of remaining mats, she took a breath to
steady herself. It caught in her throat as a muffled cough. Thirty-five had
enrolled in her last training session at the other studio. She wondered what
had made her take a chance on this rundown, more-than-century-old property and
mounting debts. She fingered the corner of a pink mat, its pebbled surface
clinging to her skin. Surely more than eight would sign up. She unfurled the
pink one and then four more. As she fought with a green mat that curled at the
corners, the motion of Eric entering the room caused her to jerk her head in
his direction.
“Only thirteen?”
he called to her with a smile. “Where’s the confident Joyce I know? How about
twice that number?”
She glanced at
the clock—seven minutes until starting time—and gave a shrug. She turned toward
one of the paired bay windows trimmed with wide, dark Jacobean-stained
woodwork.
A pair of
rain-bedraggled white egrets huddled unsheltered on the bank of the pond. They
stretched their necks toward her, tilting their heads to gain a better view
inside the studio. Joyce sensed their concern, but couldn’t meet their gaze.
She surveyed the
canopy of pines and shivered. Mid-winter evenings set in early, even sooner
with today’s gray skies. The rain that calmed her moments ago now seemed to be
a destructive force. The cement mixer’s tracks were now mud holes. The deluge
cut short the daylight and seemed to be doing the same to her dreams. Had she
taken on too much? She’d trusted her business sense from her college training
and previous corporate career, but the world of yoga touched lives in
unpredictable ways.
The creak of the
door in the foyer startled her from her thoughts. She and Eric battled each
other to be the first to pass through the doorway.
A tall
blond-haired woman greeted them with a wide smile. Rather than yoga clothes,
she dressed in jeans that were stylishly frayed and holey. Joyce wondered if
the girl walked in by mistake.
“I’m Joyce
Runsey, the owner of Serenity Woods Yoga.” She extended a hand. “Are you here
for the information meeting about yoga teacher training?”
“I’m Tara.” The
girl accepted Joyce’s handshake. “I didn’t bring my yoga mat. I wasn’t aiming
to come here tonight until I noticed a brochure for your new studio that I
must’ve left on my front seat. I’m glad I saw that in my car since today’s the
deadline.” She glanced down at herself, then leaned her head to one side and
fluffed her long, golden hair. “Sorry I’m not in yoga clothes. I was on the way
to the grocery store.”
“That’s not a
problem. We’ll just be talking tonight. I’m so glad you’re here.” Joyce’s face
lit with a grin, then fell as she noticed a single mourning dove fluttering on
the porch outside the door. Doves seldom left their mates. The solo bird
alarmed her, and she peered around Tara for a closer look. Even stranger, the
bird clutched a flower stem in its beak.
Tara glanced
over her shoulder, and the dove whipped its wings closer to the screen. “That
bird’s trying to get in, and look, it’s carrying my favorite flower, a daisy,”
she said with a laugh. “Where would it get a daisy in January?”
Joyce shivered
and studied Tara, wondering why the lonesome dove needed to deliver that
special flower to comfort her.
Footsteps
reverberating on the porch chased the bird away, and two smiling women, who
appeared to be in their early thirties, peered through the window of the front
door. A brunette with a bouncy ponytail
stepped through the threshold first. “Sorry we’re late.” She juggled a purse
and a large bag. A yoga mat stuck out from one end of her tote. “I’m Megan. I
made a wrong turn…my daughter called, and I got distracted. She’s not used to
being apart from me; I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
“You’re not
late. Welcome. I’m Joyce, the program director.”
Arms full, Megan
smiled and nodded.
“I’m Katie,” the
other woman said, extending a hand to Joyce.
“Hi, Katie.
Welcome back.” Joyce took her hand into both of hers. “I’m so glad you decided
to sign up.” She motioned toward her partner at the desk. “This is Eric. You’ll
see him helping out in just about every way here at Serenity Woods Yoga,
teaching our new men’s classes, helping at the desk, and—”
“Doing the
endless yard work,” he added with a warm smile.
“Please make
yourselves comfortable in the classroom.” Joyce waved a hand to the open door.
“Find a mat. There are blankets on the side you can fold to sit on.”
“I remember
where everything is and will help them.” Katie brushed her light brown hair
behind her shoulders and steered her friend down the hall.
As soon as the
three entered the classroom, Eric nodded toward the door and gave Joyce a wink.
“Look! Laying out mats did the trick.”
A slim
gray-haired woman opened the door, and, beyond her, Joyce glimpsed several
people walking in from the parking lot.
The laughing
gulls continued to swoop at the porch, narrowly missing the gingerbread
fretwork.
The approaching
students shooed them away, but not one person turned back.
Joyce shook her
head and blinked back tears as she welcomed each new arrival.
When she walked
to the front of the classroom, eleven students sat up straighter on their mats.
She stood near the bay windows and made her usual opening remarks. “In the
teacher training program here at Serenity Woods Yoga, you will be embarking on
a journey where new doors to self-exploration and discovery will open.”
Familiar words she’d said many times during the past three years at her other
studio spilled from her lips, while a new energy burst from her heart. Her
cheeks rose with a smile. “The ancient art and science of yoga will help you
access your inner wisdom to prepare you to share this experience with others
through your own teaching.”
The two empty
mats caught her attention. The green one now lay perfectly flat despite its earlier
fight and the pink one, which wouldn’t let go of her fingers, gleamed orange at
its edges. She wondered why those two particular mats remained.
Eric appeared at
the door and escorted two students into the room. One was a trim, middle-aged
woman. Despite being carefully dressed, she seemed ill-at-ease. The lady
fidgeted to take a seat on the folded blanket while keeping her attention fixed
on Joyce. When asked, she replied in a soft tone that her name was Susan.
“Sorry I’m
late.” A black woman quickly took a seat on the green mat, her long braids
falling across her face. “It’s been a hard day.”
“I’m glad you’re
here. I’m Joyce.”
“I’m Ricca.” She
curled her legs to one side and sprawled onto an elbow.
“Make yourselves
comfortable,” Joyce replied, pleased to see the latecomer so at ease. Most
beginning teaching students sat rigid and stiff to display their best postures.
“It’s been a hard day for many of us. Let’s take a deep breath to center and
relax before we begin our talk.”
As Joyce
exhaled, she exchanged smiles with Eric who stood in the back of the room.
He grinned ear
to ear. He’d been right, just like when she advised her beginning teachers who
laid out empty mats that were filled with exactly that number of students.
Thirteen students, eleven women and two men, in her first yoga teacher training
class in the new studio of her dreams, lucky thirteen.
A single gull
cried at the window, and Joyce whipped around. Its beak hung open, gaping in
her face. Past the wiggling pink tongue, a message emerged from the dark depth
of its gullet: Thirteen steps to a
gallows. As quickly as it came, the bird flew away.
Joyce sucked in
a sharp breath. She turned toward the egrets, but they had gone. Without
looking at the class, she stepped to the stereo, taking an awkwardly long time
to select a new song. She inhaled slowly, filling her lungs completely, then
released with an extended exhale. The soothing music helped prana flow into
her. But as she scanned the room, her hands still trembled. No one’s face
showed any sign of surprise. Instead, they waited patiently for her to
continue. With a shaky smile, she got everyone on their feet and led a quick
asana routine to throw off any lingering negative energy.
Author Bio:
Marsha A. Moore loves to write
fantasy and fantasy romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses
to weave highly imaginative tales.
The magic of art and nature often
spark life into her writing, as well as watercolor painting and drawing. She’s
been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. After
a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a
Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives
with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out for an
hour or more is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach,
usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at
the beach is magical!
Social Media Links:
Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore
Google +: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore
maybe, sounds mysterious
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