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Ally Litchen is a Lighthouse Witch, caring for the light sprites that steer ships to safety in Vista Cove. Her only companion is a ghost cat, Flicker, and sheâd prefer to keep it that way. She doesnât need anyone else. Not anymore.
When an unexpected letter arrives from her former best friend, Ally is called on a journey through the Tanglewood where shadow nymphs and bindweed goblins lurk in the undergrowth.
As she travels back to her childhood home, Ally confronts memories that haunt her far more than any cat. And after unwillingly gaining a traveling companionâa girl her age named Madgeâshe must come to terms with her past, broken friendship and how it is still affecting her present.
A Letter, a Lighthouse, and a Ghost Cat is ready to preorder! This absolutely gorgeous cover was painted by none other than the delightful Sarah Rainey, who also illustrated the interior. Some of you may remember that she drew the map of The Mage Pocket as well!
I’m so excited to release this book to the world! Itâs brimful of autumnal vibes, and best enjoyed with both tea and tissues on hand.
In celebration of the cover reveal, here’s a peek at the first chapter…
1 â Lighthouse
The nice thing about a ghost cat is that you cannot trip over him. This was lucky for Ally, because her feet were as heavy as The Field Guide of Enchanted Creatures as she climbed the narrow spiraling steps. A damp chill clung to every stone of the lighthouse, and she had to strain to keep her eyes open. It would be a nasty experience to catch her foot on the silvery cat weaving happily around her ankles and go crashing back down to the cellar. Especially holding four glass jars and a lantern with a yawning light sprite inside. But Flicker passed straight through her, no more of a hindrance than a breeze, so Ally straightened her shoulders and marched on.
She was sixteen now and practically grown up. No one would say Ally Litchen couldnât handle the lighthouse on her own.
Well. No one but Sebastian Mills, the lighthouseâs owner.
Ally reached the kitchen and frowned as she set a jar of canned tomatoes on the counter next to her soup pot. It had been a year since Sebastian had hired her, hadnât it? She glanced at the calendar above the stove just to be sure. Yes, October 3rd, exactly one year! And she had never disappointed in her duties, not once. Nor had she ever complained. One would think, after a year of such steady behavior, her employer might have some faith in her abilities. Yet every month when Sebastian visited, he said the same thing:
âWhen are you going to hire a partner? Itâs an awful lot of work, looking after the lighthouse. You really should find someone to help you. Two witches are better than one.â
âBut one is just fine on her own,â Ally muttered. She slipped the remaining jars of canned food onto the shelf above the stove, using them to cover the unsettling stare of her keepsake box at the back. âOne is perfectly capable, isnât she?â
Alone in the lighthouse almost every day for a year, she had grown a habit of talking to herself. Or talking to Flickerâthat was another good thing about ghost cats, they were excellent listeners.
The tea kettle on the stove gave a shrill whistle, and the light sprite in the lantern, who had begun to nod off, squeaked in fright.
Ally shushed the excited sprite and obliged the impatient kettle, pouring hot water over a mug filled with ginger root.
A ghostly mew sounded at her feet, and Flicker tried to rub against Allyâs legs begging for his customary saucer of milk to accompany her tea.
Ally gave the apparition a tired smile and waved her hand, conjuring a dish of Ghostly Milk. Most witches didnât bother conjuring ghostly items, but she had learned the skill from her mother. Flicker had been a living cat when her mother was a little girl, but Ally had only known him as a ghost. He had taken to haunting her when she took the lighthouse job, for which, Ally had to admit, she was grateful.
She stared at the vegetables on the counter, waiting to be chopped. Her feet ached, but her stomach growled, so she reached for the knife.
She chopped the onion first, then fed the fire gremlins in the stove several shovelfuls of coal and commanded them to behave. Even after she shut the iron door, they continued to cackle with mirth. She put the onion in her one-person-sized soup pot with some butter. She added salt and pepper and crushed sage.
She chopped more vegetables and poured in a jar of canned broth and the tomatoes she had brought from the cellar. The fire gremlins did behave, or at least they were as close to behaving as fire gremlins could be, and before long, the soup simmered merrily on the stovetop.
The kitchen was full of moonlight and firelight, and Ally sipped her hot tea and stirred the soup as the clock ticked to 11:13 p.m..
She let out a long breath. âThis is nice, isnât it, Flicker?â
Flicker purred from his place on the shelf above the stove, stretched out on the lid of the keepsake box. His tail passed through the cardboard, and something within vibrated at the spiritâs touch.
âOi! Down from there!â Ally waved a hand at him, swallowing the knot that had risen in her throat.
Flicker gave her a reproachful look, but leapt to another shelf.
âThe light sprites were a good deal of trouble today,â she confessed to the cat. She glanced over at the light sprite in her lantern to see if it took offense, but it had fallen fast asleep. Its light dimmed and brightened with each slow, deep breath.
âThey never listen,â Ally confided. âThey wouldnât sleep this morning, and half of them stayed up all day and got overexcited and nearly burned out.â She paused to yawn and took a sip of her golden tea. âBut I think we have enough awake tonight to keep the light bright. I donât know how Mother can write to me all worried about me being lonelyânot when Iâve got so many light sprites to take care of. And Iâve got you, Flicker, havenât I?â
Flicker meowed and batted his see-through paws at a string of thyme hanging from the ceiling.
Ally gasped in mock shock. âHow rude of you! And after Iâve conjured you milk, too. I wouldnât have to, you know. Youâre a ghost. You donât have to eat.â
A sharp tap sounded on the window.
Ally turned to see a bat fluttering outside the glass, scratching at the window with its claws.
âIt must be a letter from Mother,â Ally informed Flicker, and left the stove to let the bat inside. Opening the window sent a chill wind whistling through the tiny kitchen. For a moment, with her head stuck out into the night, Ally was struck by how vast and black the sky was, studded with jewel-like stars, and how loudly the waves crashed against the shore far below. Then she shivered and pulled herself back in, the bat clinging to her finger.
She untied the rolled parchment attached to the batâs leg, and it fluttered up to the ceiling, where it hung upside down on the ledge of a shelf. Flicker eyed the visitor, his tail twitching. Ally shoved the window shut and unrolled the letter.
The back announced:
From Tara Evergreen, 3 East Oak Branch, Treetop Village.
To Ally Litchen, The Lighthouse Witch, Vista Cove.
Ally blinked several times at the paper.
Tara Evergreen.
It was not from her mother.
Perhaps it was fate that this letter arrived on the third of October, exactly a year after she had left home. But what on earth could Tara Evergreen have to say to her? After all this time? Ally tossed the letter onto the kitchen table and eyed it as though it might bite her. She had not received a single letter from Tara in the year she had moved away. Not that the silence had surprised her.
Ally sat down in the kitchen window seat, pulling her knees up to her chest to hug her corduroy trousers. Memories lingered in her mind like wormwood on her tongueâbitter, no matter how many cups of tea she drank, no matter how many nights she set the lighthouse glowing.
Ally sighed and let her head fall back against the wood of the window frame. Through the glass, the sound of waves against the rocky shoreline hummed in her ears. She was grateful for it. Without the waves, the lighthouse could be unbearably quiet.
Perhaps she could fall asleep right here and read the letter tomorrow. Or the next day. Or never.
Flicker nudged at her dangling hand with an echoing mew. His fur felt like cool silk against her fingertips. Ally glanced down at him and then frowned at the letter across the room. No. She was not a child anymore. She had proved that every day for a year, and she wasnât going to stop now.
Ally stood, crossed to the table and tore open the envelope. She pulled out a short sheet of paper and read through the contents several times.
Once she had finished for the third time, Ally let her hands drop, and she stared, unseeing, at the kitchen wall.
The first thought that drifted through her mind was that it was too late for this. She was too tired. But she was always tired these days.
âMother is ill,â she murmured.
Flicker blinked up at her with bright, pale eyes. âSheâll be alright,â Ally reassured him, âbut Tara says I need to come home. Mother will need some help while she recovers.âÂ
Allyâs gaze drifted back to the vast night sky beyond the window pane. âI suppose she misses me . . . Mother does,â she clarified quickly. âTara certainly does not miss me, sheâs only writing on my motherâs behalf as âmost unfortunately, her headaches will not allow her to write to you herself.ââ A scornful laugh escaped Allyâs lips.
On a sudden impulse, she crossed the room, pushed aside the jars, and took down her box of keepsakes. From a corner beneath the cardboard lid and stacks of letters from her mother, Ally pulled out half a seashell dangling from a length of fraying cord. She stared at it for a moment, then pressed her lips together and dropped it back into the box. âBest friends forever? Forever didnât last so long.â
She picked up her cup of tea and shook her head, staring down into the swirling steam. âOh, Iâm being silly. Weâve grown up. Thatâs all. Thatâs just what happens when you grow up. Best friends are for silly little girls who say they want to be princesses!â
A cascade of bubbles erupted from the pot on the stove. The unsupervised fire gremlins had boiled her soup over and were now cackling with laughter.
Ally spent a good part of the night taking out her feelings on the tomato-stained floorboards. At least, she mused as the clock chimed midnight, it gave her time to plan her departure.
Two days later, on October 5th, the morning dawned cold and bright. Ally locked the lighthouse door behind her and hid the key inside a hollow rock in the garden. Sebastian Mills would find it. She had settled everything with him over the dial phone the day before.
She made her way down the cobbled path and out the picket-fence gate. Only then did she turn back for a moment, looking up at the tall white-washed tower topped with a warm glow of light. Like porridge topped with brown sugar. Ally smiled. As tired and alone as she so often was, she did love the little place. She loved the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea, and she loved curling up in her window seat on a stormy night with a cup of tea, Flicker on her lap.
Ally turned away and set her shoulders. It was a cold time of the year for traveling. She wore leggings, thick wool socks, and two petticoats under the scalloped edge of her traveling skirt. Atop her head was her pointed black cap, pinned in place with an enchanted hat pin. She had laced up her brown boots tightly, and she wore her thickest sweater and a great coat, yet still she shivered.
She passed by the coastal town of Vista Cove with quick steps. She nodded at a few playing children and once at a lady hanging her washing out to dry, but she scarcely knew any of them. Although she could see the town from her bedroom window, she seldom visited, and then only for groceries. Her work kept her at the lighthouse.
Beyond the town, the waves were muffled, and the bright chirping of birds and dark rustling of leaves filled her ears instead. The Tanglewood loomed before her, great trees with trunks as wide as her lighthouse.
There was a reason she hadnât visited her home since she had left. Well, there were several reasons, but one of them was because her home lay on the other side of the Tanglewood, which was infested with dark spirits. Shadow nymphs and bindweed goblins and treetop gargoyles. There were no paths, but you could make it though if you were clever enough, or strong enough. Or if, like Ally, you knew a bit of magic.
Still, she glanced down at her compass, hesitating at the threshold.
Flicker poked his head out through the top of her knapsack and licked her cheek with his silvery ghost tongue.
Ally leaned her head against him. âDonât you worry. Weâll be back soon enough.â
Flicker mewed and tucked himself back into her knapsack, where he weighed nothing at all.
Ally took a deep breath and stepped forward. The forest smelled like dry leaves and autumn earth and woody, dying ferns. Soon she was enveloped in the undergrowth, her copper-colored braid dancing behind her and an old saying among witches and warlocks echoing through her mind: the Tanglewood can get you where you want to go, but not always by the way you might wish.
To read more...
The first 100 preorders have the opportunity to receive some special rewards, including an exclusive art print by Sarah, and a double-sided bookmark with art and a quote from the book.
Comment below and let me know if you’re as excited as I am for this book to releaseâand what autumnal drink you think would be best to go along with it. Personally, I’m thinking apple cider…
docendo disco, scribendo cogito,
(I learn by teaching and think by writing.)
â Millie Florence
I I amazingly excited! And I do believe I will love it more than bread and jam! I think a pumpkin spice chai latte would go best.