Zoraida Grey Series, Gothic Romances from Sorchia DuBois

My Guest this week is Sorchia DuBois. Sorchia is here to share her awesome Zoraida Grey series with us. Welcome, Sorchia! I am anxious to read more about Zoraida Grey.

Take a Trip with Zoraida Grey To Scotland from the USA!
In a Haunted Castle, she discovers Witches make the most interesting Lovers

 Zoraida Grey is a small-town fortune teller with a settled, secure life and a stable boyfriend. When Granny sends her to Scotland to retrieve a stolen crystal, she risks losing everything. Or does she risk gaining more? Or will she make it out of this adventure alive at all?

Book 1: Zoraida Grey and the Family Stones

Zoraida would rather eat nails than leave her quiet, comfortable life in rural Arkansas where she and her ex-boyfriend Al run a little head shop natural food market. But crazy Granny is dying and the only thing that will save her—according to the old witch—is a magic crystal. Trouble is the crystal is in Scotland. In a haunted castle. Surrounded by a family of psychopathic witches. How hard can it be to steal one little crystal? What could possibly go wrong? Find out in Zoraida Grey and the Family Stones, book 1 in a modern Gothic romance trilogy. (Hint: the answers are VERY and EVERYTHING.)

Excerpt from Zoraida Grey and the Family Stones:

We are in a land of green hillsides and bubbling brooks. Jagged ridges drop sharply to murky lochs and craggy mountains. The highway winds up the side of a hill and whips ninety degrees around, heading down the other side.

“You don’t suppose that’s it, do you.” Zhu sticks her head out the window like a puppy. The wind lashes

her long hair around her head. She points across a wide valley.

I suck in a sharp breath, and it’s all I can do not to stomp the brakes. On the very tiptop of a rocky crag, a castle overlooks the steel blue waters of a narrow loch. Gray walls and turrets cast long, dark shadows across the clustered houses of a village huddled beneath the curve of the hill. Flickers of green and blue shimmer around the castle walls, subtle but steady. The entire place glows with magic.

“Sweet Mother Merryweather!” I cast quick glances from the twisting road to the castle. A green roadside sign reads Black Bridge with the Gaelic name Loch an Drochaiddubh below.

As we approach the village, the castle looms against the darkening sky, and the buzzards in my stomach do stunt dives. A tall black tower juts far above the rest of the castle walls. I squint, trying to focus on the tiny figure behind the crenellated fortifications at its very top. The back of my neck prickles as if unfriendly eyes are on me. 

Buy Zoraida Grey and the Family Stones:

Book 2: Zoraida Grey and the Voodoo Queen:

A Scottish wizard, stripped naked and painted blue—a Voodoo priestess bent on immortality—a yacht-load of Caribbean pirates. What can possibly go wrong?

With her best friend held hostage in a haunted Scottish castle by the magical Logan clan, Zoraida needs help. She can’t trust beguiling but dangerous Shea Logan, and Al, her over-protective ex-boyfriend, doesn’t believe in magic.

Granny says only one creature strikes fear in the blackened hearts of the Logan witches. Trouble is Jock disappeared five centuries ago leaving a trail of destruction across the Gulf of Mexico. Now he’s stepped into a steaming pile of Voodoo.

Can Zoraida drag wayward Jock back to Scotland? And what’s she supposed to do with two men who promise completely different futures?

She’ll need all the magic she can muster to get out of this predicament with her skin– and her heart– intact.

Excerpt from Zoraida Grey and the Voodoo Queen::

A cold, dead vapor crawls across the walls of the cenote, rustling the branches of the Ceiba trees and obscuring Al’s worried face. The stench of death floats upward. Something stirs in the black pit.  

Shea moves closer to my side. “What in the name of Horus is that?” 

  “That’ll be the bloody vampires. God almighty! I’ll be glad to get back to Scotland where the worst ye have to deal with are the witches.” Jock puffs out an exasperated sigh. 

 “I thought you were joking about vampires.” My feet freeze to the ground.  

 “Camazotz is what the Mayans called ‘em. Means Death Bat, if ye want to know.” Jock expels another frustrated burst of air. “I’d love to drink tea and tell ye all about the finer points of battling these wee beasties, but we havenae the time. Mind their fangs and claws.” 

Buy Zoraida Grey and the Voodoo Queen:

 

Book 3: Zoraida Grey and the Pictish Runes:

Available Spring/Summer 2019

Sneak Peak:

“Get on with it. You’ve dragged me down here for some reason.”

“My dear, my intentions are most pure. I have a gift for you. It isn’t suitable, I don’t believe for a wedding gift. “

He extends his hand. A clear crystal doorknob sits in the center of his palm, winking in the red glow of the fire.

I take the proffered stone reluctantly. Heavy and cold, it squats on my hand like a toad.

“You may have noticed the doorknobs throughout the castle. They’re quite rare––made from a particular kind of quartz mined only on Logan grounds. It’s similar to the smoky quartz of which the healing stone is an excellent example.” He pauses, obviously expecting some comment from me.

“And. …?

“Perhaps you’ve heard the local legend regarding the doorknobs, yes?”

“I’ve heard it.”

“Perhaps you’ve even noticed something odd about them. The gem industry would call these markings flaws—inclusion is the proper term, I believe. Of course, our doorknobs are not normal crystals and the so-called flaws are not normal flaws.  Look closely and you’ll see.”

The mysterious stirrings inside the doorknobs were not the first unsettling things I noticed about Castle Logan, but they were definitely memorable. Sometimes I fancied a face, a form, sometimes bared teeth, sometimes fingernails clawing at the interior of clear crystal. The villagers believed the Logan witches imprisoned their enemies inside the crystal—a local legend Ursula and Michael did nothing to dissuade.

My eyes focus unwillingly on the wavering mists inside the mysterious stone. The form of a woman, slender and fair, with blue eyes and blond hair takes shape. She isn’t a reflection and she isn’t a figment of my imagination. As though she sees me watching, she falls on her knees, her arms extended, pleading. Tears sparkle on her cheeks, as clear and bright as the gem which holds her prisoner. I want to look away but I can’t.

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