Tongue-in-cheek humor lifts this weird but fun hybrid, part knitting cozy, part paranormal romance, from romance veteran Bretton (Just Desserts). After a classy. Casting Spells By Barbara Bretton – FictionDB. Cover art, synopsis, sequels, reviews, awards, publishing history, genres, and time period. Casting Spells (Sugar Maple, book 1) by Barbara Bretton – book cover, description, publication history.
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But this time, she really casts a spell in a new series of magic and murder weaving its way into the lives of New England’s most unusual town–and most unique knitting store. Sugar Maple looks like any bucolic Vermont town, but when the tourists go castinng it’s a different story—inhabited as it is with warlocks, sprites, vampires, witches, and an ancient secret.
And I know all about secrets. I’m also the sorcerer’s daughter–a single sorcerer’s daughter with Sugar Maple’s future in her hands which means the whole town is casting spells meant to help me find Mr. Romantic Times Book Club — 4. Bretton launches her new series of magic and murder with an enchanting, lyrical masterpiece that should make its way to the bestseller list in no time.
Casting Spells (Sugar Maple, book 1) by Barbara Bretton
Brilliantly weaving the town of Sugar Maple with that of its inhabitants into one living, breathing entity, this novel captivates readers from the first page. With vibrant, multidimensional characters, including the town itself, Bretton pens a memorable romance that combines knitting, love, magic, and self-discovery.
Tongue-in-cheek humor lifts this weird but fun hybrid, part knitting cozy, part paranormal romance, from romance veteran Bretton Just Desserts. After a classy female tourist drowns mysteriously in an icy lake in remote Sugar Maple, Vt.
As Sugar Maple’s temporary police chief, Luke soon notices the village’s odd ambience. Originally a haven for witches who fled the Salem witchcraft trials three centuries earlier, Sugar Maple is now home to witches, vampires, fairies and trolls.
Right if she’s to preserve the spell that sustains the town’s unusual residents. As sparks literally fly between the two, Chloe’s “magickal” side stirs into life. Bretton charmingly depicts how love empowers Chloe and awakens Luke to some major surprises. Enchanting is the perfect word to sum up this book. I really enjoyed the town, the people. This was a story primarily about Chloe coming into her own and it was really nice to see her find happiness.
What fascinated me was the knitting. Chloe owns a knitting shop and there were lots of details that make it apparent that Ms.
Bretton is an avid knitter. It made me want to go out and learn how immediately. Bretton also has a knack for description without beating you over the head with it. It was quite easy to picture the picturesque town and its inhabitants. So if you are looking for a cozy contemporary with a touch of magic and mystery go out and get this book. Barbara Bretton knits a story using the magic of vampires, witches, and fairies.
For a town like Sugar Maple that is made up of magical creatures, all things are possible under extra ordinary circumstances, including love between a human and a sorcerer. Spelld question is whether the love of a human and the love of sorcerer can sustain the magick of the town. Although I am not a knitter myself, the 10 things you need to know about knitting in general are quite funny as well as the 10 things you need to know about knitting lace and knitting socks in the back of the book are a keeper.
Excellent read—a mix of paranormal and romance. The play on words in the title gives the reader a hint about this interesting, humorous, “magical” book. All that perfection hides a very interesting secret.
The towns inhabitants are all magical creatures – warlocks, sprites, vampires, witches, etc. Chloe’s magical mother and human father were killed when she was a child.
She has spent her whole life in Sugar Maple and knows all of the town’s secrets. Even though Spe,ls is half magical, she has no powers and that’s a problem. Her ancestor cast a protective spell on the town that has kept the town’s inhabitants barabra for hundreds of years, but when the murder of a mysterious outsider happens within the town’s city limits, everyone knows the end of the protection is near unless Chloe can do something!
The murder brings a handsome, very human police detective, Luke MacKenzie and sparks literally begin to fly. Chloe falls in love and into danger. She finds herself way in over her head as the “plot thickens! I really enjoyed the novel.
It’s a great escape as well just fun to read. Do you ever wonder why things happen brerton way they do? All of those seemingly random sppells we make throughout our lives that turn out to be not so random after all. Maybe if I had closed the shop twenty minutes earlier that night or gone for a quick walk around Snow Lake she might still bagbara alive today.
At the moment when it all began I was down on my knees, muttering ancient curses under my breath as I tugged, pulled, and tried to convince five feet of knitted lace that it would be much happier stretched out to six plus.
If there were caating magic spells out there to help a girl block a shawl, I hadn’t found them and believe me, I’d looked. Castng, like life, was equal parts intuition, brute strength, and dumb luck.
Just bretfon case you were wondering, I usually don’t mention the dumb castihg part when I give a workshop. That Monday night I was babara hours into Blockingteaching my favorite techniques to three yarn-crawling sisters from Pennsylvania, a teacher from New Jersey, and a retired rocket scientist from Florida. We had sspells expecting a busload of fiber fanatics from northern Maine but a wicked early winter blizzard had stopped them somewhere west of Bangor.
Two of my best friends from town, admitted knit shop groupies and world class gossips, rounded out the class. I don’t know exactly castin did the voting but I owe each of those wonderful knitters some quiviut and a margarita. Blog posts about the magical store in northern Vermont where your yarn never tangles, your sleeves always castinh out the same length, and you always, always get gauge were popping up on a daily basis, raising both my profile and my bottom line. Sometimes I worried that this sudden, unexpected burst of fame and fortune had extended the tourist season beyond the town’s comfort zone.
Hiding in plain sight was harder than it sounded but for now our secret was still safe. A blocking board was spread open on the floor. A dark blue Spatterware bowl of T-pins rested next to breetton. My trusty spray bottle of warm water had been refilled twice. I barbbara looked like a train wreck as I crawled my way around the perimeter, pinning each scallop and point into position but those were the breaks.
Since blocking lace was pretty much my only cardio these days when the wolf whistle sailed overhead I didn’t bother to look up. If I’d had any doubt about the wolf whistles, Janice’s statement erased it.
Last I heard not too many women were ordering 34As from their neighborhood cosmetic surgeon. It was times like this when I wished I had inherited a tiny bit of magick barbarra my mother.
Just enough to render my indiscreet friend speechless for a second or two.
Everyone in Sugar Maple knows we don’t talk about wizards in front of civilians unless the conversation includes Munchkins and Oz. Howie has a thing for Sharon Stone.
What can I say? And a nosy one at that. I dumped the lace and glanced toward the front window. Winter comes early to our part of Vermont. By the time the last of the leaf-peepers headed down to the lesser glories of New York and Connecticut, we’re digging out our snowshoes and making sure our woodpiles are well-stocked. In mid-December it’s dark and seriously cold by four-thirty, and only the most intrepid window shopping tourist would even consider strolling down Main Brbara without at least five layers of clothing.
The woman peering in at us was blonde, tall, and around my age, but that was where the resemblance ended. I’m the kind of woman who could disappear into a crowd even if her hair was on fire. Our window shopper couldn’t disappear if she tried. Her movie-star perfect face was pressed up against the frosty glass and we had a full-frontal glimpse of bare arms, bare shoulders, and cleavage that would send Pamela Anderson running back to her surgeon.
I was tempted to tell her that the weird-looking guy was a half-asleep vampire brettoon Buster on an ice cream run for his pregnant wife but I figured that might not spelld good for business.
The possibly naked woman at the window tapped twice, mimed a shiver, then pointed toward the locked door where the CLOSED sign was prominently displayed. She definitely isn’t here for a new set of double-points, I thought as I flipped the lock. Not that I profile my customers or anything but I’d bet my favorite rosewoods that she had never cast on a stitch in her life and intended to keep it that way.
My second thought as she swirled past me into the shop was wow, she really is naked. It garbara a full second to realize that was an illusion created by a truly gifted dressmaker with access to spectacular yard goods. My third thought—well, I didn’t actually have a third thought.
I was still working on the second one when she smiled at me and somewhere out there a dentist counted his T-bills. Eyes like that usually came with magical powers and more than a little bit of family history but she had the vibe of the pure human about her. I thought I could flirt with the bartender until my boyfriend arrived but no such luck.
It was probably the first time any one had ever refused her anything and she looked puzzled and annoyed in an amused kind of way. You’ll freeze your nipples off. As a general rule I find it best not cating discuss politics, religion, or my customer’s nipples in the shop. My daughter Vonnie can have it open in bretgon heartbeat. Suzanne’s perfectly groomed right eyebrow lifted slightly. Clearly she thought Vonnie was majoring in grand theft auto at Sugar Maple High but that was a whole lot better than telling her that the teenager could make garage doors roll open three towns away just by thinking about them.
We both knew she had already put out the call to her daughter but we’re all about keeping up appearances here in Sugar Maple. I turned back to our visitor who was up to her elbows in a basket of angora roving waiting to be spun into yarn while Penelope, the ancient store cat who shared the basket, ignored her.
I’ve thought about learning to knit but–” She shrugged. She wandered to the stack spellls shawls on the shelf and fingered a kid silk Orenburg I had on display. I love handmade garments and this is heirloom quality. She might have been lying through her porcelain veneers but it was all the encouragement I needed.