By Jayde Scott
Emily Jones used to imagine witches, trolls, nymphs, and fairies did not exist...that is, until eventually she strikes to Scotland and gets a magic diary, which makes needs come precise. She learns that magic can swap her lifestyles, yet little does she be aware of that each want has a cost. while whatever is going extraordinarily improper and a portal to Black wooden opens, magical creatures governed via a strong evil sorceress are wanting to input and damage the world.
Now possibility follows Emily all over the place, and she or he has no selection yet to discover allies one of the trolls. yet to take action, Emily needs to include her powers and input Black wooden, now not understanding how darkish and deep her trip goes to be.
Will Emily learn how to use her legacy in time earlier than Black Wood's lethal servants are unleashed to wreck the world?
Black wooden is publication 1 within the new teenager sequence, A Witch emerging.
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Extra resources for Black Wood (A Witch Rising)
Emily nodded and climbed up the ladder with the boys following behind. Rubbing her arms, she looked around the semi-dark room. Dim light sipped in through two muddy windows that needed a good scrub. The smell of crow poo lingered, faint but there. The wooden floorboards creaked under her feet as she pulled a string to switch on a naked light bulb and took several steps forward until she stopped in front of what looked like a huge cupboard covered with a black sheet. Her grandmother had never allowed her to see what was hidden underneath.
If you open it, you’ll learn to spin your own magic. You only have to say the right words,” Clifford repeated. “Come on. ” He got up to his feet. ” Clifford turned to face her. For a moment his eyes flickered like a star. “No, no. Those won’t work. ” Emily shook her head. She couldn’t remember any other. Sam jumped up from the floor. “Grandma used to have one of those. ” “Maybe it’s in the cellar. Or what about that locked shed in the garden? If we could only find the key,” Clifford said. ” Sam bolted toward the door.
Propping a pillow up behind her on the bed, she made herself comfy, then started writing, the words flowing easily as though a voice guided her. She chewed on her pen, thinking, until the exact words formed in her mind. She lowered the pen to the paper and scribbled, letting the words flow before she forgot them again. After a while she dropped the pen on the quilt, closed the diary and let out a big breath. Stretching her arms she yawned, relieved to find the voice in her head stopped nagging.