Love and Other Curses by ANNALIESE AVERY is a swoon-worthy, witchy romantic fantasy sequel to The Wycherleys.

Read on for an extract.

 

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

For the Kingdom. For the magic. And for love . . .

Aurelia Wycherley has found someone to tether her magic to – her enigmatic former enemy, Jules Nightly. Now, they are heading off to coven college to learn advanced magic. But they are also on a secret mission: to discover the Lost Quarter of the college, create their own coven of twelve and try to discover a way to bring back the Old Magic.

When malevolent magic interrupts their first night at college, Aurelia and Jules discover that Jonathan and his coven of untethered witches has escaped and now they are after her magic, curse and all…

Can they save the magic and the world – or will Aurelia lose her magic for good?

Prepare for balls, late-night study groups, hidden mysteries, a heist, the return of old foes, and a lot more kissing!

 

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EXTRACT

One

Every witch knows that the potential of their magic is only as great as their tether. Luckily for me, my tether, the witch that I have secured my magic to, is strong and adamant. Jules Nightly is the only witch who has ever been able to keep up with my cursed magic.

There was a time when I thought I would never find a match or indeed get to keep my magic. It was not that long ago when the family curse that I had inherited felt as if it was going to stop me from becoming the witch I wanted to be.

I’d assumed it would all be different now I am a tethered witch and about to start coven college, but it would seem that my curse is still out to get me.

My father used to say that assumptions were terrible things. I found out what he meant after I received my cursed magic, as prior to that I had assumed that I would tether my magic to Sebastian Crenshaw. However, from the moment my curse arrived it marked me as different, leaving my fellow witches sick and in need of a healer whenever they were forced to perform magic with me.

I learnt in my debutante year that magic works in mysterious ways. The generational curse that I carry was bestowed on my ancestor Mathilde Wycherley by her tether, Heston Nightly, who just so happens to be the ancestor of Jules Nightly. Not that Jules has inherited any of his ancestor’s traits, if anything he has saved me and my magic, and now I am worried that I may be the one who has cursed Jules Nightly.

But cursed or not, I am giddy with eagerness to see Jules again. For the past three months, my elder brother Vaughn and I have travelled Europe on the Grand Magical Tour, a rite of passage for all Wycherley witches the summer before entering into coven college. We visited all the key sites of magical interest and culture that our ancestors had, as well as Château Wycherley, a small but grand old house in the French countryside that my Great Aunt Antoinette left to me, along with my curse, when she died. She also left me something else, a secret . . . a secret that I haven’t told Vaughn about and that I am hesitant to tell anyone at all of, especially Nightly.

My debutante year was full of surprises; some of them, like Nightly, were wonderous, others were . . . challenging. Like the way the Coven Council had become interested in my magic and the way they had tested it, and me, in the final months of that year. I feel anxious thinking of that time; it almost broke me. But I feel as if I have connected to something that has helped me to heal and grow over the summer. I’m excited to start this new chapter of my magic, at Neoards Coven College, with Jules.

‘We’re not going to make it in time,’ Vaughn says, peering out of the carriage window at the Cambridge countryside beyond. ‘Constance is going to hex us if we are late,’ he continues. I smile thinking of Constance Prior, my best friend and my brother’s magical tether.

‘Correction, she will hex you,’ I tell him. He makes a deep grumbling noise, knowing it is true, and I smile. I am so happy that two of the most important people in the world to me found each other last season.

He makes a deep grumbling noise, knowing it is true, and I smile.

As if awoken by Vaughn’s annoyance, my broom, Ankoth, is tapping at the window. I had placed it on my trunks at the rear of the carriage, but it has never been one to do as it is bid. I dart a look over at Vaughn and he pulls a face. I know exactly how he feels about my broom and its unbroom-like behaviour. My brother is a witch of order, he likes to understand things on a deep level, and Ankoth, whose name means Unknown, is a mystery that he has tried and failed to understand.

Before Vaughn can protest, I open the door to the carriage and reach out my hand – Ankoth flies straight into it. I feel a deep connection with Ankoth, the broom that was fashioned by Mathilde Wycherley, the first witch to hold our family curse, and now that I have it, it is another connection that I feel to her.

Vaughn’s chestnut-brown eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, resolved to stay in his seat.

‘Fine, but remember, Constance will hex you if you’re late,’ I say with a knowing smile.

He sighs before taking my hand and climbing onto the broom behind me. I let the door of the carriage slam shut and we’re off, soaring into the periwinkle-blue sky of late summer.

With every village and field we fly over, I can feel Jules along our magical tether. When I am magically connected to another witch, I have the ability to know things about them, a unique gift of my magic that I am sure is connected to its cursed nature. But with Nightly it’s different, deeper. I can feel his emotions. I guess this is because he is my tether and our magic is connected intrinsically. It is something that I have missed during my travels, the connection feeling dull and distant, but it is getting stronger by the moment as I move closer to him.

Right now, I can feel an edge of worry slowly being replaced with . . . excitement, joy, eagerness. I can almost hear him saying, ‘I have missed you, Wycherley.’ And the feeling is reciprocated.

Jules Nightly and I have a relationship based primarily on mutual need, secondly by felonious acts, and thirdly by shared trauma. But it is also built on the foundation of love, respect, friendship and the irresistible urge that I have to run my fingers through his too-long hair and pull his lips to mine.

We might not be the most likely of tethers – two witches from long-quarrelling families – but we are perfect for one another.

Neoards is nestled in the countryside with the River Cam winding its way close by.

It has been far too long since I saw him last, and as much as I hope that we will get to spend the first few weeks of coven college wrapped in one another, I am keenly aware that Jules and I have something pressing to occupy ourselves with – returning the old magic to the world and ending tethering.

Ankoth sweeps us swiftly forward and in no time at all I see Neoards come into view. The coven college is one of the newest of the 13, built at the beginning of this Third Age of Magic, when tethering was introduced, and magic began to be more formalised. It was the brainchild of Mathilde Wycherley and her tether Heston Nightly. Most of the magical covens of Briton have their own oddities, and Neoards has a legendary missing quarter. When the college was designed and built, almost two hundred years ago, it was square, but at some time in its past one side was lost, leaving the coven in a triangular shape.

However, this is not the most mysterious secret that the coven holds. Underneath its central courtyard, below the tomb of Heston Nightly himself, lies a hidden henge – a stone ring of the First Age of Magic, which ended over twelve thousand years ago. Witches of that age used them to aid their magic. But as nearly all of the old henges were destroyed during the burning times, whatever knowledge we had about them has been lost. Jules Nightly and I discovered the henge last Yule and as I fly closer to Neoards I can feel the magic of the henge pulling on my own.

Neoards is nestled in the countryside with the River Cam winding its way close by. We fly over the lawn that overlooks the river and lake to the west of the main building, swooping over a raised platform and a dance floor surrounded by tables – no doubt waiting for the Lughnasadh celebrations to start at sunset. Ankoth flies us to the main entrance at the other side of the building in a sweeping dive.

‘There she is,’ Vaughn says, close to my ear, as he points to a figure outside the college. I can hear the tenderness in his voice as Constance rushes down the steps towards the driveway, holding the skirts of her dusk-pink dress, a pink silk cloak ballooning behind her.

Ankoth lands smoothly and before my feet can even touch the ground, Vaughn has leapt from the broom. He rushes to Constance, scooping her up and spinning her around as he hugs her close. I can see that nestled within her tight black curls is a crown of amarines in full bloom and on her face is a huge smile.

I feel a little bite of discomfort, which I swiftly try to bat away. I am still not entirely used to sharing my best friend with my brother, or indeed my brother with my best friend. I dismount and look around, realizing Nightly is not here to greet me – I feel more than a little disappointed.

‘I’ve missed you,’ I tell Constance when she leaves Vaughn and leaps on me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

‘I’ve missed you both. Neither of you wrote to me enough while you were gone,’ she admonishes before pulling away and scooping up my hand. ‘Come along, let me show you to your rooms before you have to attend Lughnasadh in your travelling cloaks.’ She wrinkles her nose.

Constance pulls us through the halls and pauses for a moment at a staircase, turning to Vaughn. ‘Your room is up there, third floor second on the left, you’re next door to Martyn and he said that all of your things arrived last week.’

Vaughn and Constance linger for a moment and I let go of Constance’s hand and continue to walk down the corridor, giving them both a little privacy. When she catches up to me, sweeping my arm into hers, her cheeks are a little flushed.

‘Have you seen Nightly?’ I ask Constance.

‘Not today. But he arrived alongside most of us a few days ago and I’ve seen him about.’

I realise that with Vaughn and I on our tour, Constance away visiting her father’s side of her family, and Nightly’s sister Evelyn wrapped up in her new duties at the Coven of Justice, it has no doubt been quite a lonely summer for Jules.

Up on the fourth floor, Constance pauses outside one of the doors in the long corridor. ‘Well, here is your room. There should be a bath waiting for you in there, but you might need to use a little magic to warm it up.’

Constance throws open the door and ushers me in. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone take this room, it’s right next to mine and has a fantastic view over the inner courtyard.’

I look out of the window and can see the tomb of Heston Nightly right below us, so exposed and overlooked.

‘How exactly did you do that?’ I ask.

I let go of Ankoth, who floats over the foot of the large four-poster bed and rests there.

‘Oh, I have my ways – and not all of them rely on charms or hexes. I’ve had plenty of practice keeping my sisters in check over the years.’ She smiles sweetly.

I give her a hug as I look over the room. ‘It’s perfect; you’re the best,’ I tell her.

Under the window is a large wooden desk with a bookcase close by, already stocked with the books on the reading list for the year.

On one side of the door is a large wardrobe and on the other a dresser. At the end of the bed is a chaise that I can imagine myself lounging on and reading into the small hours of the night.

Constance looks over at Ankoth and says, ‘Shouldn’t it be in the broom room with all the others?’

I shrug and open one of the many trunks that have been deposited in my room, looking for the Lughnasadh gown that Mother has packed for me. Constance flops onto the chaise. ‘Ankoth doesn’t play nice with the other brooms,’ I say as I uncover my dress.

‘Tell me everything that you did during the summer,’ Constance says. I take off my cloak and put it into the wardrobe, aware of the secret hiding in the pocket, and say to Constance, ‘You’ve heard it all from Vaughn in his letters.’

‘I know, but he only described the places and the things he saw, no mention of the people. I’ve never been to Italy or France. What is magic, life and living there like?’

She scoots along the chaise and I sit next to her. ‘Both countries were beautiful. Their magical traditions are similar to ours but they have customs that are all their own. In Venice, they have a carnival to celebrate Imbloc – for three days they all wear lavish costumes, masks and glamours and on Imbloc itself they have the Flight of the Witch, where one young witch is chosen to fly their broomstick over the city while scattering sparks of witch-flame that turn into flower petals as they drift towards the ground.’

I get to my feet, moving back to my cloak and from it pull a red box.

‘For me?’ Constance asks as I hold it out to her.

‘Of course.’

Inside, sitting on a cushion of red satin, is a carnival mask.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful.’ Constance lifts up the sky-blue mask with symmetrical bronze flourishes.

‘Here,’ I say, taking it from her and placing it on her face, tying the blue ribbons in place behind her head.

She rushes to the wardrobe and gazes into the mirror hanging on the door.

The blue mask hugs the curves of her cheeks as it surrounds her deep brown eyes; the bronze of the delicate swirls are only a few shades lighter than her skin and complement her colouring perfectly.

‘What do you think, would I fit in at Carnival?’ she says, looking back to me.

‘One day we shall have to go there together and find out,’ I reply, and she throws her arms around me. I tell her about the streets and the plazas, the canals and the gondolas, then the clock tower strikes the hour. Constance leaps to her feet.

‘Less than an hour till sunset, you need to get ready!’ she says, motioning to the bathtub. ‘And I ought to freshen up.’

She hastens from the room, full of promises to talk more later, and as soon as the door is closed I stand blinking as the unfamiliar room falls quiet and I find myself quite alone. I drift to the window and look down on the tomb, it does nothing to comfort me.

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Annaliese has spent most of her life surrounded by stories, both at work as a library manager and at home writing them. She holds an MA in Creative Writing and has worked as a children and Young adult book editor, and has taught creative writing workshops across the UK. She currently works at a global conservation charity.

Annaliese is a keen amateur astronomer and founded an astronomical society in 2013.

In January 2020, Annaliese was shortlisted for the SCBWI Undiscovered Voices 2020 anthology. Her debut middle-grade novel, The Nightsilver Promise was released in 2021, followed by The Doomfire Secret in 2022.

In 2023 Annaliese’s YA debut The Immortal Games was released.

Visit Annaliese Avery’s website