Waywood

“Kind of Stephen King though. . . ” I look up at the crumbling walls and ancient trees that are spilling their crisp, yellow leaves onto the cobbled street. Fear stirs my guts again, this is getting weirder by the minute.

“Fairy story,” Cray corrects, “the kind where children lose fingers to goblins and the princess’ eyes get pecked out by crows.”

Michaela has nowhere to go the night her parents find her stash and kick her out. Not even her friends will take her in (it’s kind of hard to get help when you’ve stolen from everyone you know).

When she meets another runaway, Cray, at the bus station she thinks all her problems are solved.

That’s when Cray first says the word ‘coven’.

Michaela doesn’t believe him, what sane person would? But soon she sees for herself what magic can do, especially when it’s in the hands of homeless teens living a stone’s throw from a busy University campus.

But things at Waywood house aren’t as friendly as they look, and soon Michaela realises she’s fallen into something far more dangerous than a coven of amateur witches. Something far older.