Happy Cinco de Mayo everyone!
Blurb:
Exactly at midnight on May 5th, 2006 Mahogany Messeroux cast a spell to obtain the perfect man. She never dreamed the spell would deliver Acacius Montoya, a warrior straight from the Battle of Puebla, Mexico in 1862. For Mahogany, it was love at first sight. But--there is just one problem. The handsome Latino must return to his own time after every Cinco de Mayo and can only be summoned once a year. Five years later she discovers she has the opportunity of saving the man she loves and keeping him in her world on a regular basis, or so she thought.
Acacius Montoya is doomed to repeat the same day at the Battle of Puebla for all eternity thanks to an evil warlock, Maximilian. The ebony bruja intervened just in time to save his soul from The Harvester. But who will save Mahogany from making a mistake that may cause her to miss the spiritual evolvement necessary in shaping her future as a person and a witch?
Excerpt:
Anticipation filled Mahogany Messeroux as she lit the last of the five
candles in preparation for summoning Acacius’ soul. Briefly she looked around her bedroom before casting her glance to the magic circle. The circle was perfect and had been cast with care.
At the stroke of midnight on May 5th, 2011 she'd bring forth her lover, Acacius, from his time of May 5th, 1862. Exactly five seconds before midnight, five drops of her blood would be all she needed to manifest his spirit.
For the past five years, the lovers only had the pleasure of each other’s company one night per year thanks to the cruelty of Maximilian, an evil Austrian warlock. Acacius' spirit had first presented itself exactly five years earlier, the night before Cinco de Mayo. Having become fully acclimated to her new powers as a witch, she'd cast a spell to bring forth the perfect man. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she'd meet one.
Sweat beaded her ebony skin as she closed her eyes to meditate briefly. Tonight would officially be her last chance to save Acacius' soul. If she failed, he'd return to 1862 and would be forever lost to her. She’d known she loved him since the first night she summoned him, and she knew he felt the same.
Over the passing years dreams had presented themselves to her, and then she’d captured visions of her lover's life, saw him forced to repeat the battle every day for all eternity. With the passing of each year, bits and pieces of Acacius' dilemma fit together like pieces to a puzzle that only she could unravel.
* * *
Acacius' chest burned and bile formed in his throat as the harsh blow knocked him from his horse to the ground. Agonizing pain shot through his body as he shifted and rolled away from the hooves of his horse. Death and destruction lay all around him from a fight he'd never win, thanks to the curse of the warlock. The Mexicans should have been victorious over the French; he knew this to be true in his heart. Yet a Mexican victory was not part of the warlock's intentions. He, along with his comrades was being harvested for something—but what?
His spirit, although strong, fought to hold on to the last shreds of sanity and the final moment when he'd find solace in Mahogany's arms. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on the ebony angel, he’d known he loved her. When his comrade was shot dead and fell from his horse, Acacius knew his moment had arrived once again. This was always the scene he was forced to repeat. However, something wasn't right. The events before him seemed to slow before his eyes and Maximilian appeared in front of him, musket in hand.
His eyes never leaving Maximilian's, Acacius rose to his feet as pain racked his body. Ignoring the ache, he tightened his jaw and lifted his head in
defiance. Pure evil emanated from the warlock's eyes, making it seem as though a thousand prickly needles penetrated his skin. His fists tightened when the man spoke.
"Your witch can't save you on this day Acacius," Maximilian said with a snarl, bringing the musket up to fire. "You will be trapped here with me for all of eternity. I promise you this."
"Why not end this tragic suffering? Why torture us? You know the outcome of this battle, why have you changed it?" Rage coursed through his body. Acacius sought vengeance—If only Maximilian were man enough to face him in hand-to-hand combat instead of hiding behind a musket and magic, he knew he'd be the victor. "What can you ever hope to achieve from this act?"
Maximilian had never presented himself to him before this day. Mahogany had warned him last year that the wizard would finally reveal his plan.
Maximilian laughed. "I shall reap many more benefits of delivering all the souls here on this day to the Master. I am and forever shall be the only one to harvest souls.” A cruel smile formed on the madman’s lips.
Before Acacius could speak, Maximilian fired the musket and the bullet emerged in what seemed like slow motion. Suddenly, Acacius felt a strong otherworldly pull at his being, and he could smell Mahogany's perfume. Her voice was like the sweetest music he ever heard. Ah, it had been entirely too long since he’d last heard his angel's voice. "Summonus Halbitris, Sulterne, Bahizm! Summonus Halbitris, Sulterne, Bahizm!"
He'd almost forgotten what she sounded like, with the exception of her voice in his dreams....
Maximilian's face turned into a grotesque mask of hatred when he realized what was happening. Acacius felt himself rising as the warlock continued to fire the musket in vain. The bullets dissipated before Acacius' very eyes. Sending up a prayer of relief, he realized Mahogany must have cast a protection spell; he was sure of it. Tossing the musket aside, the warlock shouted venomous curses while waving his hands, apparently trying to stop what was happening.
"You cannot escape me, Acacius! I will follow and kill you and your witch!"
Feeling slight pressure from Maximilian's spell, Acacius told himself his precious witch had everything covered. Soon after, however, trepidation set in. Something in his gut told Acacius there was no escape.
