Most people have no idea goblins live in the woods around the small town of Bellwater, Washington. But some are about to find out. Skye, a young barista and artist, falls victim to a goblin curse in the forest one winter night, rendering her depressed and silenced, unable to speak of what happened. Her older sister, Livy, is at wit’s end trying to understand what’s wrong with her. Local mechanic Kit would know, but he doesn’t talk of such things: he’s the human liaison for the goblin tribe, a job he keeps secret and never wanted, thrust on him by an ancient family contract.
Then Kit starts dating Livy, and Skye draws Kit’s cousin Grady into the spell through an enchanted kiss in the woods. Skye and Grady are doomed to become goblins and disappear from humankind forever, unless Livy, the only one untainted by enchantment, can unravel the spell by walking a dangerous magical path of her own.
Trade Paperback: 978-1-77168-117-9
FICTION | Mythology
Pages: 288 | List Price: $13.95
Published: October 2018
Praise For Molly Ringle
"The lion’s share of this final volume is a slow boil, but while there’s more introspection than in previous volumes, Ringle provides a thoroughly satisfying thread-tying conclusion." ~ Publishers Weekly (Immortal's Spring)
"Immortal’s Spring pulls readers right back into this reimagining of the Greek myths and emergence of modern-day gods and goddesses, and this novel is just as hard to put down as the previous two." ~ San Francisco Book Review
"If you want a book that will challenge, excite and enthrall you, then this might be the book for you." — Long and Short Reviews (Immortal's Spring)
"This was a beautiful story, and I'm really excited to see how it unfolds in future installments of the series." — Kaitlin Bevis, author of Persephone (Persephone's Orchard)
“Captivating from start to finish, as fraught with intrigue as it is with romance, this is the perfect end to an unforgettable trilogy.” —Jamie Deacon, Author of Caught Inside (Immortal's Spring)
"I read Persephone's Orchard a year ago and it still remains one of the most unique and engaging retellings of the Hades and Persephone myth I've ever read." — Rachel Alexander, Author of Receiver of Many
With not quite enough gold in his pocket, Kit Sylvain trudged through the underbrush, trampling salal and fern under his hiking boots. The sun had set, and the light was fading. Not that there had been much light to begin with. It was a Wednesday in early December, and here on the western side of Puget Sound, clouds generally socked everything in for the whole winter, and a good deal of fall and spring too. Tonight the sky hung pewter gray between the swaying fir branches high above, and on the forest floor the colors were washed out to a greenish black.
Kit couldn’t see the rising full moon what with the thick forest and all the clouds, but he knew it was there.
By now he didn’t even bother with a flashlight. He knew where to go. He wouldn’t recommend anyone else wander out here alone after dark, though.
He weaseled between close-growing trunks, and stopped in a tiny clearing wedged in by six thick trees. Only dead fir needles lay under his feet here; no other plants could take the constant lack of sunlight. Except mushrooms, of course. Never any shortage of mushrooms.
Kit ran his hand through his hair, and pulled the slim gold necklace from the pocket of his leather jacket. Another full moon, another offering.
He lifted his face toward the treetops and whistled a few notes of one of the the tribe’s songs. None were tunes you’d hear on the radio, though Kit would have sworn one of them had stolen riffs from a Bowie song. No surprise. Goblins stole stuff every chance they got.
In answer to his whistle, a few notes on a pipe floated down from the trees. Then someone blew a raspberry from a hundred feet up, and someone else cackled.
Immature buttheads. God.
“Guys.” Kit held up the chain. Three little gold hearts dangled from it. “It’s me.”
“Kiiiit. Daaaarling.” The cooing voice sank closer to the ground.
At the base of the trees, something light caught his eye. Several puffy white mushrooms had arranged themselves into a row. The line trailed out between two of the trees, through a space that hadn’t been there a minute earlier.
He gritted his teeth and walked forward, following the mushroom trail. The goblins wouldn’t show their faces unless you accepted their invitation and followed their path. But he hated doing it, every time.
By Molly Ringle