Alix (The Coven's Grove Chronicles #1) by Virginia Hunter Page A

of a large plantation home. They varied in posture, size and color. A true representation of progressive action, especially for back then.
    Miranda rubbed the edges of the page, careful not to touch the photo itself. This had been her family, if not by blood, then surely in spirit. Thirteen witches comprised of different creeds, social classes, and race. She had cared for them all, and would have done anything to protect them. But that had not been enough to save any of the women she held most dear.
    She focused on a woman that appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties. A mischievous grin was painted across her face, while she bear-hugged another spry looking girl. Miranda couldn’t help but smile, as she gazed at herself. Oh, the fun we all had together .
    Miranda took her time to study each of the women’s faces, recalling her ties to them. They were all loved as sisters, but a few would always be remembered more fondly than the others. There was Isadora, directly to her left. Her long dark hair up in a tight bun. Isadora always considered herself a plain woman, and dressed as such, with her long-sleeved, gray dresses, and black shoes. She had smiled more and more the longer she was with the coven. Her history was well known throughout the house, as she had come to them from the east after strange things started happening in the textile plant where she was employed. Rumors had circulated for some time after she had left her employer, about a spinning jenny that ran on its own, and nobody ever wanting to use it. Just to the other side of Miranda was Rosamund. She was a tiny little blonde thing, and her hair was always done up in two braids. She had come from the coal mines in the north, and would tell them stories of crawling in little tunnels with a basket full of the black rock she pulled behind her for hours on end. Rosamund spent much of her time outdoors. So much so in fact, that if they didn’t make her come inside at night, she probably would have slept outside as well. Then there was the girl in Miranda’s arms. Arabella. In the photo her hair appeared dark, but Miranda remembered well the auburn color. It was almost an exact match to her own. She always wore it loose, declaring there was no way to tame all the curls. Not much was known of her past, nor did she talk about it, claiming her life started the day she joined the coven. Regardless of that fact, the two of them had become fast friends and did everything together after that first day they had met. Her death had been the hardest to watch. Finally, Miranda settled on Octavia Beone, the coven’s matriarch. A stern looking woman who appeared to be somewhere in her late fifties, Octavia had been an endearing and understanding mentor to all the members of her coven. The wonderment of that age, at least for Miranda, had been the knowledge and companionship Octavia’s sisterhood had shown her. Together they could perform and create spells far beyond what any single witch could hope to achieve or imagine. Miranda had never been in a coven before Octavia’s, and hadn’t understood the real power of such a bond—The emotional, as well as, the magical. She longed to have those feelings again, and could never repay Octavia for what she had bestowed upon her, even if the matriarch had survived. The best Miranda could do now was to carry on, and rebuild what had been lost.
    Rhea and Hannah were the beginning of that rebuilding. Miranda hoped the spell they had worked together would reach out to more women of power. It was too dangerous for a witch to be on her own, history had proven that time and again. Unfortunately, large numbers wasn’t a guarantee of safety either. But, it was a hell of a lot better than being alone, and Miranda had learned from the mistakes of the past. Her coven would be strong, and prepared.
    A sudden sense of urgency tickled the back of Miranda’s mind. She wasn’t sure what caused the feeling, but it became more intense every passing