What do you get when you take one determined, if slightly bullheaded, woman, add a sawed-off, super-glued magic wand, a smelly disguise, a poisonous toad, a devilishly handsome border guard, a water sprite, and some very real magic? An unorthodox, and definitely, diverting trip to Faery in the company of Leticia Warton, a Godmother with a difference and a Sanction. And with her keeper, Marcus, who knows far too much about the dead witch and not nearly enough about love and happy-ever-afters. But he is certainly willing to learn. Very, very willing.
A Hard Shell Word Factory Release
A former teacher, Patricia White studies history, reads voraciously, and lives in the mountains described in this book. She loves cats, collects dragons and unicorns (mostly non-sentient), and thinks her husband, Bill, and their three children make hers the best of all possible worlds.
"A fun read from beginning to end, one you'll want to pull out (or rather pull up) again and again. A guaranteed pick- me-up, that will have you believing in fairy tales and the magic of love."Romance Industry Newsletter
"It's a keeper--one I'm going to read again and again when I need a moment of unadulterated wit, a speck or two of real wisdom, and smiles galore. Very Highly Recommended!"Under the Covers Book Reviews
"The Godmother Sanction is a has-to-be-read to be believed, can't put it down delight from the first page to the last. Readers will love the sweet ending and clamor for Ms. White's next release."Lori Soard -- Word Museum
Once upon a time, in a very different place, there was a boy. Fierce and proud, untouchable as a new-fledged eagle, only his amber eyes betraying the dark and aching sorrow of innocence lost, he stood beside the looms and embroidery frames in the candle-lit solar and waited. It wasn't a long wait.
"Marcus, I will not bless your going."
Although it added to his inner hurt, the boy didn't flinch away from the disappointment, anger, and grief that twisted together, marred the strong planes of his father's handsome face, making him seem suddenly old and oddly defenseless. Marcus lifted his head a little higher, stiffened his skinny back, and said, his voice carrying only the faintest hint of a tremor, "Father, I have to go. You must know that." He was young enough to want to plead for understanding, even though he knew it would not be forthcoming, but he didn't dare allow himself that small weakness. Even that much would prove his undoing.
Narrowing his eyes, glaring at Marcus, his father stood mute. He just tightened his fist on the hilt of his sword and shifted his stance ever-so-slightly, all with a heavy air of exhausted patience, growing parental displeasure, and grief, a father's grief at the loss of his firstborn son.
"Father, I killed her and I destroyed other lives in the doing. I have to go. There's no place for me here now," Marcus said. He didn't add, "If there ever was." Even though that truth had lived long in his heart.
And in other hearts.
Behind him, Marcus could hear his mother's sobs. Before him, his father asked, his hand leaving his sword to rub at his face, his eyes, "Where will you go?"
Marcus couldn't answer. He just shook his head, turned away from his father to kneel on the rushes at his weeping mother's feet. "Will you give me your blessing, Mother?"
Shadows seemed to close in around them, take what was left of her strength. But whatever else she was, she was her husband's wife, giving him honor in all he did, even if it broke her heart. "I cannot," she whispered.
Getting to his feet, Marcus reached out, brushed his mother's tear-wet face with gentle fingers, and said, trying to smile, to hide the searing grief in the depths of his eyes, "Be well, Mother."
But she was too late. Marcus, his loneliness and sorrow walled away inside him, was already gone, leaving behind all that remained of his childhood.