Hey guys! Welcome to today's post! Lost Volumes is the third book of the Enchanted Bookstore Legends (series blurb found below) and is a fantasy romance! Read on to find out more:) There's even a giveaway at the end to win the books so do enter it! :)
Lost Volumes:
Enchanted Bookstore Legends Three
Enchanted Bookstore Legends Three
When Lyra McCauley learns residents of Dragonspeir’s Alliance are suffering with a deadly plague, she doesn’t heed the warnings of her fiancé, wizard Cullen Drake, to remain safe in her human world. After all, she’s the present Scribe—one of five strong women in her ancestry who possessed unique magic, each destined to protect the Alliance against the evil Black Dragon of the Dark Realm. With Cullen dependent upon Alliance power to maintain his immortality, the stakes are doubled for Lyra.
She leaves her college teaching and puts herself at risk for the community afflicted by black magic. To find a cure, she and Cullen travel into the vile, lawless underworld of Terza to strike a bargain with an expert. Their efforts further enrage the Black Dragon, vowing to decimate the Alliance and avenge the murder of his heir.
Lyra must secure the three lost volumes of the Book of Dragonspeir. Written by the three earliest Scribes, each book contains energy. Possession of the entire set will enable overthrow of the Dark Realm. Following clues into dangerous lands, Lyra and Cullen seek those volumes. His assistants, Kenzo the tiger owl and Noba the pseudodragon, prove invaluable aids. Only if they succeed, will the Alliance be safe and Lyra reach closer to the immortality she needs to live a life with Cullen.
And now, just a quick series blurb. Here is: Enchanted Bookstore Legends.
The Enchanted Bookstore Legends are about Lyra McCauley, a woman destined to become one of five strong women in her family who possess unique magical abilities and serve as Scribes in Dragonspeir. The Scribes span a long history, dating from 1200 to present day. Each Scribe is expected to journey through Dragonspeir, both the good and evil factions, then draft a written account. Each book contains magic with vast implications.
Lyra was first introduced to Dragonspeir as a young girl, when she met the high sorcerer, Cullen Drake, through a gift of one of those enchanted books. Using its magic, he escorted her into the parallel world of Dragonspeir. Years later, she lost that volume and forgot the world and Cullen. These legends begin where he finds her again—she is thirty-five, standing in his enchanted bookstore, and Dragonspeir needs her.
Marsha A. Moore
Marsha A. Moore is a writer of fantasy romance. The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing. Her creativity also spills into watercolor painting and drawing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transforming into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Crazy about cycling, she usually passes the 1,000 mile mark yearly. She is learning kayaking and already addicted. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and that spiritual quest helps her explore the mystical side of fantasy. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at new stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!
Time for a short excerpt!
Lyra almost deleted the email marked urgent, suspecting some virus that might take control of her computer, but stopped when she realized the sender was her lover—a 220-year-old wizard, who rarely used a computer. She couldn’t open the message fast enough.
Lyra,
Alliance mortals and lower magicals are taking violently ill. I’m leaving the bookstore for a while to offer aid. DO NOT come to Dragonspeir. Stay safe in your world.
Love always,
Cullen
She stared at the screen, twisting a strand of her long hair. Leaning forward, she gripped the armrests of the chair. Her breath caught when she noticed how the dragon’s sapphire eyes on her new bloodswear ring sparked from the energy of her concern. His message left her undecided, reading between the lines and weighing the choices.
Those affected—mortals and lower magicals—seemed to place her in the risk group, obviously Cullen’s concern. However, those mortals were all born in Dragonspeir, while she originally came from Tampa. Lower magicals did include members of both worlds. But as the current Scribe, Lyra possessed inherited power at least as great as high-order wizards. She just didn’t fully grasp how to command her magic yet.
She did want to help. Since her parents and dear Aunt Jean died, the Guardians, wizards, dragons, and other residents of the Alliance were her only family. Lyra’s unique powers might be useful, especially since they now lacked an alchemist.
Eburscon disappeared after he attempted to steal her scribal aura, and she’d heard no reports of him since, so he was presumed dead by many. According to Cullen, no one wanted him back. However, living without a person capable of creating remedies for a plague or widespread illness had left many residents uneasy. Some talked about trying to persuade Tarom, the Dark Realm’s alchemist, to switch his allegiance. Two centuries ago, he served the Imperial Dragon, leaving only when he couldn’t tolerate working under Eburscon any longer.
Despite ranking as the top wizard, the Imperial Sorcerer in the Alliance High Council, Cullen lacked alchemical skills. Even though untrained, Lyra possessed a keen intuitive sense in the craft. She could help him. Aries guided the fire in her scribal powers and also fueled her impatience.
Lyra checked and secured Aunt Jean’s cottage since the last gasps of late winter storms in the upper peninsula of Michigan could be brutal.
Dashing off a few emails to her college students in Florida, she gave them feedback on their independent study in the Fantasy Lit course. She was glad her leave from on-campus teaching responsibilities continued until the next fall term.
Lyra saved and printed the chronicle draft of her bloodswear quest, completed at the end of last year. It was mid-March, and she’d almost finished the written account, storing magic in her words that would empower the Alliance—her role as a Scribe. The hard copy she stuffed into a commuter bag to work on later with the Imperial Dragon and the other three Guardians. She needed to sort through their research details that had helped her kill the heir to the Black Dragon. Additional supplies could be conjured from memory.
Outside, the dock in the backyard looked weather-beaten but sound. Waves from Lake Huron lapped at its old boards. In the flower bed, the first spring perennials peeked through the packed ground and would require plenty of care soon. Lyra hoped to be back in time to maintain what her aunt had loved so much. Crocuses stood bravely against the melting snowpack—a reminder.
As she turned from the garden, a large black butterfly flitted around her head. It was the same type that had spied on her before and been in her aunt’s room when she was killed—purple spots like eyes on its wings. Suspecting it was a transformed magical from Dragonspeir’s Dark Realm, Lyra swatted at the insect. Thinking that someone watched her leave caused a chill to run down her spine.
Finally shooing it to the nearby bushes, she lifted her head high, put her bag inside her silver Subaru sport wagon, and drove straight to Drake’s Bookstore.
After parking in back, she twisted her dragon ring to unlock the back door of Cullen’s shop, no longer needing the magical skeleton key. “Sheridan, I’m using your portal,” she called out.
From his cage on the showroom counter, the cicada chirped, “I already knew it was you, sweetheart. Nice perfume.”
Lyra shook her head. Darned bug never stopped flirting.
“By the way, Sire Drake told me to not let you pass. Something about an illness in the Alliance. Don’t make me use my magic on you.”
“I’m going anyway,” she replied as she prepared herself in the storage room.
“Like I knew you would,” he snapped.
She gave her ring another twist and stated, “Pateo porta!” In response, two metal bookcases moved apart. Between them lay the connector to Dragonspeir. She stepped across. The familiar tingling sensation now felt invigorating, when last summer it had frightened her. Her jeans, t-shirt, and jacket transformed into a full-skirted gown of light blue cotton under a navy cloak.
It was her first time back since being publically honored for completing her bloodswear quest and sorcery studies. She’d have to wait to find out if her new abilities could alter the clothing she acquired at the portal.
Lifting one side of the long garments, Lyra ran the short distance along the wooded trail to the location of the old, sentry tree, Gatekeeper Cranewort. Reminding her of the shape of grand live oaks in Florida, his branches spread wide and high, taller than any nearby. His large, flat leathery leaves were turned to collect the warm morning rays.
“Hello, Cranewort,” she called ahead. “I don’t mean to disturb your sunbathing, but I need to pass to the Imperial Dragon’s lair, or to the Meadow—whichever place I can help most with those who are sick.”
“Not sunbathing, child, merely enhancing my immune functioning to bolster my health after the harsh winter. Sire Drake instructed me to not permit your passage. He and all of us fear you will fall ill.” He lifted extensions of his roots into a spiky barricade, one of his gate-keeping defenses.
“Perhaps I can help,” she maintained, hands on her hips.
“It looks to be a horrible disease—elevated fever, chills, vomiting blood. Some are dying. Please stay here, Adalyra.”
“I’m not like any from Dragonspeir. I won’t get it.” Lyra hoped what she said was true but couldn’t turn her back on thousands who were ill.
“Well…you most certainly are unique.” He folded his leaves and tipped his trunk forward to look at her directly. “The Alliance relies on your special scribal abilities to battle the Dark Realm. Losing you to illness would risk too much. Be wise and stay back.” He smoothed down his bark and held out a twigged hand to her.
She stepped beyond his touch. “The entire Alliance is my family, and I need to help them.”
The gnarled tree let out a sigh and lowered his roots. “Very well. You have your own mind, and it is one of a leader. That is your inheritance from the four female Scribes in your family. But, I expect you to use every caution available. Sire Drake is in the Meadow. Stay with him.”
“I promise.” Lyra hurried toward the crossroads, which connected dozens of trails. There she selected the short path leading to the Meadow.
Pluch trees lined the trail. Their weeping branches, active with new sap, swept after Lyra in attempt to caress her golden hair, now grown almost to her waist. Flower buds on the bell flowers peaked out. The air held gentle notes of fragrant jasmine from the vine’s first purple flowers. She took a deep breath as she sped down the familiar walk. She had missed Dragonspeir.
Along the way, Lyra thought about her action, entering the land without permission. Although she recently passed sorcery training for all crafts except powerthrowing, Lyra only elevated her immortal status. In Dragonspeir, they used the term afflation—having received divine impartment of knowledge and strength to endure more physical hardship than a non-magical. Until gaining enough afflation to become fully immortal, she needed to be invited by the Imperial Dragon to be his guest in Dragonspeir.
As a new Alliance sorceress, the Imperial Dragon decided when he needed her. Lyra clearly broke his established protocol. But she often bent Alliance customs to suit her needs while working for the greater good. So far, she had only raised eyebrows, and no one troubled her. She hoped this time would be the same, but entering a plague-ridden land against orders was a bit different than wearing jeans or hugging dragons.
Lyra,
Alliance mortals and lower magicals are taking violently ill. I’m leaving the bookstore for a while to offer aid. DO NOT come to Dragonspeir. Stay safe in your world.
Love always,
Cullen
She stared at the screen, twisting a strand of her long hair. Leaning forward, she gripped the armrests of the chair. Her breath caught when she noticed how the dragon’s sapphire eyes on her new bloodswear ring sparked from the energy of her concern. His message left her undecided, reading between the lines and weighing the choices.
Those affected—mortals and lower magicals—seemed to place her in the risk group, obviously Cullen’s concern. However, those mortals were all born in Dragonspeir, while she originally came from Tampa. Lower magicals did include members of both worlds. But as the current Scribe, Lyra possessed inherited power at least as great as high-order wizards. She just didn’t fully grasp how to command her magic yet.
She did want to help. Since her parents and dear Aunt Jean died, the Guardians, wizards, dragons, and other residents of the Alliance were her only family. Lyra’s unique powers might be useful, especially since they now lacked an alchemist.
Eburscon disappeared after he attempted to steal her scribal aura, and she’d heard no reports of him since, so he was presumed dead by many. According to Cullen, no one wanted him back. However, living without a person capable of creating remedies for a plague or widespread illness had left many residents uneasy. Some talked about trying to persuade Tarom, the Dark Realm’s alchemist, to switch his allegiance. Two centuries ago, he served the Imperial Dragon, leaving only when he couldn’t tolerate working under Eburscon any longer.
Despite ranking as the top wizard, the Imperial Sorcerer in the Alliance High Council, Cullen lacked alchemical skills. Even though untrained, Lyra possessed a keen intuitive sense in the craft. She could help him. Aries guided the fire in her scribal powers and also fueled her impatience.
Lyra checked and secured Aunt Jean’s cottage since the last gasps of late winter storms in the upper peninsula of Michigan could be brutal.
Dashing off a few emails to her college students in Florida, she gave them feedback on their independent study in the Fantasy Lit course. She was glad her leave from on-campus teaching responsibilities continued until the next fall term.
Lyra saved and printed the chronicle draft of her bloodswear quest, completed at the end of last year. It was mid-March, and she’d almost finished the written account, storing magic in her words that would empower the Alliance—her role as a Scribe. The hard copy she stuffed into a commuter bag to work on later with the Imperial Dragon and the other three Guardians. She needed to sort through their research details that had helped her kill the heir to the Black Dragon. Additional supplies could be conjured from memory.
Outside, the dock in the backyard looked weather-beaten but sound. Waves from Lake Huron lapped at its old boards. In the flower bed, the first spring perennials peeked through the packed ground and would require plenty of care soon. Lyra hoped to be back in time to maintain what her aunt had loved so much. Crocuses stood bravely against the melting snowpack—a reminder.
As she turned from the garden, a large black butterfly flitted around her head. It was the same type that had spied on her before and been in her aunt’s room when she was killed—purple spots like eyes on its wings. Suspecting it was a transformed magical from Dragonspeir’s Dark Realm, Lyra swatted at the insect. Thinking that someone watched her leave caused a chill to run down her spine.
Finally shooing it to the nearby bushes, she lifted her head high, put her bag inside her silver Subaru sport wagon, and drove straight to Drake’s Bookstore.
After parking in back, she twisted her dragon ring to unlock the back door of Cullen’s shop, no longer needing the magical skeleton key. “Sheridan, I’m using your portal,” she called out.
From his cage on the showroom counter, the cicada chirped, “I already knew it was you, sweetheart. Nice perfume.”
Lyra shook her head. Darned bug never stopped flirting.
“By the way, Sire Drake told me to not let you pass. Something about an illness in the Alliance. Don’t make me use my magic on you.”
“I’m going anyway,” she replied as she prepared herself in the storage room.
“Like I knew you would,” he snapped.
She gave her ring another twist and stated, “Pateo porta!” In response, two metal bookcases moved apart. Between them lay the connector to Dragonspeir. She stepped across. The familiar tingling sensation now felt invigorating, when last summer it had frightened her. Her jeans, t-shirt, and jacket transformed into a full-skirted gown of light blue cotton under a navy cloak.
It was her first time back since being publically honored for completing her bloodswear quest and sorcery studies. She’d have to wait to find out if her new abilities could alter the clothing she acquired at the portal.
Lifting one side of the long garments, Lyra ran the short distance along the wooded trail to the location of the old, sentry tree, Gatekeeper Cranewort. Reminding her of the shape of grand live oaks in Florida, his branches spread wide and high, taller than any nearby. His large, flat leathery leaves were turned to collect the warm morning rays.
“Hello, Cranewort,” she called ahead. “I don’t mean to disturb your sunbathing, but I need to pass to the Imperial Dragon’s lair, or to the Meadow—whichever place I can help most with those who are sick.”
“Not sunbathing, child, merely enhancing my immune functioning to bolster my health after the harsh winter. Sire Drake instructed me to not permit your passage. He and all of us fear you will fall ill.” He lifted extensions of his roots into a spiky barricade, one of his gate-keeping defenses.
“Perhaps I can help,” she maintained, hands on her hips.
“It looks to be a horrible disease—elevated fever, chills, vomiting blood. Some are dying. Please stay here, Adalyra.”
“I’m not like any from Dragonspeir. I won’t get it.” Lyra hoped what she said was true but couldn’t turn her back on thousands who were ill.
“Well…you most certainly are unique.” He folded his leaves and tipped his trunk forward to look at her directly. “The Alliance relies on your special scribal abilities to battle the Dark Realm. Losing you to illness would risk too much. Be wise and stay back.” He smoothed down his bark and held out a twigged hand to her.
She stepped beyond his touch. “The entire Alliance is my family, and I need to help them.”
The gnarled tree let out a sigh and lowered his roots. “Very well. You have your own mind, and it is one of a leader. That is your inheritance from the four female Scribes in your family. But, I expect you to use every caution available. Sire Drake is in the Meadow. Stay with him.”
“I promise.” Lyra hurried toward the crossroads, which connected dozens of trails. There she selected the short path leading to the Meadow.
Pluch trees lined the trail. Their weeping branches, active with new sap, swept after Lyra in attempt to caress her golden hair, now grown almost to her waist. Flower buds on the bell flowers peaked out. The air held gentle notes of fragrant jasmine from the vine’s first purple flowers. She took a deep breath as she sped down the familiar walk. She had missed Dragonspeir.
Along the way, Lyra thought about her action, entering the land without permission. Although she recently passed sorcery training for all crafts except powerthrowing, Lyra only elevated her immortal status. In Dragonspeir, they used the term afflation—having received divine impartment of knowledge and strength to endure more physical hardship than a non-magical. Until gaining enough afflation to become fully immortal, she needed to be invited by the Imperial Dragon to be his guest in Dragonspeir.
As a new Alliance sorceress, the Imperial Dragon decided when he needed her. Lyra clearly broke his established protocol. But she often bent Alliance customs to suit her needs while working for the greater good. So far, she had only raised eyebrows, and no one troubled her. She hoped this time would be the same, but entering a plague-ridden land against orders was a bit different than wearing jeans or hugging dragons.
And now, let's welcome Marsha to the blog!
Victoria, thank you for inviting me to be your guest today. I love dragons and have many who are special in my writing world. Here’s a closer look at one who is very dear to me:
A Wizard’s Familiar, Noba the Pseudodragon
by Marsha A. Moore
by Marsha A. Moore
My new release, Lost Volumes, the third of my Enchanted Bookstore Legends, is an epic fantasy romance. Adalyra McCauley opens an enchanted book and confronts a series of quests where she is expected to save Dragonspeir from destruction by the evil Black Dragon. In Lost Volumes, the third book of the series, Lyra learns residents of Dragonspeir’s Alliance are suffering with a deadly plague at the hand s of the Black Dragon. She doesn’t heed the warnings of her fiancé, wizard Cullen Drake, to remain safe in her human world. After all, she’s the present Scribe—one of five strong women in her ancestry who possessed unique magic, each destined to protect the Alliance against the evil Black Dragon of the Dark Realm. With Cullen dependent upon Alliance power to maintain his immortality, the stakes are doubled for Lyra.
She puts herself at risk for the community afflicted by black magic. To find a cure, she and Cullen travel into the vile, lawless underworld of Terza to strike a bargain with an expert. Their efforts further enrage the Black Dragon, vowing to decimate the Alliance and avenge the murder of his heir.
In order to overpower his efforts, Lyra must secure the three lost volumes of the Book of Dragonspeir. Written by the three earliest Scribes, each book contains energy. Possession of the entire set will enable overthrow of the Dark Realm. Following clues into dangerous lands, Lyra and Cullen seek those volumes. His assistants, Kenzo the tiger owl and Noba the pseudodragon, prove invaluable aids. Only if they succeed, will the Alliance be safe and Lyra reach closer to the immortality she needs to live a life with Cullen.
The wizard’s assistants play big roles in this third book. For this reason, and because with Books One and Two, readers commented so much about them, they are featured on the cover of Lost Volumes. These secondary characters often bring laughter or encourage Lyra and Cullen to persevere.
Noba, the pseudodragon, is not a true dragon. His kind is much smaller, being only three feet long, including their tails. In my legends, serving as a wizard’s familiar is a typical role for this species in Dragonspeir. Noba has a heart of gold that melts people.
However, he surprises everyone when the group travels into the mysterious underground world of Terza. There, the lovable and naïve little dragon becomes a real star. Pseudodragons originated in that strange land, and Noba discovers the incredible strength of his heritage. He is not just a sweet pseudodragon wizard’s familiar, but also a powerful Matan, capable of altering the use of all magic in his presence as in this scene where Lyra, Cullen, Kenzo, and the bronze dragon, Yasqu, battle a fearsome scorpent, led by skeleton-people called Vizards.
“How do we use Noba?” Lyra asked, glancing down at him. If he could help, it was worth a try.As you can see, pseudodragons are very good-natured. They are very playful and curious. Definitely fun to have around! So far, every reviewer has wanted one of their own! If you’re considering adopting one for your home, Lyra even found a way to teach Noba to use a kitty litter box. Her only problem was a language barrier, trying to find words for the job she wanted him to do with the box—a comical scene! However, Cullen didn’t find it so funny she had domesticated so much wildness out of his familiar. Despite being the Imperial Sorcerer of the land, his love for Lyra left him without much control over that decision. Love is very powerful!
The familiar’s small muscles bunched and released while the pupils of his black eyes were open wide, sending out more light than before.
Lyra held a hand out to him. “Come here, Noba. We need your help.”
After Lesot and Angom released him, the pseudodragon hugged both forearms around Lyra’s leg.
“Go on. They’ll be afraid of whatever you do,” she said, giving him a gentle push between his wings.
He took a cautious step forward, brushing next to Cullen. Noba looked both ways along the main tunnel. His limbs twitched even more, his scales catching the light in ripples.
All eyes locked on the pseudodragon, and the battle halted. The scorpents froze, all but their tongues, which flicked more actively.
The Vizards hunched, and a few dropped lower, lying prostrated on their stomachs. Only the leader stood tall.
“Master, what is Noba needed to do?” the familiar asked.
“Use your instinct,” Cullen replied. “You will know what to do.”
Noba shook his head. “Don’t know.”
The head Vizard cackled. “You don’t know how to command your matan. We’ll show you—”
Before the leader finished, Cullen shot a powerball squarely at his chest.
Doubled in pain, the Vizard forced a skeletal arm upward, his wiry fingers twirling in the air as he sunk to the ground.
From that cue, the scorpents lunged at Yasqu, biting hard on his tail.
“Noba, wave your barb at them!” Lyra pleaded.
Instead of following her guidance, the familiar clung with legs, arms, and wings wrapped tightly around the side of his master’s leg.
Lyra shook her head, desperate to find of a way out of the situation. Surprisingly, her aura prickled in her fingertips without her command. Acting by instinct, she lifted her arms, and the electricity of her power crackled, jumping between her fingers like she’d never seen before. Vaporous threads of effluvial magic coursed toward her hands. Seeing the black magic channeling at her, Lyra jerked. Various shades of gray smoke, given off by different beings, comingled at the surface of her palm, as if fighting to enter.
Seeing their effluvium vanish into her hands, the Vizards cowered, despite the haunting grins plastered on their mask faces. A moment later, they blew new clouds from their pipes as fast as they could breathe, and the scorpents puffed a thick screen from their nostrils.
Lyra’s new ability matched their pace.
During this confusion, Yasqu whipped around and hurled long flames at the two new scorpents, searing wide burns along their necks and flanks.
The pair retaliated with teamwork, one in charge of maintaining the debilitating effluvial cloud while its partner attacked with open mouth and dripping fangs.
The bronze dragon took a serious hit, a deep bite at his shoulder that looked like it cut through his wing tendon. The main sail sagged lower than the one on his other side.
Kenzo soared to perch on a spine near Yasqu’s wound. With spread wings, the owl’s beak gaped and his face contorted as he tried his best to ward off another attack.
“Noba, you are my familiar and I command you—mico cauda hostes hostium!” Cullen’s voice carried above the din of roars, hisses, and groans. His hand glowed blue with his aura as it rested against the scales of the pseudodragon.
“Noba will serve Master.” With his barbed tail held high and no longer shaking, he walked deliberately into the midst of the battle. He stopped directly in front of the single scorpent. He tilted his head back and looked up at the beast nearly fifty times his size.
The scorpent watched, unable to move.
Noba’s tail whipped in a circle, and the tip glowed orange. Abruptly, he extended it forward, and a spark shot out like a missile at the beast’s chest.
The scorpent let out a guttural moan that shook the ground and echoed along the tunnel walls.
If you’re worried about safety, pseudodragons can bite, but won’t unless provoked. However, their tails can be a hazard—barbed and poisonous. Noba often gets excited and forgets to watch his! But for Lyra and Cullen, having Noba around is always worth that small difficulty. I’d love to tell you more about Noba’s antics, but don’t want to spoil the book for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the adventures of Noba, Kenzo, Lyra, and Cullen in Lost Volumes: Enchanted Bookstore Legend Three.
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So yep, that's about it for today! Thanks for visiting! :) Comments are always welcome:)
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