Spotlight & Giveaway: Reluctant Witch by Melissa Marr

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Melissa Marr’s new release: Reluctant Witch

The Magicians meets One Last Stop in the sequel to Remedial Magic by New York Times bestselling author Melissa Marr!

After discovering she’s a witch and being whisked away to the magical land of Crenshaw, Ellie wants nothing more than to spend time with her new wife, Prospero, who has magically altered Ellie’s memories to convince her of exactly that.

Prospero herself is guilt-wracked after erasing Ellie’s memories and being forced into a sham marriage with the woman she loves for real. But Crenshaw is dying, poisoned by Prospero’s enemies who want their community to return to the human world, and she will do anything to save it.

The most powerful witch in anyone’s memory is in Prospero’s home, in her bed, with no idea that she’s a prisoner there… yet.

As the very fabric of their world is being destroyed, Ellie and Prospero must find a way to work together and save the world, and themselves.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Reluctant Witch 

1
Prospero
Prospero fled to her study after retrieving Ellie from the nonmagical
world. All the Victorian witch could think of was the venomous way Ellie
had called her a “lying bitch” before Prospero erased Ellie’s memories
of escaping Crenshaw.
Now, Ellie thought they chose to be wed. She remembered a handfasting
that had never happened.
“Is something bothering you?” Ellie asked gently, glancing over at
her as they walked toward the castle.
“I am tired.” Prospero opted not to lie outright.
And overwhelmed and not sure how to fix . . . anything. Not the rift.
Not my life. Not this sham marriage.
Ellie’s expression tightened. “Something between us is wrong.”
Prospero gestured at the front door of the castle as they approached,
and it opened like an invitation. “You cannot—”
“Bullshit. I know this sour face of yours is about you and me!” Ellie
gestured with one hand as she snapped at Prospero. “You’re keeping
secrets.”
2  MELISSA MARR
Prospero tucked her wife’s other hand into the fold of her arm and
all but marched her toward the room Ellie thought was hers. Ellie had
moved out of her actual room when she escaped from Crenshaw. Too
much evidence waited there, although the headmaster refused to throw
it all away.
“You’re making a spectacle of us,” Prospero murmured softly.
“You have no idea what sort of ‘spectacle’ I could make.” Ellie’s voice
thrummed with a threat.
Prospero looked around as they hurried through the castle. The hall
was nearly empty now that the student class had been trimmed some.
Those not staying had been siphoned of their magic, and the rest were
free to roam the village.
“Here we are. Safe and sound.” Prospero gestured at the door to
the student lodging. After a pause, she flicked her fingers, and the door
opened at her unspoken command. “I’ll leave you in your home, and—”
“Seriously? We’re married.”
“But you’re still a student.” Prospero stepped back, evading the door
and the unspoken threat of being alone with Ellie. “Students live in the
castle.”
Prospero crossed her arms over her chest. Until Ellie escaped Crenshaw,
they’d been building something real—but
then everything fell
apart. She was not going to manage this ruse well.
Ellie stepped closer. “Find time for us.”
She tilted her head up in an obvious request. Instead of the kiss Ellie
clearly expected, Prospero lifted Ellie’s hand to her lips and kissed the
air above her knuckles. No touching. No kissing. And certainly absolutely
nothing else.
Ellie scowled. “Surely the headmaster wouldn’t object to—”
“He is busy with his bride and the students and dozens of things,”
Prospero explained lightly. Those details, of course, were all true. They
were not the whole truth, however. One learned to twist words when
overt lies were not options. “We had last night, Ellie—”
RELUCTANT WITCH  3
“Right. The night I fell asleep waiting for you?” Ellie snapped. “Exactly
the honeymoon I dreamed of.”
“You know who I am, Ellie. I have obligations to Crenshaw.”
Ellie frowned. “I’m not sure why I married you.”
“I see.” Prospero flinched. She’d made Ellie’s memory alteration in a
crude manner, leaving behind their few date-like
moments but erasing
the meeting with the Congress of Magic, the escape, anything with Maggie
or Monahan. There hadn’t been time to sort through each memory
slowly when Ellie’s aunt, the headmaster, the other escapee, and Monahan
were all present.
With such massive deletions, the brain would fill in the gaps with
conclusions. However, in barely a day, Ellie was already questioning the
parts left behind after Prospero’s crude memory erasures.
“I feel like I should have met the headmaster’s wife.” Ellie frowned.
“She’s a remedial witch, too, right? Margie? Same group as me?”
“Maggie. Maybe you didn’t notice her. There are hundreds of witches
who didn’t catch your attention.” Prospero stepped back, giving Ellie
more space.
“I noticed you.” Ellie flashed a flirtatious smile at her and reached
out to catch Prospero’s hand. “What if you stayed in my room tonight?
Remind me why I’m your wife.”
Prospero’s morals recoiled.
Ellie tugged on her hand, pulling her off-balance.
Ellie, the same
woman who said she’d rather die than be a witch, would not want any affection
from Prospero. And she certainly wouldn’t want to be married to her.
Prospero sounded every bit the uptight Victorian she had once been
as she retorted, “Truly, I must go—”
Any further words died as Ellie leaned forward and kissed her to
silence.
Prospero’s lips parted reluctantly as Ellie pulled her closer. Prospero’s
good sense considered fleeing at the feel of the woman she wanted becoming
pliant and very eager to stay in her arms.
4  MELISSA MARR
Which I don’t deserve.
Prospero detangled herself. “Good night, Ellie.”
Then she turned and walked away. Apparently, she couldn’t trust
herself to kiss Ellie—not
if she was to be tangentially ethical.
No more kisses.
No more anything.
After she left Ellie, Prospero strode through the castle hall and into
the main foyer. A few witches gave her curious looks, and some of the
staff looked away as if she were a monster they had stumbled upon. She
straightened her spine and exited the front of the castle to head toward
Lord Scylla’s home.
Scylla was one of the few witches she was likely to call a friend.
They had no subterfuge between them, so it was no surprise to receive
her summons that morning. When Scylla’s door drifted open, Prospero
found herself in one of the most nondescript spaces in all of Crenshaw.
The room was what Scylla called “open concept”—which
as far as Prospero
could see meant empty. No interior walls dividing rooms. Minimal
furniture. From any position, a person could see everything other than
the toilet and washing area.
And what Prospero saw was Cassandra, madam and seer of Crenshaw,
sitting there waiting. Until recently, she was one of Prospero’s most
trusted allies. Since Cass was in Scylla’s home, Prospero realized that the
decision to meet here was a strategic move. Cassandra was banned from
so much as approaching Prospero’s house, but here at Scylla’s home,
there was no such edict.
“Why?”
Lord Scylla gave Prospero a look that was somewhere between “are
you serious” and “don’t push me.” She lifted her chin in a regal way.
“Because we are friends, even though you are irritated with her.”
Amusement simmered under the grumbling admonishment. Scylla
was a striking woman, one of the few who dressed in what had been
called “men’s clothes” before Prospero became a witch. Unlike Prospero,
RELUCTANT WITCH  5
who preferred her suits to all other options, Scylla favored casual trousers
and blouses when at home. Her throat was even bare at the moment.
Prospero glanced at Cassandra before returning her focus to the
bottle of some strange liqueur that a hob had deposited earlier. “She
deceived me.”
“I managed your moods, P.” Cassandra lifted the bottle and poured
three glasses half-full
of a dark red liquid that looked almost too thick
to drink.
Aside from the exasperation in that brief statement, Cassandra was
uncommonly subdued, as if she was trying to match her mood to Prospero’s
temper. The usually vivacious seer was . . . dimmed. Typically,
Cass was a bundle of motion and joy, so much so that her plain hair and
plain features were transformed into Mona Lisa beauty. She was voluptuous,
energetic, and most residents of Crenshaw found her irresistible.
“Ellie has to be in Crenshaw or . . . things go wrong.” Cassandra pronounced
this in the way that she said all things, as if she were infallible.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have put her in peril,” Prospero snapped.
She tossed back the cherry-tasting
syrup, not sure if the taste or the burn
was worse.
“Look.” Scylla pointed at one woman and then the other. “I need
you to hush your mouth for a moment, and I need to know exactly
what you know that you aren’t telling P, and both of you need to check
the attitude.”
Cassandra smothered a smile. “Without Elleanor Brandeau, Prospero
will die.” Then she shrugged. “And without Prospero, we lose.
Magic dies. We all die.”
“Well, fuck,” Scylla muttered.
For a moment, they all sat in silence.
Then Cass looked at Prospero. “You are upset, but I wouldn’t change
a thing. You matter to me.”
Prospero opened her mouth to reply, but Cass held up her hand.
“But this is also about our home. Our people. Without you, Scylla
6  MELISSA MARR
dies. I don’t know how or why or when, but she dies.” Cass shot a sympathetic
look at their friend, emptied her glass, and continued, “Then Walt.
Sondre. Me. All I could see was a field of dead. Familiar and unfamiliar
witches . . . and the only way to stop it is to protect you. And that meant
bringing Elleanor here. So I won’t apologize for the things I did to bring
your wife to our world.”
Then she stood, dipped in an odd little curtsy toward Scylla, pivoted,
and walked away.
“I hate prophecies.” Scylla grabbed the bottle with one hand and
shoved the third, still-full
glass toward Prospero.
“She could have told me. Or you . . .” Prospero scowled in the general
direction of Cassandra’s departure. “Cass keeps everything to herself
and—”
“Pot, kettle,” Scylla said lightly. “You are nothing but secrets in a
well-cut
suit, P.”
“Oh, fine. We need a plan, then.” Prospero sighed. “I don’t see how
I’m to be responsible for keeping everyone alive, though.”
“Well, step one was having your wife here. That’s done.”
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“We have to talk to Walt.”
“And Sondre,” Prospero added. For a moment, the weight of it all
slammed into her. She felt like she’d lived for Crenshaw since she became
a witch well over a century ago. When would it be her turn to live for
something else?
For love.
For happiness.
Scylla lifted the bottle, tilting it to clink gently against Prospero’s
glass. “To none of us dying.”
2
Ellie
Ellie stood in her room in the castle, not entirely sure what she was
supposed to do now. She’d not made friends with any of her classmates
since she had been focused on her new relationship. Honestly, Ellie was
embarrassed by how little she remembered of the school and her time
in it. She knew no names, although she did know her way around. She
remembered hobs, wee magical beings who popped in and out of existence.
She remembered the infirmary and the doctor there. She recalled
snippets of classes. She had a hazy memory of voices in hallways.
And a car . . . going . . . somewhere.
Was that the accident when her magic awakened? Or something else?
Ellie scowled. She was worried about how jumbled her mind seemed.
Had she not slept enough? Was this a side effect of magical usage? Was it
just the lack of the internet, smart phones, or even newspapers? How was
she to keep track of time without the constant reminders on a device that
never left her reach? Or television or streaming shows or a job? Everything
that had been commonplace in establishing a linear sense of time within
her life was gone. Her routines were gone. Her technology was gone.
8  MELISSA MARR
Ellie made a mental note to talk to someone—she
wasn’t sure whom
yet—about
whether or not there were calendars in Crenshaw. At the
least, she wanted a sense of tracking time. Once she knew when it was,
maybe her memory would get back in order.
A tap-tap-
tap
on the door interrupted Ellie’s musings.
“Ellie?” Hestia’s voice identified her arrival before she opened the
door. She sounded strong, and Ellie was grateful that she’d decided to
come to Crenshaw, too.
Ellie paused, staring at her aunt. “Why did you come here?”
“To visit you . . . ?” Hestia stepped past her and made her way into
Ellie’s rather undecorated, nondescript room. For reasons Ellie couldn’t
explain, she knew that all the rooms looked like hers initially. She
couldn’t recall whose room she’d visited, though.
“Yes, but why did you come to Crenshaw?” Ellie clarified.
“To be with you. Lady Prospero thought it was important.” Hestia
scowled. “Maybe to heal up my body after that surgery . . . ? I remember
surgery, and then being here. Again. I think Prospero is . . . was my
friend. She rescued me, sent me back to you a long time ago.”
“You gave up magic to raise me.” Ellie felt her eyes fill with tears.
“No regrets about surrendering my magic, El, but I will admit that I
feel a little sad now that I remember that I used to be a witch. I dreamed
of being here, you know. Considered seeing a talking doctor because
of the dreams.” Hestia dropped a small twig on the floor and looked at
Ellie. “I want a rocker like at home.”
Ellie let her magic roll out of her body and started to reshape that bit
of wood into a chair with elegant spiral rockers. In a few moments, a bentwood
rocking chair sat gleaming in the low light filtering into the room.
Instead of the cane back and seat on the one at home in Ligonier, this one
had lightly woven twigs, as if they had been soaked and thatched together.
Hestia let out a deep sigh and settled herself into the chair. “I want
to go home, lovey. I’ll miss you, but . . . let me go home.”
“What? ”
RELUCTANT WITCH  9
“I can visit you. I know witches can’t stay over there in the regular
world, but if they’re letting me come here now, they’d let me visit you.”
Hestia stared at her, rather reminiscent of arguments over the years that
had sometimes erupted into loud words. “I don’t want to live here.”
Ellie flopped onto her bed, feeling like someone had just taken her
down at the knees. “Did something happen?”
Hestia stared out the locked window briefly before saying, “I don’t
belong here, Ellie. I remember enough about magic to miss it, to miss
Crenshaw, to miss the witch I got to having feelings for once upon a time.”
She met Ellie’s gaze and added, “But this isn’t my place now any more than
my old farmhouse was your place.”
“So what are you going to do? Just . . . live over there alone?” Ellie
had made so many decisions to avoid that very thing. She remembered
that quite clearly. “I planned to take care of you.”
“I know you did. Now, I need you to go talk to Walt about the rules.
That cagey old man is hiding things. In my younger days, I was ready to
move in with him, you know? Maybe be a wife. Then I had to choose between
being your auntie or staying here as a witch and wife. I chose you.”
Ellie felt tears on her cheeks now. No longer threatening, they were
spilling down her face like a small river. “I’m sorry.”
“Pishposh. I’d choose you every time, Ellie. Being able to act like your
parent all these years was one of the best parts of my life.” Hestia held a
hand out toward Ellie, who moved to sit on the floor beside her feet as
she’d done often as girl. “But this is your world now, Ellie, and I don’t have
a place here. I’ll grow older, and they all won’t. You won’t. I had extra time
before I was siphoned. That’s enough.”
“I can’t . . . you . . . what if they could give you some of your magic
back? Is that a thing?”
“No.”
“But I don’t want to lose you. Without magic, you’ll get older and . . .”
Ellie couldn’t even say the words. She felt like a child every time she so
much as considered the loss of her remaining parental figure.
10  MELISSA MARR
“That’s what people do. Get older. Die. The trick is to live a good
life first, a full life, adventure.” Hestia touched her shoulder gently. “You
stayed there with me long past when it was time to have your own life.
You refused to move on, which isn’t what I want for you. I think being
a witch is forcing you to move on like you should.”
“I was content,” Ellie protested.
“I want you to be more than content. Be happy. Be fulfilled.” Hestia
gave her a gentle smile.
They had this argument so often that it was one Ellie couldn’t counter.
Not really. She did want more out of life, but she didn’t know how to have
that sort of future.
Especially when Prospero is rejecting me.
“You have a place here, a woman who makes your eyes sparkle, and I
want to go home. Back to my farmhouse. Back to my books and television,
and maybe get some chickens.” Hestia laughed briefly. “And a goat.
I always wanted a goat. They’ve been bothering me to teach a few history
classes over at the high school. Maybe I ought to do that.”
Ellie sat there, silent as her aunt stroked her hair like she was a child.
She knew she was clinging to Hestia, endangering her or trapping her
if she stayed here. The rift spewed toxic air that would sicken Hestia if
she went outside, so she was forced to stay inside the castle. That didn’t
mean Ellie wanted to be apart from her.
“If you could change anything in your life, what would it be?” Ellie
asked. “Usual rules.”
The “rules” to their game had always been that they never mentioned
Ellie’s parents’ deaths. The game, Ellie now realized, might have been a
side effect of the magic Hestia once had.
“Fuck the rules,” Hestia said. “I never wanted to wish your parents
to stay alive. When your time is up, it’s up, but I used to wish they were
witches instead. I used to imagine that they were swept away to Crenshaw,
and I was given you instead. It felt like a fair trade, a child to raise
RELUCTANT WITCH  1 1
rather than magic. You were the prize, not a burden. I hope you know
that, Ellie.”
“You wanted kids?”
“Eventually. Then I was a witch. No kids for witches. Then I was
with you. I would’ve taken a dozen of you, lovey. A house full of grumpy
kids who thought they knew everything.” Hestia grew silent then. “But
my life has been amazing, El. I want it back. Tell them you are fine with
letting me leave.”
Ellie laid her head on Hestia’s lap. “You’ll visit.”
“I will.”
“And bring me books to give Prospero and books for me and—”
“You can count on it.” Hestia sniffed. “I always thought you would
move out sooner or later, but it feels so sudden. I’ll need to find a chicken
sitter sooner than I’d planned.”
“We . . . you don’t have chickens.”
“Yet. Maybe I’ll find me a nice young man who bakes. I did get used
to those morning scones of yours.” Hestia smiled down at her. “When I
visit . . .”
“I’ll make you scones. It’s a plan.” Ellie sat upright. “Okay, so we have
a plan. How do we get it sorted out?”
“Atta girl! No time like the present. I suppose we talk to Walter. Explain
that I am going home, but I’ll be visiting sometimes. You can send
Prospero or Walt to fetch me.” Hestia straightened her sweater as if she
were readying herself for a battle of wits. She had always liked to look
polished before she went to debate anyone.
“Why don’t I go talk to him?” Ellie offered. She had a few questions
for the chief witch anyhow.
Hestia gave her a look. “Be careful. Use the fact that he liked me if
you need to, but don’t mistake him for harmless. He’s older than dirt and
as wily as a snake.”
Ellie shivered at the tone in Hestia’s voice.

Excerpt. ©Melissa Marr. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

Melissa Marr writes fiction for adults, teens, and children. Her books have been translated into over 25 languages and been bestsellers in the US (New York Times, Los Angeles Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal) as well as overseas. Wicked Lovely, her debut novel, was an instant New York Times bestseller and evolved into an internationally bestselling multi-book series with a myriad of accolades. If she’s not writing, you can find her in a kayak or on a trail with her wife.
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250884152/reluctantwitch/