Review of Wicked Folk By Jamie McFarlane
Wicked Folk is a four star Paranormal Fantasy that will keep you up all night- in a good way.
I was hooked from the first few paragraphs of this delightful tale of witchcraft and finding one’s self. Felix Slade is a warlock who is drawn into a mission to save a dear friend after dreams foretell her death. His love interest, Gabriella, is by his side as he faces his own past and some pretty nasty characters.
The second installment of the Witchy World series is a true stand alone. I have yet to read the first, yet I was engrossed for hours. I read this book in one evening, even though I was scared I was going to hate it.
The witch aspect always has me intrigued about a book, and McFarlane weaves fantsy magic with real life magick so beautifully that I am highly impressed. As a multi-year student of the modern day magickal arts, his use of things a modern day witch would do with fansasy magic is a joy to read. My only point of upset is the use of wizard which is a personal pet peeve, as I believe that all witches are called witches no matter the gender.
The characters are great. I grew to love some and hate others. To me, this is a sign of great story telling. I also found the story to be well paced. It moved well enough to keep me interested to the point that food and basic bodily functions were annoyances that made me have to leave this beautiful story. It was not so face paced as to make me tired, either. McFarlane did a good job of walking that fine line of a well paced story.
Over all, I have few complaints about this book, other than it ended. There are a few grammatical errors, but no more than I’d expect to find in a traditionally published author’s work. I found no errors that were bad enough to pull me out of the story, which is rare for me no matter who the author or how they were published.
If you enjoy paranormal, urban fantasy, or stories of magic, you will be well pleased with Wicked Folk!
Wicked Folk is a four star Paranormal Fantasy that will keep you up all night- in a good way. Click To Tweet
Excerpt from Wicked Folk
If you enjoy paranormal, urban fantasy, or stories of magic, you will be well pleased with Wicked Folk! Click To Tweet
Faa Farmstead, just outside Eppy Faire, five years ago
Lace Faa stared out at the waning crescent moon through the wavy glass of the old farmhouse window, wishing for even the slightest breeze. The day’s heat refused to dissipate from the humid, summer air which clung to her as she tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. As if on command, a slight puff of wind rustled the sheer curtains of her second floor window, carrying with it the faint sound of chanting. She strained her ears, curiosity piqued, wondering who might be working her family’s hidden craft so late at night. Her gaze shifted to the barn across the gravel driveway. A flickering glow between weathered siding exposed the presence of lit candles and a ritual in progress.
She dropped her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet in just the right spot to keep the weathered floor from creaking. At the age of sixteen, Lace wasn’t fully initiated in the subtle magics of her kin, but moving silently had been drilled into her from an early age. She walked carefully, rolling from heel to toe along the unseen joists that supported the floor, avoiding loose boards as she slipped from bedroom to hallway. The hem of her white cotton nightgown thumped quietly, caressing the wooden stair treads as she descended to the kitchen.
For a moment, she paused at the screen door and considered its habit of screeching when opened. Wetting forefinger and thumb in her mouth, she rubbed them on the old, rusted top hinge. Tall and slender, Lace slipped through the door, opening it only a crack. Relief from the heat held in the old house was welcome as she picked her way gingerly across the gravel. Her eyes focused on the flickering light leaking from the ancient barn.
Lace negotiated the piles of junk that had found their final resting place next to the building and carefully placed both hands on the rough siding, leaning forward to look through one of the many cracks in its façade. Her eye came to rest on the edge of a white circle, drawn on the dirt floor only feet from her position. With her limited view, she glimpsed two black candles burning brightly at the tips of what she suspected was a pentagram, although without full view of the circle, she couldn’t know for certain.
“Phezore Gesteriph Feoro, I summon you.” The bold voice, her uncle Willum Gordon’s, resumed chanting in the ancient language Lace believed was only known by her extended family. Her heart thudded in her chest, recognizing the simple ritual – if only from her reading.
“Oh, Willum,” she whispered involuntarily before bringing her hand to her mouth.
“Who’s there?” Willum asked loudly from within the barn.
Lace stepped back, startled, catching her heel on a piece of long forgotten machinery. She spun, trying to save herself, but in the poor light her knee came in contact with a stack of precariously balanced wooden crates. She lunged from her position, diving away from the collapsing junk, all pretense of stealth abandoned. The tall door of the barn slid open as she twisted, trying to free her legs.
“Madge?” Willum asked, the low angle of wavering candles illuminating him eerily from behind.
Lace hastily scrawled a rune in the air with her finger, turning away from Willum’s position so he wouldn’t see the faint sparkling trail as she did. As an initiate of her clan’s magic, she’d mastered the one spell that had come easily to her – shadow walk.
Willum stepped from the barn, closing the door behind him. Lace used the noise to her advantage and gained her feet, moving slowly from her original position. Willum turned and stared directly at her, standing stock still – a hunter trying to locate its quarry. Lace froze. She knew him to be cruel when cornered and he would not take kindly to her spying on his ritual. A weak practitioner by family standards, he’d often taken out his frustrations on her. With the provocation of an interrupted ritual, Lace well understood the danger she’d placed herself in.
Willum took a few steps forward, cutting the distance between them in half. Lace breathed slowly, trying to calm her heart, the lack of oxygen demanding deeper breaths. Swiping the air between them, Willum moved toward her. Slowly, she stepped aside, anticipating his movements. Sweat beaded on her forehead as his fingers came within inches of her face.
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Jamie McFarlane is a graduate of Colorado School of Mines with a Master of Science in Mathematics. An avid reader, tinkerer, woodworker and metal sculptor, Jamie is just as likely to be seen smelting aluminum cans in his garage as he is tacking random, discarded iron objects into a small army of beasties that adorn his home’s landscaping.
Jamie’s writing career began as something of a dare which later turned into a tribute. In his late teens, Jamie was well known as the family story-teller, spinning fanciful yarns about ordinary events, usually with the objective of escaping well-deserved trouble.
One day, his mother, often the target of his mischievous tales, challenged him to commit his words to writing. Jamie promised he would but time passed, as did his beloved mother. In 2014, Jamie made good on his promise and published his first book.
Jamie is the author of a growing library of novels and novellas including the space opera series – Privateer Tales, and the urban fantasy series – Witchy World. Jamie lives in Lincoln, Nebraska with his wife and enjoys spending time with family and friends.