Here is the opening of A SPELLBINDER’S DENIAL – Second book in the WARLOCKS OF THE BLACK OAK – COLLECTION #2 (APRIL 08. 2021)
…
Thompson Auction House, Seattle, Washington, Present time
“One thousand US dollars. Bid starts at one thousand.”
Sloane Davenport edged Baby Elsa to her left shoulder as she raised her paddle to accept the bid. With frustration, she shifted on her tapestry seat.
Thank goodness, the infant was sound asleep. Sloane just wanted to get this over with, then bring the Iseabal Coin back to the aunties.
“Two thousand. I see two thousand.” The auctioneer, a white-haired gentleman in a dark suit and blue tie, calmly called out the other bid from behind his polished wood podium.
Damn. A challenger. Sloane had so far assumed she was the only bidder. The screen at the front of the auction house had remained blank, free of any online competitor for the artifact.
And why would anyone beside her family want this? The antique coin appeared worthless. Just a small unassuming tarnished disk of copper etched with faint markings.
She sighed as she scanned the crowd around her, a gaggle of silver-haired patrons in understated but pricy attire, gleaming under the multitude of modern spotlights at the ornate ceiling. An expensive but subtle perfume hovered in the air.
If someone else were interested in the coin, this could take longer than anticipated.
With dismay, she ran through her to-do list in her head. Darn it! Would she have enough time to win this auction before Elsa’s feeding? Then there was the post office. And the virtual meeting with her accounting team later this afternoon.
She cringed in anticipation. That one would not go well.
“Anyone for three thousand?” Again, the auctioneer’s voice sounded in the crowded room.
She raised her paddle again with annoyance. Her trust fund was almost bare. But this was family. She had no choice. The relics were the only things for which her three aunts lived these days.
The auctioneer nodded at her then his gaze shifted to someone farther behind. “Four thousand. Thank you, sir,” he called out.
No. Not again. Who could want this? Sloane was the only one here who knew the magic the coin possessed. Her sneakers dug into the thick carpet at her feet as she tightly held onto Elsa.
The child stirred on her belly in the front pouch carrier.
“Shh,” she whispered, quickly raising her paddle again.
“Five thousand to the young lady with the infant. We have five thousand,” the auctioneer said. He gestured above his head. “Six thousand! At the very back. Sir, thank you.”
What! No. Sloane skipped so swiftly in her seat, that she almost woke Elsa.
Who dared?
MARIE-CLAUDE BOURQUE 
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