A haunting tale of forbidden magic, fractured bloodlines, and a love caught between realms-perfect for fans of dark fantasy where trust is dangerous and destiny demands sacrifice.
Abby's nightmare is far from over.
Now torn between the light of the angels and the seductive pull of her witch bloodline, she must navigate a world where betrayal hides behind familiar faces and ancient secrets refuse to stay buried.
As her connection deepens with both the vengeful witch Luca and the enigmatic angel Sawyer, Abby is thrust into a dangerous game, one that threatens her soul and the fragile balance between realms.
But when the truth about her heritage shatters everything she once believed, Abby must decide: embrace the darkness within or fight to protect a future she's only just begun to understand.
From rising author Spencer K. Prescott comes a chilling and emotionally charged sequel that blends paranormal suspense, spiritual warfare, and generational secrets, where pain runs deep, betrayal cuts deeper, and love may be the only thread strong enough to span lifetimes.
A haunting tale of forbidden magic, fractured bloodlines, and a love caught between realms-perfect for fans of dark fantasy where trust is dangerous and destiny demands sacrifice.
Abby's nightmare is far from over.
Now torn between the light of the angels and the seductive pull of her witch bloodline, she must navigate a world where betrayal hides behind familiar faces and ancient secrets refuse to stay buried.
As her connection deepens with both the vengeful witch Luca and the enigmatic angel Sawyer, Abby is thrust into a dangerous game, one that threatens her soul and the fragile balance between realms.
But when the truth about her heritage shatters everything she once believed, Abby must decide: embrace the darkness within or fight to protect a future she's only just begun to understand.
From rising author Spencer K. Prescott comes a chilling and emotionally charged sequel that blends paranormal suspense, spiritual warfare, and generational secrets, where pain runs deep, betrayal cuts deeper, and love may be the only thread strong enough to span lifetimes.
I exhaled, watching as a cloud of vapor hovered before drifting away. As yellow and orange rays of the rising sun stretched over Allison Creek, my shoulders slumped, and a tingling sensation rippled through my limbs. Sand slipped from my palms, and just then, the veil fell like a curtain, while muted voices swirled around me.
I glanced at the park, the river, and the falls across the street. Then, closing my eyes, I felt the rain cascade over me, trickling down my arms and dripping from my fingertips onto the cool sidewalk. Meanwhile, the chirping of crickets faded as squirrels rustled in the fallen leaves. Fall was slipping into early winter, and the world seemed to wither before me, as if Mother Nature herself was cleansing my soul with every droplet of rain.
Sawyer and my new Cerulean friends huddled with Old Man Studdard nearby, their confusion and fatigue mirroring my own. My consciousness wavered as exhaustion pulled at me, my eyelids growing heavier with each second. I struggled to stay grounded in reality when a thunderous roar ripped across the sky and cleared my vision. I blinked rapidly, my jaw dropping open in shock.
Suddenly, a dirt road replaced asphalt. Stone storefronts were cabins made of lumber and thatch. Cars were replaced with horses and roaming livestock. Ladies dressed in shifts and waistcoats strolled by with their children in tow. Men assembled in front of a tavern in overcoats and trousers, puffing on cigars and pipes. My yellow sweater and pants were replaced with a long white shift. Beneath me, I scrunched my bare toes in the fine grit of the road.
Children skipped past me, moving as if I weren’t even there, passing through me. I spun, witnessing life from centuries earlier. They did not see or hear me. Suddenly, a whistle’s sound echoed in the air. The hairs on my arms stood tall. My neck shifted from side to side, seeking the source of the all too familiar sound. Out of nowhere, my gown was tugged from behind. Glancing down, a little blonde girl with straight, sweeping hair and large blue eyes stared up at me. She giggled and danced around in a circle with a red book tucked up under her arm. She sang and twirled and then spun on her tiptoes.
Just then, a sharp pain shot up the back of my neck. “Ouch,” I quipped, gripping the back of my head.
She tucked one arm behind her and then tossed the book to my feet.
“Follow me,” she requested in a soft voice.
Still rubbing the back of my scalp, I stooped and touched the rough red finish before turning it over, revealing a brown spine. I brushed the dirt off the front cover. With a lump in my throat, I swallowed hard and peered up at the little girl holding out her hand.
“Allison Creek?” I sputtered.
She bit her lip, grinning, and then swooped the book up into her arms and tucked the strands of my hair into the pages.
“Bookmark,” she laughed, before quickly pivoting away.
“Wait,” I demanded. “Is that...”
“The full version,” she stated. “Now follow me.”
She scampered ahead and across the road. I trailed behind. As I followed, I promptly moved out of the way of passersby when the little girl reminded me, “They can’t see you.” She chuckled harder. “The other side’s existence is now clear to you. You’re not seen or heard by anyone but a few—me, actually.”
I hastened my steps to match the little pixie’s pace, gliding over the stones and through the field of tall grass and brush with ease. An icy rush shocked my system with every person who walked through or grazed me. I paused in front of a young boy playing in the grass field and squatted down to his eye level. He plucked at the dandelions, stared up over my shoulder, and scrunched up his flat nose before running off.
“Come on,” the little girl yelled.
The village disappeared behind us. Up ahead, we saw a cozy stone cabin positioned behind a wooden split-rail fence. Chickens and goats roamed between the small green bushes, trees, and tall grasses. Dark smoke billowed from a stone chimney and dissipated into the surrounding forest.
I followed the short path to the open wooden front door, where she waited. Inside, a metal pot, teakettle, and a batch of cut flowers sat gathered on a wood table with four chairs. Above it, tiny glass jars full of herbs lined a shelf. To the left, a modest husk mattress with two blankets rested on the dirt floor. Flames blazed from a stone fireplace at the rear of the one-room cabin. Firewood lay in a pile next to the already burning fireplace. Tapered candles illuminated the spines of several leather books that lined the mantel above. She plopped herself down on a brown hide rug several feet from the hearth with the red book and a glass vial of clear liquid resting in her lap. The light glowed around her. Wind whistled through the windows that were covered in oil paper. The sweet smell of roses filled the air.
She patted the ground in front of her. “Sit,” she said, nodding her head.
I lowered myself to the rough wood floor just where the rug ended. She scooted back and allowed me space to join her on the rug. It wasn’t much softer. I tugged my shift and tucked it under my legs and leaned to the side. Our eyes connected. Hers swirled in color and then shifted from bright blue to maroon.
“You don’t look comfortable,” she said, like a proper hostess tending to her guest.
I wasn’t. I was stuck in this shack, in an unknown time period, with the mysterious little girl from the woods. She snatched a blanket off of the mattress, shook it out, and then motioned for me to move. She laid it over the hide and directed me to lie down.
“I’m ok sitting,” I stuttered.
She leaned in and pulled me to eye level. “Lie down,” she demanded.
I hesitantly agreed, lying on my back, feet nearest the fire.
She moved behind me and sat crisscross behind my head. Her knees touched my shoulders. “Relax,” she whispered, “I’m not here to hurt you. You should understand the side to which you belong.”
I wretched my neck to the right. “Side?”
“Shhh.” She grinned and placed the red book in her lap, opening it to the first page. “Are you ready?” she asked, looking over me, her hair dropping onto my cheeks.
“Yes,” I stated.
She placed her hands over my eyes. I squeezed them shut and relaxed. A chill flowed down my back as three cold droplets of water touched each eyelid. She stroked my closed eyes from the inner corner outward.
“Sleep in the sun’s warmth, awaken by the coolness of the air, breathe to the rhythm of your soul, and open your eyes to the world of truth. Clare is calling you home.”
I had mixed feelings when reading the Allison Creek series. While I enjoyed reading both books, some aspects didn't quite work for me – hence three stars: worth reading!
Abby is a teen with the most beautiful eyes: They change colour. Unfortunately, this has always set her apart, making her the weird kid. At the end of book one: Hummingbird Broken Wings, Abby realised why she is different from everyone else in Allison Creek, and with a new group of friends, who accepted her for ‘what’ she is, she somewhat embraced her destiny. In book two, she looks for answers, which is not without danger, because no one is who they seem.
I made sure to read book one before tackling Rise of the Emerald Swallowtail, so I knew exactly what I was getting into. I enjoyed the world Spencer K. Prescott created, as it is very different from any other magical realism I’ve read recently. There are not just angels and demons, but there are also witches, charms, ghosts, and ceruleans – and don’t forget plain-old humans. They are all living in the same town, fighting a centuries-old battle while hiding in plain sight.
The series is written in the first person without changing points of view, giving you a close connection to Abby, as you experience everything she’s experiencing in great detail. That also means the actions of the other characters remain a mystery until Abby finally figures out what they’ve been up to – creating many a question for the reader.
As if the universe itself acknowledged the shift, the air grew thick with the unusual scent of burning herbs, a strange mix of sweetness that sent a prickle of awareness down my spine. My sense sharpened, and that is when I saw it, a shadowy figure lurking down the street, watching. Waiting.
Ms Prescott is a very descriptive writer, so I could picture every scene perfectly and imagine what the characters must have gone through (see above extract). What I particularly liked were the events in which Abby experienced someone else’s history by way of a shared vision (see extract below) – I won’t go into detail to avoid spoilers. This was so cleverly done, as the transition was very smooth.
I inhaled, and at that moment, she walked into me. All her rage and pain coursed through my veins. [...] my heart pounded against my chest and skipped beats as her spirit intertwined with my own.
The story can be a bit confusing because there is a lot happening, and the storyline spans many months. Most of the action doesn’t involve Abby, which means the reader isn’t privy to most of what is going on behind the scenes. Often, after reading a few more chapters, the main storyline falls into place. I still have quite a few questions, mind. E.g., I would love to know what some of the others have been up to while she and Fitzly were waiting for ‘their moment’ to shine.
I am curious to see what book three brings. The ending of Rise of the Emerald Swallowtail promises something exciting, for sure. Overall, an enjoyable read.
Note: There were some grammar and spelling mistakes, but they weren't too distracting.