Prologue

Mist crawled along the main street, concealing puddles made by the incessant rain. Swirling tendrils drifted off into side streets, making their way silently, like messengers from another world. The mist flowed outward as it went, ever expanding, now bubbling and rolling as if it were a living thing, now spreading evenly like a river of blood. No place was safe from its approach. Fences were ignored, walls were climbed, even doors and windows were breached. There was no sanctuary in the little town of Wilton, nestling sleepily on the edge of Salisbury Plain. But then, the mist, in itself, posed no danger.
*
“Do we really need to include this bit? I’m not even in it. And this is supposed to be my story.”
“We discussed this. They need to understand where it all started. This is bigger than you now.”
“You’re not making this up? I’ve had enough people lying to me recently.”
“I’m not making this up. I never lied to you. Not my fault if it sometimes takes you a while to put two and two together. Hey, don’t swear at me under your breath. I can still hear you. Now carry on.”

Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available from www.amazon.com/author/burning

Till next time. Cheers.