Sunday, July 14, 2013


"Wind and Shadow" by Tori L. Ridgewood


Rayvin Woods, photographer and natural witch. She just wanted to start her life over again after a series of misadventures. She didn't count on rekindling a lost love when she came home to Talbot...or battling a malevolent vampire and his coven for her life.
Grant Michaels, police officer. He thought Rayvin was a murderer. He will do whatever it takes to protect the community he loves from danger...but will he learn to trust his heart, and the word of a witch, before it's too late?
Malcolm de Sade, cunning vampire, imprisoned underground for a year by Charlotte Fanning and Pike Mahonen ("Mist and Midnight", Midnight Thirsts). His accidental release unleashes his hunger and ambition on a small, sleepy town...


There are so many things  going on I'm not sure where to start! A wrongfully accused witch shunned from her home town returns to find she's still not welcome. The tension between Rayvin and the townsfolk is really well described. It makes the other problems she faces even more suspenseful. I found myself all but begging our hero to just kiss her already! Enter the vampire.
I don't want to give anything away. All the details make the suspense and the tension all the more real, and the point, dear readers, is to recommend a book, not spoil it. Tori Ridgewood gets two thumbs way up for Wind and Shadow. When I got the end, I was ticked not to have book two already in my hands. There was a full minute of silence before I said, "Oh, that can't be all!"
This book would make a great poolside or beach read. The suspense and tension are there but the language isn't excessive or graphic. There would be no need to worry about someone looking over your shoulder with this one. I'm looking forward to book 2!


The sun was just beginning to set when Rayvin’s beaten red Plymouth Horizon passed the sign indicating the exit for Talbot. Several suitcases and boxes were tied down to the roof and covered with a secure tarp. They weighed down the hatchback, causing the vehicle to fishtail slightly in the thin slush coating the highway as it swerved to make the turn. The loaded small trailer covered with a second tarp and a web of bungee-cords followed suit, wavering from side to side for a moment as Rayvin adjusted her speed. Reaching back to rub the nape of her neck, the back of her hand pushed against the carved hairpin keeping her long, curly auburn hair in its bun; the pin slid free, falling somewhere behind her seat, and the locks spilled down around her shoulders. Sighing with irritation, she changed hands, keeping one firmly on the wheel while the other gingerly patted the boxes and bags crowding the backseat, searching for the hairpin. Her eyes stayed on the road, though she wasn’t concerned about the route. No matter that half a lifetime had passed since she had last travelled this road; she still knew exactly where each hill would be, the precise moment when a curve began and when the pavement straightened again.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill in this relatively remote corner of northeastern Ontario. The environment seemed unchanged in spite of the decade that had gone by after she had thumbed her final ride on the shoulder of this road, determined never to come back to Talbot. Memories came wandering unbidden and unwelcome to the forefront of her mind, as she gave up on the search for the hairpin and draped the length of her hair around the back of the headrest to keep it out of her way.

When Rayvin had hitch-hiked her way out of Talbot, ten years earlier, she had vowed to cut her hair as soon as she had settled. It would be part of her fresh start, her new life; she would change the colour, bleach away the red to platinum blonde, trim the curl down to a sleek pixie. Anything but the straggly, flaming mane that, she felt, marked her so clearly as different. It had been a banner, attracting attention. She had felt clearly the hostility on people’s faces as she passed them on the main street for the last time, chin high, heading for the beginning of the highway and whichever motorist would be kind enough to help her begin her journey to a new life. She had walked away from the only home she’d ever known with nothing but her backpack, filled to bursting and carving painful red marks into her shoulders. The whispers from onlookers peering out of open shop doors had followed her like the malevolent humidity, both urging her on and dragging her down. Her chest had felt so tight, and her eyes had been dry and burning, when she had passed the boy with the deep brown eyes. If there was anyone who would have believed her, she liked to think it would have been Grant Michaels.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks so very much! I really appreciate the kind thoughts, and I will finish revisions on Book 2 as soon as I can. :D