Rebecca meets The Craft in this dark, atmospheric novel of one witch rediscovering her power while on the run from another willing to kill her for it.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Only Spell Deep by Ava Morgyn, which releases on March 17th 2026.
Judeth Cole has always had certain uncanny abilities. But when she arrived at Solidago, her grandfather’s estate by the sea, she was forced to keep them secret. There she lived a harsh life under his rule and the haunting legacy of her late grandmother, Aurelia. Until the fateful day she ignited a fire with her magic. It was the last time she saw her family alive.
Seventeen years later, she’s living in Seattle as Jude Clark, and failing at life, when she makes a last detour through her favorite bookstore, selecting a book to read as she waits to die. But when she pulls it from the shelf, an invitation to her for a clandestine midnight meeting slips out.
Jude is quickly swept up into a world of secrets and magic, discovering a circle of powerful new companions led by the mysterious, enigmatic Arla. The source of their magic, Arla tells her, is an entity, trapped and bound, that they call The Fathom. But Jude swiftly realizes Arla wants this power all to herself, and that she’s willing to kill for it.
Terrified, Jude turns to Levi, the handsome bookseller who’s seen her at her worst. With his help, she begins a research journey that leads her all the way back to Solidago, the house she swore to never return to. Now, the Fathom threatening to break free and Arla on the hunt, Jude must finally face her past to save her future.
Ava Morgyn’s Only Spell Deep is a novel that takes readers on a journey into a dark, glittering world of magic, a place where power should never be caged and misplaced trust can have deadly consequences.
CHAPTER 3
THE DEVIL’S OFFERING
I stare down the black envelope propped up on the dresser across from me. I’d been too scared to open it in the park last night, feeling too vulnerable out in the open. Instead, I ran all the way back to my car, not daring to open it until I was safely inside with the doors locked.
As before, this one simply has my name on the outside. But unlike the last, which was clearly an invitation, this one contains some kind of riddle. The words troubled me the whole way home and late into the night. I’m so exhausted, it’s no wonder I can’t even manage getting dressed for work this morning. I probably only secured a few hours’ sleep at most.
Knowing I’m already late, I text an excuse to my work about a power outage, telling them I’m on my way. Then, I drop my phone onto the bed and lift the envelope from the dresser, sliding the card out to read it one more time.
When dusk is high
and sun is low,
the icon shines,
and stakes will grow.
You’ve just one chance
to shadows bend,
and show us darkness
is your friend.
You have until sunset on the third day.
Don’t be late.
The same scrolling flourish is drawn at the bottom.
The verse sends an involuntary shiver of revulsion down my back. There was a story Dara once told me, a rhyme the kids at her school used to chant about my grandmother. Goldenrod grows beneath the sun, but locked up it comes undone. When its glory ceases to be, toss the petals into the sea. I asked her what it meant, but she only shrugged.
When I was five, shortly after we arrived at the estate, I wandered into the dining room while my grandfather was having breakfast. A look of disgust curled his lip. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”
I was too scared to respond.
“Nina!” he called as if I were a spider he’d spotted on the carpet. “Niiina! Confound that woman . . .” He glared at me. “I suppose you want something from me.”
I briskly shook my head.
His eyes narrowed. “They all want something from me. Why should you be any different?” When I didn’t speak, he went on. “Tell you what. There’s an old garden shed at the back of the property. You can make it a playhouse if you like.”
The sudden shift in his mood confused me, but I couldn’t resist such a delight. I didn’t have Dara’s company then, or anyone else’s. My father had passed only months before, and my mother was suddenly and strikingly less available to me than she’d ever been. In our life in San Francisco, I could never have imagined something as grand as my own playhouse. And the old man’s brazen smile fed my curiosity.
“It’s just out that door,” he said, pointing to one of the French doors that stood open to let the fresh air in. “Straight back all the way. You’ll see a narrow trail through the trees—follow it.”
Grinning, I bolted from the room and followed his direction to the decrepit building which, when I got close, had several broken windows and was buzzing with a strange noise I’d never heard before. I remember looking back with uncertainty, the gabled roof no longer visible behind a wall of spruce. A concerned voice sounded in my head like a chime— No. But the eager smile I remembered on my grandfather’s face convinced me to ignore it. Surely this gesture was a gift.
When I opened the door and stepped inside, I found the shed empty of anything but an enormous hive of bees which had taken over the back right corner. Their drone drowned out the voice. It drowned out all thought as they grew to a frenzy, streaking in my direction. I ran, tearing through the trees and brush until I stumbled into the clearing near the house, stung more than fifteen times in my flight. I was lucky I wasn’t allergic. By the time I made it inside, my face was swollen and streaked with angry, humiliated tears. Nina pressed tobacco and oil into my skin for days to draw out the burn. I never confessed who told me about the shed. I struggled to believe he’d done it on purpose. At that time, I still didn’t understand the hell my mother had brought me to. I still didn’t understand who we were.
I began hearing the voice all the time after that. And the next time, I listened.
I’m no different now than I was that day when I was five years old, only I don’t have the voice to guide me. I can hear the humming, feel the stirring of something with power beneath my feet. I know that whatever lies behind this door won’t be what I expect. That it may very well harm me in the end. I know the beguiling face smiling at me and beckoning me forward can’t be trusted. But what waits in the darkness is calling, and I’ve never been able to resist the devil’s offering.
I feel the envelope buzz as I slide the note card back inside. This can only lead to trouble, I tell myself. But I’m a Cole woman through and through. Trouble is our birthright.
From Only Spell Deep by Ava Morgyn. Copyright © 2026 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
