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Goodreads Summary

Cilla Swaney is thrilled to return stateside, where she can hang up her military-brat boots for good. Finally, she’ll be free to explore her own interests—magick and Wicca. But when she arrives at her grandma’s farm, Cilla discovers that life in the South isn’t quite what she expected. At least while country hopping, she never had to drink G-ma’s crazy fermented concoctions, attend church youth group, make co-op deliveries...or share her locker with a snake-loving, fire-lighting, grimoire-stealing Goth girl…

…Who later invites her to a coven that Cilla’s not sure she has the guts to attend. But then Emilio, the dark-haired hottie from her charter school, shows up and awakens her inner goddess. Finally, Cilla starts believing in her ability to conjure magick. Until…

…All Hades breaks loose. A prank goes wrong during their high school production of Macbeth, and although it seems Emilio is to blame, Cilla and Goth pay the price. Will Cilla be able to keep the boy, her coven, and the trust of her family? Or will this Southern Wiccan get battered and fried?

ADD TO GOODREADS

Short Excerpt for Southern Fried Wiccan by S.P. Sipal.

From Chapter Seven

I slammed on the brakes, and the seatbelt snapped tight across my chest. I released it quickly and flung open my door to see what damage I’d caused. G-ma’s arm whipped out in front of me, pinning me in place as the truck rolled.

“Put the car in park before you get out,” she said in a very controlled voice. “Always keep your calm.”

“Okay, G-ma, okay,” I shot back in a strained whisper as I shifted the stick, because I’d caught a glimpse of who had yelled that “stop.”

It was him. In the side view mirror, dark eyes met mine. Emilio.

If only a sinkhole would open beneath me right this minute and swallow me whole! Instead I drew in a shaky breath and hopped out of the truck.

“Uh, I’m sorry.” I walked toward him tilting my head back. He stood on the loading dock above, holding a crate of empty flip-cap bottles, staring at the back of G-ma’s truck. “D-did I hit anything?” I bent and craned my neck, pretending to look under the truck bed where it had scraped over the cement dock, but I saw nothing. Nothing except the memory of those brown eyes framed by freaking long lashes. As if drawn by a magnet, my gaze zoomed back to the real thing.

About the Author

Born and raised in North Carolina, Susan Sipal had to travel halfway across the world and return home to embrace her father and grandfather's penchant for telling a tall tale. After having lived with her husband in his homeland of Turkey for many years, she suddenly saw the world with new eyes and had to write about it.

Perhaps it was the emptiness of the Library of Celsus at Ephesus that cried out to be refilled, or the myths surrounding the ancient Temple of Artemis, but she's been writing stories filled with myth and mystery ever since. She can't wait to share Southern Fried Wiccan with readers in March 2015.

Author Links:

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