Dayle A. Dermatis is the author or coauthor of many novels (including snarky urban fantasies Ghosted and the forthcoming Shaded and Spectered) and more than a hundred short stories in multiple genres, appearing in such venues as Fiction River, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, and DAW Books.

Called the mastermind behind the Uncollected Anthology project, she also guest edits anthologies for Fiction River, and her own short fiction has been lauded in many year's best anthologies in erotica, mystery, and horror.

She lives in a book- and cat-filled historic English-style cottage in the wild greenscapes of the Pacific Northwest. In her spare time she follows Styx around the country and travels the world, which inspires her writing.

To find out where she's wandered off to (and to get free fiction!), check out DayleDermatis.com and sign up for her newsletter or support her on Patreon.

Winter Wonderlands by Dayle A. Dermatis

Accidentally summoning a Solstice deity.

Dealing with a magically super-annoying HOA.

Visiting a haunted Adirondack inn on Christmas Eve.

What, don't things like this happen to everyone during the holidays?

If not, experience them vicariously! Snuggle before a roaring fire with a beverage of your choice and enjoy these ten tales of winter holiday magic, mystery, and romance.

 

REVIEWS

  • "Trust Dayle to write a winter holiday story about the solstice and magic. She manages to combine the claustrophobia of a suburban neighborhood with the competitiveness that women sometimes engage in with holiday ritual. Only the holiday ritual here isn't decorating a Christmas tree or singing carols (although there is a discussion of carolers that made me chuckle). Nope. This one is about pagan rituals. The story's wonderful, funny, and a do-not-miss."

    – Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Hugo-award winning author

  • "Housewitches, upscale neighborhoods, pagan rituals? What could go wrong?"

    – Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Hugo-award winning author
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

The bowl was clear of snow, and a layer of ice covered the surface. The water and the ice on top were so black, they didn't even seem to reflect the moon…

As I watched, a hand pressed flat against the underside of the ice.

I didn't think. I only acted.

I made a fist and punched through the ice. Even through my leather glove I could tell the water was bone-chillingly cold.

Magic works best without barriers. I pulled out, tugged off my glove, and plunged my bare hand into the birdbath.

The hand that met mine not only felt warm, it felt dry….

(From "Good Scrying Gone Bad")