The Pilgrims' Way Cafe - Book Tour and Giveaway

 A spellbinding adventure through mystical realms and celestial encounters  
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The Pilgrims' Way Cafe
Maggie McCready’s Travelling Tarot Adventures Book 2
by Melody R. Green
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery

 
Maggie finds herself in an adventure with eight Archangels (including Archangel Michael) who have asked her to help them clear the negative energies around a very old pilgrims' route on Dartmoor, called The Archangels' Way. They're on a mission to rid the Way of the impact of human history, smugglers, highwaymen, ghosts, pixies, energy centres, churches, ley-lines, death, peat bogs, gallows, haunted inns, rolling mists, stone circles, standing stones and holy wells.

It's a fascinating place with energy wormholes and crossing points between the dimensions giving Maggie and the Archangels plenty of disturbances to try to balance and of course Phineas, Archdemon and the Archangel of Chaos is there to make the task as difficult as possible.


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​Maggie stared at the clock on her bedside table. Its luminous, green figures clicked up at 2 AM. She closed her eyes and turned over. It was no good. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight. She did a check of her body’s energy field, but all seemed well. That wasn’t the problem then. She was driving to Lyme Regis in the morning, another town, another opportunity to read for the locals, and share her special form of magic and healing. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. It wasn’t even a full moon, or eclipse energy, that had disturbed her peaceful slumber. Maybe a cup of cocoa, she thought, sitting up and sliding her legs out of the bed and onto the rug on the wooden floor. She hurried to the bathroom, relieved her bladder and then washed her face and hands, the cool water quite pleasant after the warmth of her bed. Looking in the mirror she saw her ruby-red hair stood out all around her pale face. Her colouring showed her Celtic origins. At five foot nine, she was tall with a heavier build than was fashionable, looking less like a model and more like a warrior without the muscles. Lightly clasping the handrail, she walked down the stairs. Maggie resembled an almost ghostly figure in her blue pyjamas that were covered in grey sloths. She had never seen a sloth up close, but these were comical and cute, and she thought described her rather well. As she wandered into the kitchen, a large yawn took over her body, and as she opened her eyes she almost fell over. The light was so bright in the room. It was as though forty spotlights were shining in the kitchen, aimed at her. She covered her eyes, breathed in deeply and slowly, and then opened them.
The bright lights weren’t spotlights, they were the combined energies of many large, angelic beings, wearing their finest regalia. She scanned the kitchen looking for an angel she knew. Leaning against the back door was Archangel Michael. He was dressed for battle. No long, flowing, white robes, harps playing, cherubs sweetly singing for him. He was encased from top-to-toe in black, even his wings were camouflaged and held close to his body. The planes of his face were sharply angled, and his white-blonde hair cut close to his head. The main feature of his face were his startling sky-blue eyes.
He raised his hand in salute and said, “Hello, Maggie, my dear. How are you?” It was some months since Maggie had worked with Archangel Michael in Angel Street. She gave him a brief nod, and then turned to grab milk from the fridge, a small milk saucepan for the stove, and began measuring out the milk to heat.
“Well, that wasn’t a very warm welcome, Michael, are you going to introduce us?” The tallest angel smirked.
Maggie looked at the fifteen-foot-tall angel. He, unlike the others in the room, carried a sword across his back. So, you’re a warrior, even though your demeanour is gentle, thought Maggie. In fact, while Michael was all honed muscle and warrior black, this angel was dressed more casually. He looked a bit like a medieval knight, without the armour, dressed in dark grey leggings and a leather-looking tabard. His face was open. Laughter lines etched around his bright green eyes and unruly light brown curls graced his head.
“Maggie, this giant here is Archangel Sandalphon. Don’t think his height makes him stronger or more important though,” he said. “Sandalphon … Maggie.” And with that Archangel Michael moved back to lean on the door again.
“Maggie, it’s a pleasure to meet you officially. I say officially because you call my name with every note you play on the cello. It’s always a delight to hear a human soul make music; but let’s talk more of that later. We hope you won’t mind helping us.
Michael assures us” – his arms spread wide to include all the other angels – “you’re the right human to ask for help with a little problem we have. Is your cocoa ready? How about you pour, and I’ll introduce you to everyone here, and we can begin?
Maggie lifted the milk saucepan from the stove top just in time as the milky bubbles rose to the top. She added it to the cocoa powder, honey, and cinnamon, stirring the liquid in her mug to remove any lumps. Once that was done, she placed the saucepanin the sink, turned on the tap and allowed the water to fill the saucepan to help release the boiled milk from the shiny metal, and then went to sit down at the wooden table. The angels moved en-masse and rearranged themselves, with Sandalphon in the centre and Archangel Michael leaning on the back door again.
“So firstly, we are all Archangels, some of our names you’ll recognise, others may be new to you. My twin, Metatron, you may have heard of, but he is busy with other things, so he won’t be here for this adventure. Along with Gabriel and Raphael” – he pointed his hand to each in turn – “but you may not have heard of these. This is Tzadkiel, Haniel, Azreal and Israfel, and of course you already know Michael.” He grinned.
As Sandalphon mentioned their names, they smiled in welcome or lifted their hands and turned. It was a lot for Maggie to take in, especially at 2 AM in the morning.
“Don’t worry about that, you don’t know them yet. Over time, they will explain what they’re about. But suffice to say, that each of us, and many others that are not here, have special tasks. We are like team leaders for groups of angels that interact with humans, and this has always been our overarching role since the beginning of Earth. However, humans were always expected to live on Earth, and we were tasked with being your companions, helpers, and guides. As you have probably learned from Michael, there are special places on the Earth’s grid that we look after. And one of these is a pilgrim route called The Archangels’ Way. This journey from Brentor to Chagford, like all pilgrimages, is a journey of self-discovery for the pilgrim. For many hundreds of years, The Way was hidden from all but a few pilgrims, but now there is more of an opening in human thinking, and more humans are now taking the road of the pilgrim, in accordance with the Great Plan. We are overseeing this realignment of The Way for humans of this present time, and we are there to help them work with the internal patterning and making significant shifts in the spiritual and emotional understanding of themselves and their journey currently.” He came up for breath.
“How does that require me?” asked Maggie, sipping her cocoa.
“Before I answer that question, Maggie, I need to make you aware of more information, is that ok?” he asked. Maggie nodded. “Have you heard of the seven deadly sins and the seven heavenly virtues?”
“Do you mean those spoken of in the Bible, greed, lust, sloth?” Maggie looked at her pyjamas covered with sloths. “And others, right? I’m not sure of the full list, not being a Sunday school participant,” she said.
A grin broke out across the faces of the Archangels, and it was as though all the lights of the world had been filtered to their smiles, bringing an unnatural bright glow to their faces. Maggie sat back in her chair as she surveyed them. She looked at each face so different from the other and yet, energetically linked. Then she looked across to Archangel Michael, who was not smiling but was simply raising his eyebrows at the scene.
Sandalphon continued. “Each soul plays their way through the vices and virtues in their many incarnations of life, until they have the fullest understanding of their own humanity, and that of others. This understanding enables compassion and love for others and opens a soul to their life mission. The idea of the pilgrimage is that the pilgrim grows in godliness and, for many religious requirements,perfection, and rebirth. The idea of pilgrimage is also found in indigenous cultures as well. In fact, all human societies are aware of the need for time out from the material way of life, and renewal of the spirit of each person as they reconnect to nature and Source. What we’ve been seeing over recent times, is the knowledge of the way, the truth … and I use that word advisedly.” He paused.
“Because there is no absolute truth, only the truth through an individual soul’s experience. Or a collective truth that is held by a group of people?” Maggie pondered.
“Yes, exactly!” Sandalphon nodded his head, “When each soul has aligned with their own truth, the human collective will be ‘The Truth’, in the acceptance of everyone’s truth being valid … and together they will be the whole truth. Of course, as we stand now, we are a long way from that truth, but The Archangels’ Way being open to more humans is the path forward to that. Currently, it’s being seen as more of a walker’s exercise than a spiritual one. This lack of understanding is either because they don’t have a religious understanding or are asleep to their soul’s journey. It means The Archangels’ Way is open to more negative energies. These walks are often on energy ley lines, or power points, if you like, and so attract vast amounts of energy, I believe Michael has already mentioned to you the significance of place names to us, and our need to protect our namesakes?”
“Yes. We worked on Angel Street earlier in the year.”
“So this would not be unfamiliar to you, then. In The Archangels’ Way, we have many different energies and times across many dimensions converging in this centre. As we work to upgrade the
energies of The Archangels’ Way and rebalance the pilgrims who come to the area over the next three months, we would like you to help us ground in that energy and be a conduit for the people, and us. Will you help us?”
She looked at the Archangels, who appeared to be holding their breath as they waited for her reply.
“I was leaving for Lyme Regis this morning.” Maggie looked at the clock again at 2:45AM.
“We are aware of that, and all we would ask is you spare us three months and then you can go to Lyme Regis. We would like you to stay in Belstone, a village on Dartmoor National Park, and part of The Archangels’ Way route. There is a coffee shop and guesthouse you can stay at, and you will do your usual work as a tarot reader and angel business coach. Along with the work we require.”
Seven pairs of eyes, silently pleading with all the pull of kittens or puppy dogs. Maggie knew when she was beaten. She sighed. “Okay!”
And a chorus of hallelujahs, whoops, and a chorus line from a West End show followed, as the angels celebrated with high kicks in a song and dance finale routine. Michael smiled where he stood, his eyes twinkling back at her, watching the antics of his brothers and sisters and said, “Enough you lot! You’ve got things to do, and Maggie needs some more sleep.”
“We can answer more of your questions on the road to Belstone,” Sandalphon said. And as though he’d snapped his fingers and switched off the lights, the archangels left en-masse, leaving the kitchen in the early morning gloom.
Michael moved to Maggie. “Thank you, Maggie, for agreeing. I wasn’t sure you would agree to work with us again.”
“What’s three months, Michael? A blink of an eye, right?” Maggie smiled, stood up and put her mug in the sink to wash.
“Get some sleep, Maggie. Sweet dreams.” Michael saluted, turned, and disappeared.
Maggie climbed the stairs to her bed and yawned. Time for sleep, she thought. Everything else would come soon enough.
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The Angel Tea House
Maggie McCready’s Travelling Tarot Adventures Book 1

Maggie McCready is a travelling tarot reader who offers spiritual advice over a cup of tea and a charmed biscuit or two.

Maggie arrives in Angel Street to support tea blender and café owner, Lucy Silverton who is being targeted by unknown sectors of the community, undermining her confidence and business. Maggie must find out who is bullying the businesses of Angel St Business Network while keeping herself safe. This is her first mission assisting Archangel Michael and the Legions of Light to protect the suburb from the encroaching dark forces. Armed for the fight with only her kind heart, tarot deck in hand and her entourage of mystic beings, she has a lot to learn about Spirit, the dark forces and herself before this adventure ends.
Definitely something is brewing in Angel St, and it's not just the tea!


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The lump in the bed didn’t move. The covers of the bed were all but covering the lump. The only thing that helped those looking, to decide it was the woman they knew and loved, was the fiery, ruby-red hair that as always was uncontrollable and lay spread under the pillow that was held to her head. Around the bed, a rather eclectic group of people stood. At first glance, a bystander might be forgiven for thinking they had been revellers just back from a fancy dress party but that wasn’t who they were. Most people wouldn’t even be able to see these beings, as they frequented a dimension unseen to the human naked eye. These were spiritual guides and helpers who’d agreed to assist the woman in the bed with her earthly mission.
“Why isn’t she awake? It’s time,” said a young boy who bounced on the bed all around the sleeping female. He appeared to be only about eightyears old with a scrawny, freckled face and gold-red hair sticking up in all directions. “Come on Maggie, wake up!” A grunt came from the lump, but no other action or sound issued forth 
​“She’s always been a terror to wake up. You should have seen her when she was a teenager. I can’t remember the number of times I had to resort to torture.” A neat, no-nonsense woman in her late thirties stood over the bed, her hands on her hips.
“Torture, Madam?” asked a man of Indian descent, his eyebrow raised. He was a tallish, thin man extraordinarily dressed in bright turquoise. On his head, a turban of the same silk, held together with an oval-shaped faceted amethyst and the plume of a white feather attached, that bobbed every time he spoke. He was aghast to think they had subjected his beloved Maggie to violence in her teenage years.
“Not literally, Gupta. Just a series of actions that would get my recalcitrant daughter out of bed to go to school. Here, let me show you.” And with that she yanked the blankets from the figure in the bed, pulling all of them away from Maggie until they landed at the bottom of the bed.
Maggie was tall, solid and dressed in a turquoise onesie with purple hearts emblazoned on it. She was still lying on her stomach, her hands holding the pillow over her head. Gupta thought her onesie was a marvellous piece of clothing that he heartily approved of.
“What on earth is she wearing?” Maggie’s grandmother, Ailsa asked, leaning forward for a better look. Ailsa was a woman in her early fifties. She had the ruby-red hair of her granddaughter but hers had softened to a strawberry-red due to the many strands of white that had come with age. She kept her hair neat and tidy in a bun. Her face was barely wrinkled but it was her heather-coloured eyes that were the most distinctive features of her face. She was short with a stocky, strong body that showed the Gaelic origins. Her husband had called her his “bonny Shetland pony.”
​“Enough!” the tall angel figure finally spoke. He was dressed for battle. No long flowing, white robes, harps playing, cherubs sweetly singing for him. He was encased from top-to-toe in black, even his wings were camouflaged and held close to his body. The planes of his face were sharply angled, and his white-blonde hair cut close to his head. His eyes were a startling blue, like the clearest skies of summer, and twinkled with humour. He bent to Maggie’s head hidden under the pillow,
“Wakeywakey, Maggie!”
“Go away!”
​“It’s time, dear one.” Silence, and then on a deep sigh, Maggie lifted her head from under the pillow and stared at Archangel Michael. “Are you sure?” He simply nodded. Maggie rolled her eyes; she knew when she was beaten. “Okay, okay, I’m getting up. Let me get a shower and get dressed. Could I have a cup of tea please, Mum?” She looked at Fiona. And with that, the guides all trouped out of her bedroom and moved to the kitchen.

​Melody R. Green is an Angel Intuitive who uses her gifts to help people work through the ups and downs of love, relationships, and the other big events of life, guiding them to connect back to “Spirit” and their own intuition. She has much first-hand knowledge of connection to Spirit as she lives in a home filled with spirits of many kinds, who speak to her often. Melody Lives in Sydney, Australia.


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