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×C H A P T E R 1

The street fair continued to buzz with the energy of people drunk on craft beer and artists making more cash than they would all year.

Plastic white booths lined the entire lawn of Pack Square Park, filled with handmade crafts such as woodwork, jewelry, quilts, and anything else you could sell for an exorbitant amount of money. Tessa’s table, a round stool with a purple, velvet cloth and a glass paperweight that mimicked a crystal ball, was tucked well away from the main thoroughfare, but she’d had a steady amount of clients since arriving that morning.

They knew she would come every October as the leaves changed and the air grew crisp. They came, nervous and full of questions about the future. She had no real answers for them, but she could sound convincing with the tumble of thoughts always pouring from their minds, a relentless current that pummeled her if she wasn’t careful.

Her lower back ached from sitting so long, and her flask of bourbon had long run dry. It was about time to call it a day. She’d told at least ten widows their husbands loved them and wanted them to be happy. All she had to do was listen for the lament that played like a scratched record in their thoughts.

Once a widow heard her husband’s name pass Tessa’s lips, they tended not to question her anymore. She overcharged several drunk jackasses and claimed to see a vision of their adultery. Their insecurity lay just beneath the surface, and she could usually string together two convincing names from their anxious thoughts. She’d also had a handful of giggling teenagers, an old man who’d simply hit on her, and a little boy who wanted to know if his dog would come back. She’d made several hundred dollars.

The festival ran three Saturdays in a row. She’d stay one more before moving on. She hadn’t quite settled on where she wanted to go next. She was leaning towards Texas. She didn’t like snow much, and winter was already making an appearance in the early morning as frost clung to the grass and trees.

Tessa moved to take down her small sign, which simply read Psychic. She did not display her name, her contact information, or her fee. She preferred anonymity and flexibility. For the old widows, she only charged twenty dollars. For the drunkards, forty. For the fervent believers of the occult, a hundred bucks or more. They were crazy. Tessa might be able to read minds, but these assholes believed in witchcraft and shapeshifting, and vampires.

When she turned back to the table, a man sat across from her. She jumped, startled.

“Shit, you scared me,” she said.

The man now sitting across from her smirked. “You don’t sound much like a psychic,” he said. His voice was low, and there was the tiniest bit of grit to it that she liked. He had chestnut brown hair that was cut short to accent a sexy widow’s peak. His skin was ghostly pale and his eyes were a piercing emerald green that sent a tingling sensation across her skin as they raked over her.

Even in the dim light, she could see the flecks of gold near his pupils. He looked delicious. Tessa sized him up and decided it had been a while since she’d indulged in a passing tryst…

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Martha Woods is a bestselling paranormal romance author from the USA. She has published over twenty novels and novellas, with her most popular series being the 'Fatal Allure Series' series.	Home Blog Contact Privacy Policy Terms of Service	LinkedIn Facebook Twitter Instagram Pinterest

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