Cassidy’s
Touch by Paris Brandon
Book
1 in the Cassidy’s Touch series
Her gift is a double edged sword.
Will it be enough to save a cursed bootlegger from becoming a demon’s prize?
The least of reality
show host Cassidy Spencer’s worries is banishing the ghost of a handsome
bootlegger who disappeared after being accused of murdering his best friend’s
fiancée. According to an expert, her ghost isn’t a ghost and if she doesn’t use
her psychometric ability to find his body before the witch who cursed him does,
he could end up enslaved by a demon for eternity.
Chance Coraggio doesn’t
remember anything before he could walk through walls and that includes the
crazy woman telling him he’s been asleep for nearly a century. The life he
should’ve lived has been stolen. All the people he has ever loved are dead—and
it turns out the crazy woman isn’t as crazy as he’d hoped.
But waking Chance is
only half the battle. Now, both are bound by blood to a demon’s curse. To break
free, they must find out who is coming for them and why. Because the only
reason for a sleeping curse that has lasted almost a century lies somewhere in
a past that Chance can’t remember.
*Previously included
in The Shadow Files, limited edition boxed set.
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2OpC0sd
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2CkorD1
iTunes: https://apple.co/2NMawaW
PG13
She
stripped off the rest of her clothes and tossed them into the bathroom wicker
hamper before stepping into the large clawfoot tub and drawing the
ivy-patterned shower curtain around the circular rod. The trickle of tepid
water from the calcium-encrusted shower head cooled her off a bit, but she
probably ought to consider buying a new filter. She closed her eyes and put her
head under the stream.
And
once again saw the sudden terrifying vision of Marian Collier’s killer, calmly
slicing off her swollen finger and stealing her wedding ring. Nausea rolled
through her, and she almost tore the shower curtain off the rod when she
reached for the wall. Not that it made her any steadier. Any normal person
would have been sick if they saw the scene each time they closed their eyes.
She was far from normal. She needed a way of draining her body of the malevolent
energy she’d absorbed from the Collier reading, otherwise her symptoms were
going to make life intolerable.
During
her hiatus from the show, she planned on exploring the possibility of
visualization as a way of handling the aftereffects of her little gift. Learning to concentrate for longer
than five seconds might enable her to “see” the headaches and tremors float
away, absorbed by the atmosphere instead of another human being. That would be
a plus if the opportunity for another relationship ever arose. Which wasn’t
likely to happen anytime soon.
Because,
as much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t imagine anyone not caring that
she had the ability to read them through any object they’d touched.
She’d
know if they were lying or cheating.
She’d
know if even for one brief moment they hated or feared her.
Oh,
hell; enough of the pity party.
The
water was cooling faster than it should have. She tried adjusting the
temperature, but it never got any warmer, and she added a water heater to the
growing list of items the house might need. If she ended up keeping the house,
it wouldn’t be a huge problem in the summer, but a winter in Kansas City spent
taking tepid baths wasn’t an option she wanted to entertain.
She
turned off the shower and pulled open the curtain. A shadow was there one
moment, filling a corner of the room, and gone the next. It was almost as if
the lights had flickered on and off. Fabulous. Whether she stayed or not, she’d
need an electrician.
And
she probably shouldn’t trust the fuses to hold up under the addition of a small
window-unit air conditioner until she had the place checked out.
Stepping
over the rolled lip of the tub, she grabbed for a fluffy white towel and
blotted her hair and body but left enough droplets behind to help keep her cool
for as long as possible. Wrapping the towel sarong style, she padded down the
hall.
The
water on her back and chest had evaporated by the time she’d made it to her
small square bedroom. Sunrays filtered through the leaves of the huge old tree
outside her window, leaving a dappled pattern on the crisp, white cotton sheets
she’d found in the linen cupboard. They’d been tied with a rose-pink satin
ribbon and still held a trace of her aunts’ loving attention within its
threads.
She
exchanged the towel for a short white cotton robe and turned away from her
reflection in the cheval glass at the foot of the bed. The shower hadn’t helped
her look any less tired. This season had been brutal. Between the nonstop
shooting schedule and trying to deal with her grief she’d been on autopilot
with barely a minute to breathe.
The
room was marginally less stuffy since she’d turned on the ceiling fan. Closing
her eyes, she tried to envision the sharp shards of emotional energy dissolving
in a shower of soft, warm sparks that cascaded over her and into the ground.
Instead the shards clung like dark magnets against her skull.
She
was lousy at this.
A
breeze chilly enough to raise goose bumps washed over her bare arms. A shadow
flickered across the mirror. She blinked and for the second time that afternoon
caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
The
pale ivory curtains covering the windows on either side of the wide mahogany
dresser had stopped rippling. The air around her was still—and cold.
“Are
you Cassidy?” rasped a voice that sounded as if it were filtered through a
layer of dust. “Maude said that you could help me.”
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2OpC0sd
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2CkorD1
iTunes: https://apple.co/2NMawaW
