Cursed
Lynn Ricci
Genre: Paranormal Romance
ISBN: 1481276034
ASIN: B00AQO2ISW
Number of pages: 259
Word Count: 70,000
The story
takes place over the Christmas holiday… it involves a witch . . . and other
surprises…
Book
Description-
When Sarah Carter moves to Boston to escape her past she
realizes there's more than meets the eye with the landlord and her mysterious
new best friend.
What happened to the owner of this brownstone and what
secrets lie within its walls and continue to torment?
Witchcraft, curses and timeless love are not what Sarah
expected to find, but as she learns more, she wonders is she actually running
back to her past instead of from it?
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Staring out of the small
dormered window, he could just see the corner of the street. Leaves on the
trees lining the sidewalk were moving past their prime of orange and red and
turning brown as autumn made its way through Boston. The ones still clinging to
the trees blocked part of his view. Absentmindedly he pulled his pocket watch
out of his pants and checked the time although he instinctively knew it was
still early. Purposely, he had chosen this spot to watch the street for a sign.
He didn’t want to miss a thing.
Mrs. Casey was nearly
three stories below waiting on the sidewalk next to her white BMW. He gazed
down at the plump woman in her camel jacket and brown plaid scarf. She had just
arrived and was on her mobile phone, trusty bag over her shoulder. As he
watched from above, he wondered if he might keep her for a while. She had
proven to be discreet and respectful in their dealings thus far –always keeping
her eyes conveniently averted. That was a big plus in his book.
The sky had been bright
blue and clear all morning but now the sunlight dimmed and small gusts of wind
kicked up from time to time, stirring up the brittle leaves, scratching at the
sidewalk and causing drifts against the wrought iron fence. He would go out and
clean up the two small patches of grass in front of the building later, when it
got dark. After all these years, he was comfortable working outside after
nightfall.
A flicker of yellow
caught his eye as a taxi turned from Columbus Avenue onto Dunhill – a small
side street in Boston’s South End, lined with fashionable brownstones. He
straightened his bent frame as best he could and intently watched the cab's
approach, completely absorbed in his surroundings and on high alert. Below,
Mrs. Casey tucked her phone away and pulled her coat closed. Is it getting
colder, he thought, touching the glass pane in front of him, the chill
spreading through his fingertips.
The yellow checker taxi
glided to a stop in front of the building and a young woman with ash blonde
hair stepped out but held the door and leaned back in. His heart clenched as if
it had been submerged in cold water and he grasped the windowsill to steady
himself. From his vantage point, he could see the cabbie handing her some
bills. She closed the car door and turned to Mrs. Casey, shaking hands. He
wished he could hear the conversation, but knew that it would be pleasantries
and then the expected basics.
Both women squinted up
towards the window and he faded back as quickly as possible. He was sure he was
a moment too late, but what did it really matter? He snuck another quick look
and relaxed, realizing Mrs. Casey was pointing out items on the ground level –
most likely the security system, or flower boxes. But as he continued to watch
he finally saw it: the sign he had been waiting for.
Small gusts that had been
making the crunchy, dry leaves rise and dance with their still colorful counterparts
whipped up again a few buildings further along the street and came towards the
women like a mounting wave. The leaves blew up waist high, swirling and
twirling onto themselves until the force reached the women and spun around them
in a leaf tornado. Mrs. Casey stepped back towards her BMW parked at the curb
to get out of the maelstrom and the leaves continued, picking up energy and
speed; surrounding the flaxen-haired woman, lifting and tossing her long hair
like a Medusa at the center of the funnel. In reaction to the onslaught, the
young woman covered her head with her arms and ran up the front walk toward the
building to get out of its path. The wind disappeared and the leaves fell to
the ground on the sidewalk as quickly as it had started. Overhead the sky was
once again blue.
She’s here, he thought.
The leaves settled gently
on the sidewalk. Sarah laughed, removing a few dry leaves that had snagged on
her scarf and sweater.
“My goodness! It’s
getting blustery!” Mrs. Casey exclaimed as she hurried across the brick
sidewalk to the open gate that Sarah ran through, moments before. “Are you ok,
dear?”
“I’m fine, really.” Sarah
said almost to herself while smoothing her hair. “Just a little wind.”
“Well, dear, if it was
any more wind it would have swept you away to Oz.” Sarah heard the deep Boston
accent in the woman’s voice and felt immediately comfortable with the realtor.
The cadence was almost like she was listening to her maternal grandmother,
Rose. Growing up in Connecticut, her grandmother's Boston accent was fodder for
jokes, but she always associated the distinctive pronunciations with happy
childhood memories. Sarah waited as Mrs. Casey reached into her oversized bag
and easily pulled out a business card.
“Thank you, Mrs. Casey,”
Sarah said as she examined the card. “I’m so glad you were able to meet me on
short notice.” Sarah stood on the bottom step and waited as Mrs. Casey dug
paperwork out of her briefcase. Glancing around the small front enclosure she
wasn’t sure was big enough to qualify as a yard, she noticed the black wrought
iron flower boxes mounted below the bay windows, full of deep russet, red, and
burnt orange mums. Mrs. Casey finished pulling out the listing sheet and
noticed where Sarah was looking.
“The flowers are lovely,
aren’t they? You should see this place in the summer! I don’t know how he does
it. No one ever sees him working in the garden but it’s always immaculate.” She
leaned over and pointed to the side of the building indicating she actually
meant around the corner. “Over there are the rose bushes. This is actually one
of the few brownstones that has a little side yard since the alley cuts through
there.”
Sarah looked at the
old-world cobblestone alley. Mrs. Casey continued her garden tour, “Not big
enough to do much with, but he keeps pink roses in the summer all along those
wooden trellises.”
“It’s very nice. You can
tell the property is well kept; it’s wonderful that he cares so much for the
landscaping.”
“Everything is kept well.
This was a grand house in her day.” Mrs. Casey stressed the last sentence as
she looked lovingly up to the front door. The realtor continued with a tone of
letting Sarah in on a fact already well known in certain social circles, “This
is one of the prime rental properties in the South End, dear.”
Mrs. Casey started to
climb the front steps slowly. Sarah wondered if it was her age that slowed her
down but this seemed different, almost hesitant. As if on cue, the woman turned
and looked down at Sarah, two steps below. She put one hand on the railing to
steady herself before speaking.
“Before we go in, I must
tell you something. We will be meeting with the owner in a few minutes. He’s
very particular about his renters since he lives on the first floor.”
Sarah started to say she
would make a good impression but the woman laid her gloved hand on her arm to
quiet her.
“There’s more.” Mrs.
Casey looked down at her feet in discomfort with what she was about to say. “He
had an accident . . . of some sort. I am not sure exactly what happened but he
is disfigured and very, very self-conscious.” Her eyes darted back to Sarah’s
and locked. “Don’t act like you pity him. Don’t ask any questions about it.
And, whatever you do, don’t look straight at him.”
“Is it that bad?”
“I really don’t know the extent
of it. He tries to cover as much he can and I pretend like nothing is wrong.
But it’s bad. I always keep myself busy and interested in looking at something
else.”
“I will avoid looking at
him. Promise.”
“I’ve lost some good
tenants by them being too interested in him. He’s a proud man. He has done a
lot of beautiful work; everything in this home has been lovingly maintained.
The whole building possesses a charm you just don’t see anymore.”
Mrs. Casey searched
Sarah’s face, making sure all this had settled in.
“Ready, dear?”
“Ready.”
About the
Author:
Lynn Ricci was born and raised in the
Boston area. Her professional background is in financial communications and she
pursues her artistic endeavors of writing and painting while enjoying an active
family life with her two children and dog, Fenway. In the summer, she enjoys
relaxing in Chatham on Cape Cod.
A writer of several published short
stories including Daydreams which was picked up for an anthology collection
through Outskirts Press, The Dating Intervention is her debut novel and Cursed,
a paranormal romance, is her most recent novel released December 2012.
More information on novels available and
underway can be found at www.lynnricci.com
Website: http://www.lynnricci.com/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/lynnricci
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