BVC Announces Putting the Chic in Psychic by Diana Pharaoh Francis

Putting the Chic in Psychic
Everyday Disasters Book 2
by Diana Pharaoh Francis

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t kick ass and take names while looking fabulous. I make a living at it. -Beck Wyatt

Some days are just one damned thing after another for estate sale entrepreneur, witch, and all around ass kicker, Beck Wyatt. First, her boyfriend is called away for a mysterious family emergency he refuses to talk about. Not a reason to freak out at all. Then a bid on a job goes haywire when the dead owner’s ghost drags Beck into her vengeful rampage. Then the crazy ghost’s psychic niece breaks the news that hell itself is coming for Beck, but she doesn’t know when, where, how, or why.

Neat.

But Beck doesn’t have time to look over her shoulder and under the bed. One of her bestie’s new friends, Lydia, is suffering an acute case of psychotic-husband-itis. The manipulative jerk and political wannabe would rather destroy Lydia than allow her to taint his reputation with a divorce. After all, deep pocket donors like a family man.

Beck’s life might be a hot mess, but she won’t stand by and let anyone hurt her friends. With her three besties, a gorgeous but highly irritating cop, an indiscriminate horndog, and a newbie psychic at her side, Beck is about to kick some ass and she’s going to look fabulous doing it.

Everyday Disasters Book 2
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Diana Pharaoh Francis writes books of a fantastical, adventurous, and often romantic nature. Her award-nominated novels include The Path series, the Crosspointe Chronicles, the Diamond City Magic books, and the Mission: Magic series. Her novels have been translated into German and French. She holds a Ph.D. in Victorian literature and literary theory, and an MA in fiction writing. She’s been teaching for more than 20 years. She’s a member of SFWA and NINC. She’s owned by two corgis, spends much of her time herding children, and likes rocks, geocaching, knotting up yarn, and has a thing for 1800s England, especially the Victorians. For more about her writing, visit www.dianapfrancis.com.

Buy Putting the Chic in Psychic in the BVC bookstore

Read a Sample

Chapter 1

I couldn’t deny I was having a damned good start to the day. My fake mother—aka Aunty Mommy—remained dead and had thus far been unable to rise from the grave and haunt me; my savagely vandalized business was under reconstruction; nobody had tried to kill me recently; my dog, Ajax, loved me unconditionally, as did my three best friends; and I was enjoying the nectar of the gods—aka an extra large 9-1-1 espresso—with a gorgeous man.

Yeah, maybe I had a few problems, but at the moment, I could ignore all of them and enjoy the lovely weather and the very fine specimen of masculinity sitting across from me.

I sipped my ultra-caffeinated brew, eyeing Damon over the rim of my cup. He was flat out hot. Like HAWT. I’d seen him mostly naked and could attest to six pack abs, broad shoulders, and thighs that could crack walnuts. And his ass. It could make a nun wet her panties. With that body, his dark blond hair, stormy blue eyes, and chiseled jaw, he could have been a model. The fact that he was eyeing me with the same orgasmic appreciation I’d just given the first sip of my coffee made me want to lick him like a lollipop.

Just at the moment, my life was closer to perfect than it had ever been, which of course meant that everything would shortly be going straight to hell. Murphy’s Law and Mercury in Retrograde are the ruling forces of my life. Trouble was always lying in wait just around the corner. At least it meant life was exciting. Often hideously painful, but still exciting. It also meant I knew enough to enjoy the good while it lasted.

I am an almost twenty-eight-year-old business woman and witch. I run Effortless Estates, a high-end estate liquidation business. I hold wealthy estate sales and have a showroom of the more valuable pieces. Or I did, before a former colleague destroyed it out of frustration, all because I refused to die when he was trying to murder me. Luckily he did succeed in offing Aunty Mommy, which made me almost willing to forgive him for my attempted murder, except he’d also tried to kill my three BFFs—Stacey, Jen, and Lorraine—not to mention Damon and my recently discovered uncle.

Nobody fucks with the people I love and gets away with it. Nobody.

Anyhow, my business had really taken off in the last few years, growing like a weed on steroids. Damon’s a lawyer. My lawyer, as of recently. I’m his only client. When Aunty Mommy kicked the bucket, all sorts of cockroaches crawled out of the woodwork, including my real parents and a bunch of other family, also all witches. I’d learned I was the product of a birth contract, and that the entire witch world revolved around bloodlines and eugenics, and my eggs were in high demand. All of which was enough to make me throw up in my mouth.

But I also inherited a convoluted mess of money and property, and Damon had taken on untangling and managing it all, so I wouldn’t have to. If I’d had my way, I’d have refused to take it. I considered it blood money—specifically my blood—but I had to be practical, one of my least favorite things to be when I was pissed off. It turned out I wasn’t the only target of Aunty Mommy’s, just her favorite. She’d been a category nine tornado and had left a whole lot of damage in her wake. Since nobody else would, I had to try to fix what I could, and that meant money and plenty of it.

Between the convoluted finances, the fact that I’d never been trained in magic, my current lack of a home (my ex-colleague had destroyed my apartment along with my showroom), Damon and I were practically glued together these days. He was super protective of me, and though he hadn’t said much, I knew he was scared some witch family—or just as likely my own—would kidnap me and turn me into an Easy-bake Oven for magically powerful babies. He’d been giving me a crash course in witchcraft. Not that I didn’t have good command of my power—I did. I just didn’t know how to create spells or what ingredients to use for what, nor did I really know the dangers, or even what I could or should be doing to protect myself. Other than that, I was in good shape.

His concern and me being his only client made it hard for him to peel away from me, which was both flattering to my female sensibilities and annoying as fuck. I didn’t need him underfoot twenty-four/seven, no matter how pretty he was, or how much I enjoyed his company. The constant togetherness had started to feel claustrophobic, which could be totally normal, or could be me panicking over being in a relationship.

Just at the moment, however, everything gleamed shiny perfection.

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, interrupting my rambling train of thought.

“I’m going to check on the construction progress, and I have a couple potential clients to meet with about sales this weekend. Later, I’m having dinner with the girls. What about you?”

“More of the same. Sorting out your aunt’s financial estate. It’s like picking apart a gordian knot.”

“Sounds horrifying.”

The corners of his mouth kicked up. “I enjoy puzzles. There’s no satisfaction like solving a difficult one.”

“I like puzzles just fine, but that mess is sheer torture.”

“Which is why you have me to sort it out for you.”

“Lighting it on fire would be more satisfying.”

“But far less profitable. Anyway, you can bask in the knowledge that your aunt would have hated knowing that you are the sole beneficiary of her financial empire. Milking it for all it’s worth is the best sort of revenge.”

“I don’t know. Peeing on her grave felt pretty good. The girls and I plan to make it a regular thing. Weekly maybe.”

“I’ll keep bail money on hand. Just in case you get caught.”

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