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on me, including the name of my former business partner and spider-phobic fiancé.
    You're just a con artist , I thought as I tapped the edge of her business card on the table. Voula Varga, I'm onto your so-called magic tricks. You may have sold my gullible friend Jessica a voodoo love doll, but you'd better not try to pull one over on me, or you'll be in for trouble.

Chapter 6
    As I drove to Voula Varga's house, I rehearsed what I would say to get out of any mumbo jumbo she might try to pull on me.
    First, I would casually mention that my father was a retired police officer, and that I'd inherited his skepticism about all things mystical.
    Secondly, if the cop thing alone didn't kill her interest in scamming me, I would cut the visit short by claiming I had something else scheduled—like getting started on counting the inventory at my gift shop while it was closed for the day.
    Voula's house was just outside of town, perched high on its own hill. The house itself was famous, by Misty Falls standards. It had been used for a horror movie filming location back when I was in high school. The Hollywood people had modified the windows on the front to look even more like eyes on a face.
    I'd seen the glowing eyes of the house countless times, but I'd never been to the house before today—the day I'd been summoned there by Voula the Psychic Extraordinaire.
    I didn't spot the turnoff for the road leading up the hill the first time I passed by it, so I pulled a U-turn and drove back slower. The weather that day was overcast, so between the blanket of snow on everything, plus the lack of shadows, everything looked flat and featureless. It was the kind of murky day where things can hide in plain sight, right in front of you.
    Finally, I spotted the turnoff for the road—which wasn't much more than a goat trail—and steered my car onto it. As I bumped over the snowy ruts, hoping the scraping sound coming from the undercarriage wasn't anything to worry about, the idea of trading my fancy car for something more practical, like a Jeep, became more appealing.
    As I rounded what was a blind corner due to a thick stand of evergreen trees, another vehicle sprang up in front of me, bright headlights gleaming through the murky daylight as it came right at me.
    The narrow road barely had enough room for one vehicle, let alone two, so I slammed on my brakes, expecting the other vehicle to do the same.
    The other vehicle didn't stop, though. Either the driver didn't see me, or they did, and wanted to have a head-on collision. My car was equipped with the finest in safety features, but I didn't want to test my air bags that day, so I hastily cranked the wheel to the right, took my foot off the brake pedal, and hit the gas. My car graciously obeyed my command and sailed off the road and down the slope into a ravine.
    A horrific crunching came from below, as trees whizzed by left and right. I hit the brakes, but I was sledding, not rolling, so it made no difference. I used the steering wheel and the magic power of curse words to nudge the car left, narrowly avoiding impact with a tree. The vehicle eventually came to a halt in fluffy snow, deep enough to cover the headlights.
    Behind me, the road was clear. The driver didn't even have the decency to stop and check on me, let alone take responsibility for the accident.
    After letting out a few unladylike epithets, I put the car in reverse and attempted to get back onto the road. My car tried to obey, bless her precision-crafted engine, but the slippery snow and the steep incline were too much. I would need a tow truck, unless I could figure out another route.
    I shut off the engine and stepped out to survey the situation. My tire tracks down the edge of the ravine showed me how lucky I'd been to squeeze between the many trees without hitting any, except…
    I walked along the tire tracks and scooped up something familiar. It was my passenger-side mirror. I had hit a tree after all, clipping it with