Witches. Warlocks. Hocus Pocus.

I didn’t believe in any of those things. To be honest, the only thing I really believed in….really had faith in its existence, was bad luck. There was too much proof of it in my life to deny it.

As it turns out, the bad luck that accompanies me wherever I go escalated to a heightened level following a visit form a long-lost relative I didn’t even know existed. She starts spouting nonsense about my parents really loving me (even though they committed suicide a few days after my birth), how my mother tried using witchcraft to save their lives…and how there is a curse hanging over my head that requires my death on my twenty-fifth birthday. Supposedly all the Bailey men commit suicide on their twenty-fifth birthdays due to this curse.

Total craziness, right?

Wrong.

A small dash of intrigue and a heaping-helping of fear cause me to pack up and head to Salem, Massachusetts – where it all started. Here’s my biggest problem: my twenty-fifth birthday is only a couple of weeks away and I’m having these very sensual dreams about a man I don’t know.

I might not know him, but I sure want him.