The Psychic's Tale by Chris Quinton

AUTHOR: Chris Quinton

TITLE: The Psychic's Tale, Part 1 of The Fitzwarren Inheritance Trilogy

GENRE: Gay contemporary paranormal romance

PUBLISHER: Silver Publishing

PURCHASE: Here

FORMAT: Multi

BLURB:

“I curse you and your children’s children, that you shall all live out your allotted years, and that those years shall be filled with grief and loss and betrayal, even as you have betrayed and bereaved me.”

Four hundred years ago in rural England, a mob burned two men to death, but not before one of the victims, Jonathan Curtess, hurled a dreadful curse at the mob’s leader, Sir Belvedere Fitzwarren. The curse has followed the family through the centuries, bringing grief and loss to each generation.

Mark Renfrew is a closeted psychic and openly gay. When his grandmother discovers a family link to a 17th century feud and a still-potent curse, she insists he investigates and do his best to end it. He travels to the village of Steeple Westford, and meets and falls for Jack Faulkner, an archaeologist. He also meets the Fitzwarrens, who are facing yet another tragedy.

Then Mark learns that the man who cursed them had twisted the knife by leaving three cryptic conditions that would lift the curse, and he knows he has to try to break the curse his ancestor had set.

EXCERPT: PG

Mark chose to try for lunch at the Red Lion, it being the oldest by several centuries, and more likely to have ghostly happenings that might be useful fodder for Waldron’s TV show. The structure was from the fifteenth century, while the other had a Georgian facade. Inside, the main saloon lived up to its promise of age. Black timbers stretched across the ceilings, patterned the pale yellow walls and framed the crooked windows. The only level line in the place was formed by the bar itself, a Victorian affair in rich mahogany. Even the massive stone mantel over the huge hearth had a slight angle. Though still summer-warm outside, a faint smell of wood smoke drifted over the scents of beer and furniture polish, and he could easily imagine logs burning in the wide grate during autumn and winter.

Mark leaned on the bar and inspected the menu, finally opting for chicken and chips, then retreated with his beer to a table by the window. At the next table along sat a man of about his own age, poring over large photographs spread across his table. His long black hair hung forward, partially screening his profile, and he hummed quietly to himself as he scribbled in a dog-eared shorthand notebook. Incurably curious, Mark craned his neck to see what the photos were, but could make nothing of them. They looked like something downloaded from Google Earth.

Then the man glanced around, and Mark found himself caught by silver eyes with a dark ring around the edge of their irises, eyes that crinkled at the corners and were set in a lean, deeply tanned face with a mischievous smile. That smile and the light in the man’s gaze sank deep into Mark’s consciousness and resonated through his blood. That the stranger had wide shoulders and powerful arms, both displayed well by his blue tee-shirt, was an added bonus. Not even the white logo Archaeologists do it in trenches dampened Mark’s interest. If they were in the bar of the Chartreuse Room, one of the gathering places for gays in Bristol, he would have done his damnedest to connect with him.

***

To find out more about Chris Quinton's writing:

WEBSITE
MANIFOLD PRESS
CHRIS POWER WEBSITE

Be sure to check out Ms. Quinton's author interview.