Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was definitely rich.
Writing stories that bring readers joy has been my dream since I was a little girl, but it sure as hell doesn’t pay the bills.
At least, it doesn’t if you aren’t willing to do a lot of questionable things to get ahead.
That means I’m stuck as a stringer for several news outlets writing puff pieces for the online blogs being paid by the installment like I’m freaking Dickens.
I’m not a math whiz, but he definitely made more than me when adjusted for inflation.
But I keep plugging because it’s my passion.
That is, until one fateful night in May when one of my papers sends me to cover a festival for the local coven.
What happened next changed my life forever.