by Amy Cissell
“It’s Joseph. He’s gone.”
“Joseph?” Sandy looked at Misty. “Joseph, the goat farmer?”
“He’s missing. He’s gone, and so is Billie Holiday.”
“Billie Holiday? The singer?” Sandy felt more than a little at sea.
“Billie Holiday! His prizewinning goat! The one that produces the best milk, the richest cream, and always gives birth to twins.”
“Wait. I think I’ve read this fairy tale.”
“This isn’t a joke!” Misty yelled, her face turning an alarming shade of purple. “Joseph is gone, and without him and Billie, the Bazaar won’t be as good.”
Sandy leaned back into the couch and regarded Misty. “I know the Bazaar is your thing, but you seem a little more upset than is warranted if the only negative effect is on the prosecco mousse. I’m sure Bill can find some cream that’ll work just as well.” She watched Misty’s face.
“Fine. There is something more. But missing people are concerning no matter what.”
Sandy relented. She’d had her suspicions for a while, and now wasn’t the time to tease. “How long has Joseph been missing?”
Misty looked at her phone then met Sandy’s gaze. “I was supposed to meet him at his place tonight at seven. When I got to his place, he was gone, his place was tossed, and Billie Holiday was missing. I called the cops, but they’re just saying it could be a messy house and a farmer out of town.”
“Did you tell them you were dating?” Sandy asked softly.
Misty flushed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a secret?”
“Why, though? What’s going on with that?”
Misty dissolved into tears. “I saw this. I knew something was going to happen, and I didn’t say anything.”
Sandy stopped trying to push her about the secrecy and pulled her into her arms. “It’s not your fault.”
“What if he’s gone and I never get the chance…”
“We’ll find him,” Sandy said. “I promise.”
First Hand Knowledge
Misty walked into her shop and smiled fondly at the sign hanging in the window. A stylized palm with the important lines highlighted in red neon, the preferred noble gas of the seer community, and surrounded by the shop name—Mystic’s First Hand Knowledge. She walked in, flipped the sign to open, and sat down at the table that graced the center of the room. Every psychic had a different style in their shops or rooms where they did private readings, and Misty favored an aesthetic she referred to as cozy rockabilly goth. Black, overstuffed chairs surround the round table covered with a scarlet cloth. Rich black and red carpets softened the hardwood floors, and a red and black fainting couch lined the back wall, which was painted a dark red like the others. Gilt-framed photos of famous seers, both real and fictional, as well as abandoned buildings, shipwrecks, and cemeteries hung on the wall in no discernible fashion. The haphazard arrangement grated on her nerves, but it furthered her persona as an eccentric psychic, so she gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to rearrange and straighten them.
She was only open for walk-in hours from ten until two Monday through Thursday, and Mondays were the only day she usually saw a steady stream of customers. She no expectations of being overly busy today, so she pulled out her laptop. It was just under two months until the event of the year—Oracle Bay’s Fall Bazaar. She’d spent the last month planning and organizing and arranging, and things were rapidly coming to a head. Every year, her goal was to have everything set in stone by October first so she could start prepping for the winter tourist season, which included not only the Bazaar, but the Oracle Bay Halloween Festival—which began the season—and the Yule Ball—which ended it.
The population of Oracle Bay quadrupled for the two days of the Bazaar and they made a lot of money for the county domestic violence shelter and related programs. The Sleeping Inn—Oracle Bay’s upscale hotel had been booked solid since April, and the smaller motels on the outskirts of towns, and even most of the hotels in Long Beach were also completely sold out.
The Bazaar—her biggest and most stressful project every year—was a finely tuned machine that incorporated food and beverage vendors, a craft fair, musical acts, a bake sale, and the biggest draw—the Dessert contest and raffle.
Misty had single-handedly run the entire thing the last three years when her co-chair retired to somewhere warmer to enjoy her sunset years. She knew she should find someone else to bring on board, but that would be more effort than it was worth. She usually appointed an honorary chair so the spotlight could stay off her and she could remain behind the scenes, but she didn’t have one this year. Yet.
She sighed, rubbed her sternum to relieve the stress, and opened her email. She deleted the first few emails and then her mouse hand froze when she saw the email that’d come in over night. The email, with the subject line “Bizarrely can’t bazaar this year” was from Joseph McEwen, her childhood crush and the town crank. He and his family had been in Oracle Bay almost as long as her family had, and he’d been a grade above her in school. In elementary school, she, Joseph, and their other best friend Bill had been inseparable, but they grew apart in middle school, and by high school, Misty was left crushing on Joseph from afar while he ignored her and dated every other girl in school.
Besides her unrequited crush from over a decade ago, he was also responsible for the second biggest draw at the Bazaar—his artisan cheeses always sold out and for way more than he’d ever charge for them. He donated the cheeses every year, as his father had before him, but every year he found a way to make her life miserable in the process.
Two years, he’d left her a voice mail in mid-October claiming he was too upset about the state of the country to make cheese. She’d called him, listened to a political rant, agreed with him politely, and he’d eventually backed down and agreed to donate the cheese. Last year, he’d tried to back out at the end of September claiming that he’d developed an inexplicable fear of getting rained on. He didn’t answer any of her calls, so she tucked herself in the back corner of Bill’s coffee shop, Caffiend Dreams, and waited until he’d shown up, drenched from the rain, to confront him.
If he wanted to stop participating, all he had to do was say, “Hey, I can’t make it this year. I’m so sorry for backing out at the last minute. Hit me up next year.” The prevarication was ridiculous.
She took a deep breath and clicked on his email.
“Mystic—” she glared at the screen. She hated her first name and he knew it. “Can’t donate this year. I know I said that the last two years, but this time I mean it. Dark forces and personal reasons conspire to make my time less available and I’d rather let you know now than later. Don’t bother calling—I won’t answer and let you talk me into it. I’ll also be foregoing Bill’s until after the Bazaar. You won’t trap me there two years in a row. Take care. Best of luck with the shindig. Joseph.
“PS - Bet you didn’t see this one coming.”
Misty prided herself on being a fairly even tempered person. She did not lose her temper. She didn’t have rage. She was serene. Unless Joseph the Jerk was involved.
She snapped her laptop shut. She’d give him until two o’clock to recant, and then she’d go call him on his ridiculous excuse. She had had enough.
First Hand Knowledge is available now for preorder and releases on November 27, 2018.
About the Author
AMY CISSELL IS an urban fantasy and paranormal romance writer. She grew up in South Dakota and received her BA in English Literature from South Dakota State University. That degree has carried her far in her career as a financial administrator.
Her first exposure to fantasy was when she picked up her father’s copy of The Hobbit while in elementary school and an enduring love affair was born. Although Amy reads anything and everything, her first love is fantasy.
Amy is the author of the Eleanor Morgan series and forthcoming Oracle Bay series. Visit Amy online at www.amycissell.com and sign
up for her newsletter. In addition to receiving deleted scenes and excerpts from her upcoming releases, you’ll get the newsletter-exclusive serial following the origins and first millennium of Raj Allred—everyone’s favorite sexy vampire.
Also by Amy Cissell
Oracle Bay
Not in the Cards (October 2018)
First Hand Knowledge (November 2018)
Belle of the Ball (December 2018)
Wing and a Prayer (January 2019)
Tempest in a Teapot (May 2019)
* * *
The Eleanor Morgan Novels
The Cardinal Gate (February 2017)
The Waning Moon (June 2017)
The Ruby Blade (October 2017)
The Broken World (March 2018)
The Lost Child (February 2019)
The Iron River (Fall 2019)
