What happens when you mix Veronica Mars with Sabrina, the Teenage Witch? Well, you’ll probably get Nic Tatano’s exciting new book, The Adventures of Jillian Spectre. This YA paranormal romance from HarperImpulse has it all: paranormal powers, secrets, and a juicy romance. Today, I’m excited to share an exclusive excerpt from the book and be sure to check out the end of the post for more details on the who, what, when, and where! Happy reading!
As after school activities go, seeing the future beats the hell out of soccer practice.
Yeah, that’s my gift, my blessing. Or, depending on your point of view, my curse. Because I can see everyone’s future.
Except my own.
Meanwhile, my gift just took a very strange, and frankly very frightening turn. More about that later.
I say later because I sense that since you discovered I have a window to the future, you’ll want to know about your own and couldn’t care less about my problem. But before we go any further and you start asking questions like, “Will the married man I’m dating really leave his wife?” (No, dumbass. You don’t need a psychic for that.) I should introduce myself. I’m Jillian Spectre, seventeen-year-old crystal ball chick of the neighborhood. Said neighborhood is a bit unusual in that just about everyone who lives here has some sort of otherworldly talent. It’s New York City’s paranormal section. Little Italy has its Italian food, Chinatown has Asian culture, Queens has its chop shops, and we’ve got the real version of the Sci-Fi channel. (Don’t correct me. I know they changed their logo to Syfy, but it looks like it should be pronounced “siffee” and I refuse to accept it.) Our block is your one-stop shop for mediums, mystic seers, telepaths, and, for you fans of Shirley MacLaine, past life regression hypnotists. Some legit, some not. The con artists who tried to open a ghostbusters shop down the street failed miserably and the place is now a pizza parlor.
Back to my talent, which hit me like a ton of bricks when I turned fourteen. I come from a long line of mystic seers, and on that particular birthday my mother Zelda (yeah, I know, talk about a stereotypical name for someone who reads the future) presented me with my first crystal ball. The ensuing torrent of views from the future knocked me for a loop until she taught me how to focus and control things. At sixteen I was inducted into the family business, and now for two hours after school I endure a parade of sexually frustrated housewives, lonely single men, and generally unattractive people who don’t have enough personality to work at the Department of Motor Vehicles.
Finally, back to the curse part of my talent. Can’t read my own future, but then again, neither can anyone with my talent. Sure wish I could, because after weeding out the parade of losers in high school, my heart is torn between two guys.
I can tell everyone else how things will turn out, and it pisses me off that I’m flying blind when it comes to my own love life.
But that’s the least of my concerns right now.
Because tonight I looked at a woman’s future, viewing her activities five years from today.
Right after I saw her die three years from today.
Do the math.
I saw the afterlife.