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by Annabel Chase (Author)
My father talked about Atlantic City the way some women talk about their ex-boyfriends. No good. Avoid at all costs. Soul-sucking even without the demons. Never mind that we lived across the country where, by day we worked as mountain guides, and at night he trained me to use my magic-not that I was allowed to showcase it. That was a hard no. So I hid my powers the way he hid his bourbon-until his murder.
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