Ghost, Interrupted

Chapter One

Anjali

San Jose, California

When Anjali was a kid her parents made her promise never to tell anyone she was psychic.

Personally, she'd found such a precaution unnecessary but she swore anyway.

Honestly, did her parents think she'd go around making introductions like, "Hi, my name is Anjali Kumar and I can communicate with the dead. What's your name?"

That's right.

Anjali could communicate with the dead, but she couldn't beat the house in Vegas.

Go figure.

She was the black sheep in the family, the skeleton in the closet (although thanks to a certain fondness for vodka and chocolate, she hardly considered herself bone-thin).

But Anjali wasn't in the psychiatrist's office that gloomy afternoon to talk about her parents . . . much.

She was there to talk about the whole psychic thing. Or rather, a way to shut it off.

Namely drugs.

If Prozac could quiet a child's love of starting fires, then surely it could help her—a woman too psychic to function. Across the cher ... read full excerpt from: Ghost, Interrupted ebook