A Gypsy’s Curse — @PRosemoor #mgtab

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I’ve been a carnival junkie since I was a kid. There were a lot of them back then, and my mom was into them as much as I was, so she always took me to every school carnival in the area. I loved the rides and the games and the weird stuff.

 

Gypsy fortune tellers were nothing but fancily dressed manikins in a glass box. You put in your money and a card came out with your fortune. So to my disappointment, they weren’t real.

 

 

Mom also took me to Riverview Amusement Park, Chicago’s version of Coney Island (which I also loved when visiting relatives in New York). It was nearly a two hour haul to get to Riverview. The train downtown, the rapid transit, then a bus.

But it was as exciting as it got because they had high excitement rides like roller coasters, six of them!

(The wooden rollercoaster here is the Coney Island Cyclone)

I almost fell out of Riverview’s Silver Flash that didn’t have proper restraints for little kids. Mom caught me when I was nearly halfway off the ride. That did not squelch my enthusiasm for rollercoasters.

Riverview had a midway complete with games and barkers and kewpie dolls…and really weird stuff.  A human freak show—the four-legged girl, the armless wonder, the mule-faced woman. The one that freaked my young self out was a woman who had the bottom end of a baby coming from her stomach. I didn’t know about conjoined twins at that age. I doubt many people did.

 

What Riverview didn’t have was a live fortune teller, at least not when I was there. I had to satisfy myself with another colorfully dressed manikin in a glass box.

 

When Rebecca York and Ann Voss Peterson and I decided to write our Gypsy Magic serial novel set in the Louisiana bayou country, we wanted to start with a carnival gypsy. A real gypsy.

 

 

 

It was all over now. Her only son, her beloved son, was condemned to death. For a crime she knew he could not have committed.

She gathered her strength for what she must do. From the pocket of her long skirt the old Gypsy pulled the bandanna with the objects. The pen. The crumpled paper cup. The metal tack. None was of great value. But they held the power she needed. For each had belonged to one of the people she was going to curse tonight.

Her hand clenched the pen. “Justice is blind,” she whispered, then joined the curse with the name of Wyatt Boudreaux. “Love is death,” she intoned as she crumpled the paper cup in her hand and said the name of Garner Rousseau. Finally she picked up the tack and said, “The law is impotent,” linking those words with the name of Andrei Sobatka.

Pushing herself erect, she stood and shuffled to the edge of the bayou, smug in her satisfaction that she had evened the score.

We had a great time with the carnival background and three cursed heroes. Would they ever be able to end the curse and find happiness with the women they love?

Each of these compelling stories ends with an HEA for the hero and heroine.  But only the full set will finally get to the bottom of the murder mystery. Be sure to read them all!

Get links for major e-retailers through Pronoun.
https://books.pronoun.com/wyatt/
https://books.pronoun.com/garner/
https://books.pronoun.com/andrei/

Patricia Rosemoor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor has had 99 novels, 8 publishers and more than 7 million books in print. Patricia writes dangerous love, romantic suspense or paranormal romantic thrillers. Patricia has won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews, and in her other life, she taught Popular Fiction and Suspense-Thriller Writing at Columbia College Chicago.

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Patricia Rosemoor

About Patricia Rosemoor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor has had 99 novels, 8 publishers and more than 7 million books in print. Patricia writes dangerous love, romantic suspense or paranormal romantic thrillers. Patricia has won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews, and in her other life, she taught Popular Fiction and Suspense-Thriller Writing at Columbia College Chicago.

View website View website

4 thoughts on “A Gypsy’s Curse — @PRosemoor #mgtab

  1. I think all kids love amusement parks. I was lucky because my grandma lived down the block from Carlins Park in Baltimore. She knew the people over there, and when we’d walk over, she’d stop and talk to them. But I didn’t have to go over to the park to see the rides. I could sit on the toilet in granny’s bathroom, look out the window and view one of the attractions. It consisted of two long arms with cars on all four ends that would spin in a vertical circle as the arms looped over and over while the cars revolved at the ends of the arms. (Anybody know what that’s called?) Not my kind of ride! I hate roller coasters. I hate long stomach-dropping plunges. That first plunge down the water slope at Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean is about all I want of drops. On the other hand, I was willing to endure the erratic elevator at the Disney Tower of Terror so I could see the Rod Serling Twilight Zone intro. (Very cool.) My favorite kind of attraction relies on film and special effects–like that wonderful Disney Attraction, Honey I shrank the audience. I have seen that half a dozen times. Is it still there?
    Rebecca York

    • I know the ride you’re talking about but don’t know the name. And, sorry, I liked that one two. The ones that scared the stuffing out of me were the Parachute (obvious what it is) and the Rotor. I think that’s what it was called. It was round and everyone got their backs against the walls. It went around faster and faster and the floor went down so you were stuck to the wall. Only…I didn’t stick. Never wanted to go on that one again!

  2. Enjoyed your post very much. I love carnivals too. Even today when I drive past one, I’m hit with the impulse to stop. Funny thing about your gypsy story… I was born in Louisiana, lived there until I married, and spend a lot of time every year visiting family there. I’ve never seen a gypsy. *LOL* However, when I was a kid and lived in Opelousas, I did hear and smell a lot of voodoo “stuff” on Friday and Saturday nights. (I say smell because of their rituals where they burn things like chicken feathers, etc.) I’ll never forget this woman telling me (I was in my teens) she didn’t believe in voodoo because she buried salt in the 4 corners of her yard so voodoo couldn’t get to her.

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