Cursed by My Best Friend

From the back cover

Savannah stood at my desk, her smile unsettlingly bright, holding a tiny antique bottle.

"For you, Chloe," she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "a special family recipe for good fortune."

But a chill ran down my spine the moment I saw it.

The bottle. The smell. The lie. It all came flooding back with agonizing clarity.

I remembered the grotesque rash, worse than any psoriasis, erupting across my skin.

It was red, raw, and it smelled like rotting meat, coarse black hair sprouting from inflamed patches.

Doctors were confused, their creams useless.

My own reflection became a monster.

Ethan, my boyfriend and boss, looked at me with disgust before abandoning me for good.

I was fired from the job I loved, my career turning to ash.

I died alone in my apartment, ostracized and broken, the foul reek of my own decaying flesh my final breath.

Then I remembered the truth I learned after death: It wasn't a disease.

It was a vicious Hoodoo curse, a 'crossing' fed by that very essential oil.

A "gift" from my best friend, Savannah.

She wanted my job, my beauty, my entire life.

And she took it all.

But now, I was back.

My skin was clear, my body whole.

I had a second chance.

And this time, she wouldn't win.