I might be a fraud, but I'm no killer.

When I was a powerless kid, I called the cops and begged to be taken away from my terrifying mother, a dark witch who raised the dead in our basement.

Now that she's dead, I pretend to be psychic in the house that used to terrify me. Turning it into a haven instead of a horror, lets me use my "powers" to help others with their haunted pasts.

But then a hot AF detective with a suspicious paranormal past of his own barges into my shop to interrogate me about the ritualistic deaths of three real clairvoyants in the psychic quarter where I ply my trade.

Even a fraud like me can see there's dark magic in the murders. The trouble is: if I confess to being a fake, I'll lose my livelihood. If I keep up the pretense, I could be the killer's next target.

But when my mother's amulet is found at another horrible murder scene, the sexy detective turns his wolfish eye on me. Then I start seeing visions-real visions of a dark coven doing unmentionable things. I begin sleepwalking to abandoned buildings with symbols drawn in blood on the walls.

That's so not good. Because it means I might not be such a fake after all. And the forbidden magic that scared me as a child is rising within me.

And that dark coven I saw? They just put a target on my back.