Tayden is a good girl with bad luck. She’s all set to hit New Orleans during Mardi Gras when her editor sends another writer in Tayden’s place.
No “intriguing” story. No plastic beads. No sticky King cake.
Now, miles away from the mysteries of the Big Easy, Tayden’s stuck in the beautiful (but boring) French countryside with a dead car battery, a dead cell phone, and no charger for either one. Can the oddballs in the little village help a good girl out? Or will Tayden discover she’s been a sinner all along?
Warning: 18+ only. This title contains graphic sex and language. And it’s one helluva mind trip.
Note: Previously published in the free anthology, NAUGHTY GRAS: TALES OF FAT TUESDAY
Excerpt:
“Sorry for crashing the party,” Tayden said, backing away. “I’ll…uh…just see myself out.”
“Beggar!” the man boomed. He extended his hand toward the available seat. Tayden hesitated. Then her legs reacted with a mind of their own, bringing her to the table where she sank into the roughly hewn wooden chair.
The final portion of cake had yet to be claimed, and she studied the colors frosting the confection: purple, gold, and green.
A King cake. Per tradition, the host cut the dessert into as many guests at the party plus one. The extra was “the share of the poor,” given to the first beggar to grace the owner’s doorstep.
Tayden smiled. Looked like she’d get her slice after all.
Without asking, she dragged the plate closer and dove in. Moist and sweet, and sure it’d go straight to her hips but right now she was happy to be eating. What exactly had she come to the manor for? Another bite and Tayden crunched down on something hard.
Three heads swiveled toward her.
“La fève,” the woman in blue whispered.
Bean?
Tayden spit the broad nugget into her hand and raised her arms. “I won! I won! I’m queen for the day!” Giggling, she clapped her hands together. Finally, her luck was changing! Then three heads shook and her celebration came to a swift end. “But that’s the rule. Whoever gets the bean is king or queen for the day.”
“The one who gets the bean,” the man said, rising with the others, “is the sinner.”
Sinner? Tayden stood so fast she toppled the chair; stumbled over the leg as she backed away from the approaching group. “I… I-I don’t understand.”
Her gaze went back to the guillotine, an ominous presence in the corner. She brought a hand to her neck and massaged it. Was that the punishment for sinning? What had she even done?
“Would you like a pillow for your head?” the winged woman asked.
Had everyone in the world gone mad?
“Look, I just needed–”
“A phone,” the man said.
“Yes!” Thank god he understood. “To call for help with–”
“They can’t help you. Sinners must help themselves. ‘Tis the day of the shrive,” he said calmly. “Do you know what a sinner must do?”
“Confess,” the woman in blue whispered, “and be set free…”
