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We found something similar. About this product. Stock photo. Brand new: lowest price The lowest-priced brand-new, unused, unopened, undamaged item in its original packaging where packaging is applicable. Author Milton Green. Format Paperback. ISBN Publisher Authorhouse. See details. In class, Teddy befriends Lucas, a rebel without a cause who can start and manipulate fire; Jillian, a hipster who can mediate communication between animals and humans; and Molly, a hacker who can apprehend the emotional state of another individual.

It leads Teddy to accept a dangerous mission that will ultimately cause her to question everything—her teachers, her friends, her family, and even herself. Set in a world very much like our own, School for Psychics is the first book in a stay-up-all night series. Get a FREE e-book by joining our mailing list today!

School for Psychics

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Must redeem within 90 days. See full terms and conditions and this month's choices. Tell us what you like, so we can send you books you'll love. Sign up and get a free eBook! Book 1 of School for Psychics. Trade Paperback. Price may vary by retailer.

Add to Cart Add to Cart. About The Book. The Las Vegas Strip had been created for the sole purpose of stripping money from tourists, stripping clothing from women, stripping dignity from drunks, and stripping romance from weddings. And Teddy loved everything about it. He idled behind a stretch limo painted candy-apple red. It was slick and shiny and shockingly tasteless, even by Vegas standards. Tonight she would drink too many cosmos and do something she would come to regret in the morning. There was only one place Teddy wanted to hang out with girls like that—at a poker table.

They were easier to read than a copy of Us Weekly. The driver tapped the meter. Instead she returned her attention to the entrance to the hotel, trying to get a read on the crowd. Damn, it was itchy. Let me tell you something. The rest of the sentence echoed in her mind: You sexist jerk. Because it was fake. One hundred percent cotton, with zero percent jiggle factor. Wrong, in any case.

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Teddy Cannon was the epitome of Vegas. And like the town itself, she was entirely self-invented. Gilbert, who was eight months pregnant at the time and supported by ankles that had swollen to the size of footballs, was crankier than usual. Just make something up. Not the cherub-faced, flame-haired, grinning-men-in-green-suits Irish. No, she was Black Irish.

A perpetual outsider. A member of a cunning, brawling, down-on-their-luck people. Years later, she certainly looked the part. Medium height and slight of build, sharp angles rather than soft curves. Raven-haired and eyes so pale they appeared almost silver. Not that anyone would recognize her now. She wore a long ash-blond wig that hid her pixie-ish hair, and contact lenses that turned her silver eyes brown. Weighted undergarments packed thirty pounds and several years onto her slender twenty-four-year-old frame. Lots of cheap jewelry.

Her disguise ensured that no one would give her a second look. The cabdriver had been her first test. Her panty hose rubbed between her padded thighs, emitting a distinct cricketlike chirp as she walked.

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Odds-on favorite for the most obnoxious noise in the universe. She stepped inside the Bellagio and moved through the lobby. God, the money, the greed. Bet more, win more!

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Shrill bells. Flashing lights. She tried to avoid flashing lights on principle, as they could trigger a seizure. They dulled her senses. She looked at the ATMs to her right—available to those who had anything left to withdraw from their bank accounts. Some of that cash would end up in her pocket, if she made it past the overhead cameras.

Getting past the facial recognition software would be tricky. She tucked in her chin and kept her gaze low. The curse—delivered all those months ago, along with a restraining order—squeezed the air from her lungs. She slipped her hand into her purse, feeling for the prescription bottle just in case her body got the better of her, and walked on. She just wanted to play a couple hands of poker.

She had to play. She had to win. And she definitely, absolutely could not get caught. Except that was all she could think about. A bookie with the crooked grin of an underfed coyote. Who had pet names for each of his guns. Sure, Sergei had been great fun when she was winning. A laugh a minute. Show him she was good for it.

Sergei had given her until the end of the week to pay him back in full. If she failed. If he decided to go after her parents for the rest of the cash. Teddy straightened her shoulders, refusing to let panic dig its ugly claws into her. A casino security guard strolled right past her, not even sparing her a glance.

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Her plan was working. She could still fix everything. Take care of Sergei. Keep her parents safe. The poker room was crowded, noisy. An attendant directed her toward an open table. Teddy took a seat. She could play anything, but this was her favorite game. She cleared her throat and put on a syrupy Southern accent. That was her play: make everyone think she was dumb and drunk. Teddy extracted the crisp hundred-dollar bills and stuffed the rest of the debris back in her purse.

The dealer, a reasonable-looking guy in his forties, rolled his eyes and exchanged her cash for chips. A cocktail waitress magically appeared at her side and asked what she wanted to drink. It was a nice touch, if she did say so herself, and Teddy hoped the other players at the table had caught it. Devil in the details and all that. The nerves that had seized her just minutes earlier vanished, as they always did when she prepared to play. Teddy cracked her knuckles. This was it. Her last shot.

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The dealer sent her a nod. It had been months since she was in a casino. Five months, three days, and two hours, to be precise. She positively ached to play. Fifty and one hundred, respectively. Teddy shifted forward as the hole cards were dealt. She picked up total trash: eight-three off-suit. There were eight other players, plus the dealer.

A few men in expensive suits, out-of-towners on business, she guessed. Sure, they wanted the bragging rights of a big win, but Teddy doubted they would risk the wrath of their wives at home to get it. Next: an attractive Chinese woman in her forties wearing a chunky diamond ring. She looked slightly bored. Maybe killing time while waiting for a show to start. Solid players who knew the dealer by name. The last player slipped in just after Teddy did and took the chair to her left. Like her, he rested his forearms on the leather bumper while he played. She keyed in on his hands.

Hands that looked strong and capable. She watched as he toyed with his chips. She felt her body flush.

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Teddy allowed her gaze to drift upward. Wide chest, broad shoulders. No tie, shirt unbuttoned enough to catch a glimpse of more skin. Then her gaze reached his profile, and she sucked in a breath. He was flat-out gorgeous. The kind of guy who, under normal circumstances, would instantly make her to-do list. As though aware of her silent assessment, he turned slightly and acknowledged her with a tilt of his chin. He was even better-looking dead-on.