Demon Street Blues Read Online Free PDF Page A

trying.” 
    “I know, Sis. You are. You’re doing really great. I mean, you only pointed out one guy that was talking about you behind your back today,” he jested, nudging her arm.
    She rolled her eyes as they turned the corner entering another street. It was lined with boutique stores, gift shops, pubs, grills, bars, café’s and even a company that organized tours of the Isle – anything from trips to the beaches, the National Park or even haunted tours through graveyards, lighthouses and old homes or buildings that were believed to be frequented by ghosts.
    The end of this street curved, landing them in a section of the town nicknamed Fortune Alley. It drew many tourists, eager to seek details about their future, or learn more about the Isle’s mystical background, or people that just desired to wrap themselves in fantasy for a day.
    Magic shops plotted this section of town, along with comic book stores, book and movie sellers specializing in sci-fi, fantasy and the paranormal; fortunetellers, and herb shops, which sold touristy things like love potions. A regular geekdom fit for any fan of the supernatural, or in the case of the Howard Witches, a place to buy the necessary ingredients for potions they used in real life. It also happened to be the fastest way to get to the morgue.
    As they walked through Fortune Alley, Melinda saw three psychics set up at the edge of the street, offering free, five-minute readings to passersby. It was a promotion store owners did often, in hopes of attracting longer, purchased readings, or to drag customers into their shops.
    Melinda wondered if they had any true foresight. She also wondered how many of them were aware of the true supernatural side of the Isle, as typically, only locals that had lived on the Isle for many years knew the truth that magic did exist here; a truth they preferred to keep to themselves. Nevertheless, they did allow rumors to spread, stories to leak, and even the occasional photo to surface (but only if blurry enough not to prove anything real).
    The only fortuneteller Melinda recognized was a woman known as Mystic Mona. She sat draped in long flowing scarves, mysteriously moving her tattooed hands over a fogged up crystal ball. She had told the Howard’s a long time ago that she was a complete fake, but for some reason she was also the most visited reader on the Isle. She winked at the duo as they passed by her.
    Near the end of the street, a light salty mist spread across Melinda’s skin. They were very close to the harbor. So close, she could hear the sloshing of the waves crashing up against the dock and the boats. “I do love this air,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling the damp saltiness layer across her face. She sucked it in, and upon opening her eyes, noted, “The view isn’t too shabby either.”
    Michael took a glance and looked at her as if to say No way in hell! 
    “What? He’s cute.” Actually, way more than cute. Yummy to be more exact, but she’d never say that to her brother.
    “You’re afraid to leave the house, and yet the first guy you pick out of the crowd is the one on the motorcycle.”
    “Well it’s not like I’m running over there and just hopping on. Geesh! I just thought he was cute. And look, he wears a helmet. Safe driver,” she argued.
    Michael continued toward the morgue, dismissing her argument.
    Melinda watched the dark haired young man get onto his motorcycle. He slid over the seat with ease, straddling the metal machine and pumping the clutch hard. It roared to life. With each pulse of the clutch and vroom of the gas, a zing of excitement shot up Melinda’s spine. She pictured herself as the bike, thinking she’d let the guy pump her to life any day.
    Michael shook his head, letting out an annoyed groan. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need to know how his sister felt right now.
    Melinda swallowed hard, clearing her throat. “Sorry.” She wasn’t sure who was mortified more, herself