In A CURSE ON THE WIND, a would-be actress, a good-looking gravedigger, and a cemetery haunted by an invisible power collide with the unintended consequences of a curse. This YA historical fantasy features 17-year-old Gethsemane, who gives in during a weak moment and casts a dramatic curse against someone who wronged her. In 1909 Ohio, buzzing with modern machines and inventions, she never expects it to work. When the spirit of the Wind delivers her curse and expects her to marry it in return, she has to somehow escape its unwanted attention or give up the chance to ever be loved. Only by facing her own shadow and trusting an unlikely ally can she outsmart the Wind to find true love instead. "Overall, this is an atmospheric, richly developed, and ultimately romantic read that's full of surprises. No character is who they seem to be at first, and Geth's coming-of-age arc offers a story of feminist empowerment and rebellion against familial and societal expectations.... A quietly thoughtful and romantic bildungsroman." — Kirkus Reviews This book draws on the history and features of Springfield, Ohio, where I lived for a spell as part of a real-life love story. A visit to a museum ignited my curiosity about a burglar-proof casket that was patented in the city during its heyday. This gruesome invention and the wind through town's winter sycamores combined with other aspects of city history, including early photoplay (movie) production and notable stops on the Underground Railroad, to inspire Gethsemane's romantic adventure. I've taken liberties with neighborhoods for convenience, making Amity more compact than Springfield during 1909 and swapping out its water tower with another in Ohio at the time. But I want to credit the town as my source because it and the Ferncliff Cemetery upon which Fernlawn is patterned hold a special place in my heart. Some trick of the wind brought the fire's roar to her ears, a deep whoom she'd not heard before. She could only hope the smoke rose from smoldering bricks and not flames raging hopelessly out of control. The column of dark clouds towered above her. Her breath caught—there it was. Her hunch had been right. The billows of smoke took a shape, a long forehead, hollowed eyes over high, angled cheekbones. The features shifted and blurred but never vanished for long. A strong nose peaked, subsided, and grew sharper again. A black jaw cracked open to reveal glimpses of fire—a grin from a demon in Hell. No. Geth spun to leap the stairs two at a time. Smoke didn't form faces. Not real ones, at least. None with voices that called her by name. No monster leered at her back as she ran. The fire started by accident. Nothing more. Nothing caused by a ritual under a tree. Still...if her performance could wield such power? Her gestures and voice, her emotions laid bare, with a roar from the world in response—the idea fluttered in her, exhilarating.