In spite of it being a gorgeous, sunny couple of weeks in Chicago, I remain unnaturally pasty.

No, that’s not normal for me, but thanks for asking.

Even I occasionally venture out of the subterranean offices of the Black Gate headquarters for a little fresh air, some more salt for the margaritas, or to affix sticky notes with snarky comments on the paint-ball equipment posters of the boys in the upstairs staff room.

But for the last few days I have remained glued to my comfy chair and Robert Browne is to blame.

One of the joys of this job is the occasional pre-publication copy of a soon-to-be-released book. Even more joyful are those that turn out to be a decent read. But the pinnacle and rarest of joys is the book that is one-of-a-kind special.

The Paradise Prophecy is one of those.

Not that I wasn’t prepared to be skeptical (because frankly when am I not?). But almost literally from the first page I was hooked. And so there I sat in my comfy chair; bereft of vitamin D and not even bothering to reach over to press “crush” on the blender controls, totally enslaved by one of the most uniquely told tales I’ve come across in a very long time.

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I’ve been sitting here all day trying to figure out what a goth chick’s equivalent of “wishing on a star” is. Somehow “wishing on my voodoo doll” doesn’t sound right, “wishing on my crystal skull” makes me sound like some sort of twisted, California bunny-hugger, and wishing on my ankh makes me seem like a hopeless Hot Topics poser.

In any case, trust me when I say that wishes come true, whatever media you do it on.

A couple of weeks back I told you that my favorite New Orleans ghost story had finally been made the subject of a book, which I’d been wishing for so hard that during one Rum-drink soaked evening on Bourbon Street, I (think) I vowed to do it myself.

But earlier this year, along come authors and life-long partners-in-crime Victoria Cosner Love and Lorelei Shannon to finally give Madame Delphine LaLaurie and her sadistic house of horror the real literary treatment. I was already excited to finally get to the bottom of this oft-told-but-rarely-documented tale, but making the acquaintance of these two ladies was simply icing on the Death by Chocolate cake.

It is therefore my sincere pleasure to introduce you to two fellow Goth Chicks and the entirely entertaining historians behind the book Mad Madame LaLaurie…

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