A Witch Called Justice by Celia Roman

Author:Celia Roman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bone Diggers Press

When I pulled into Ebby’s driveway, she was outside digging in the beds surrounding her house. And why not? It was a beautiful day, perfect spring weather: a cloudless blue sky, just the right temperature, birds chirping as they flitted among the trees cushioning Ebby’s neighborhood from Atlanta’s major arteries.

As I slid out of the Accord, I shrugged off my jacket and held it in one hand. Nick shot me an unreadable look over the car’s roof. Second thoughts? I shook my head. Too late now.

Ebby stood and brushed dirt off her hands, then smiled and waved. “Hello again, Vanessa. And you must be Nicolaus.”

“Nick,” he corrected politely, and grinned. “Nicolaus makes me sound like a stuffy hobnob from the old country.”

She laughed, but I recognized the mask he wore. His public face. It wasn’t like Nick to hang back.

On the other hand, it was still a little early in the day for him.

“Come in,” Ebby said. “I made tea.”

We followed her inside and made polite small talk. Or, rather, Nick and Ebby made small talk. I held my tongue to give him the same chance with her that I’d gotten, a chance to talk with her mostly free from outside interference. Seth hadn’t so much as blinked an eye when I told him we were visiting our aunt. Maybe he thought Nick would reign me in or something. Chaperone me.

Yeah, sure.

Ebby led us into the same room where Seth and I had interviewed her that first time and sank into the same chair she’d used then. A tea set had been arranged on a silver tray atop the coffee table, the one with the little violets painted on the cups. She lifted a teapot and poured tea into three of the cups, handed two of the cups to us.

Ebby sipped from her cup, then set it aside. “Tell me about Kinley’s. How long have you been running it?”

Nick politely sketched out how he’d come to own a sports bar. She asked just the right questions when he paused, and I listened to her slowly draw him out, contributing only when one of them spoke directly to me.

Before I knew it, I’d drained my cup, leaving a thin residue of pale liquid and soggy tea leaves. Instinctively, I swirled the cup three times widdershins, then squinted at the way the leaves had settled against the fragile china, searching for a pattern.

“Allow me,” Ebby said as she stood. “My forte, after all.”

I smiled ruefully at her. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Never apologize for good instincts, darling. Now.” She sat down and peered at the cup’s interior, turning it gently this way and that before setting it decisively aside. “I could tell you what I saw.”

“But I already know what you’re going to say.”

Nick glanced between us, then at the inch of tea still in his cup. “What am I missing?”

“I’m a diviner, dearest,” Ebby said.

He still looked puzzle. “Nessie told me.”

I took pity on him. “The same icon has appeared over the past few months every time someone tells my fortune.

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