Kissed by Ice(58)

I blinked in surprise. It was Eddie's friend from the ship. "Emory Chastain?"

"Indeed." She smiled widely, showing off perfect white teeth. Her parents must have spent a fortune at the orthodontist.

She was round and soft in all the right places, the kind of figure that would have looked at home in a painting by Rubens. Her strawberry blonde hair had been twisted up into a sloppy bun. Tendrils fell around her face, teasing her cheeks. It was all very Bohemian. Her eyes were bright turquoise blue. I'd never seen eyes that color in real life. Surely they must be contacts.

"Come on in." She turned and padded down the hall, her voluminous purple skirt swirling in her wake.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. It stuck slightly, so I had to give it a good shove which rattled the windows. I winced. I so did not need to be busting up this woman's place. I needed her help.

I hurried after her as she led me past several open doors and into the kitchen. It looked like something straight out of the 1970s, complete with an avocado green refrigerator and mustard yellow wallpaper. The linoleum was old and scuffed and matched the fridge. The electric stove was missing a burner. The place needed a serious makeover.

"Kabita told me you need some scrying done. Tea?" She snagged a cobalt blue kettle off the stove and carried it to the sink.

I blinked at the subject change. "Sure. And yes, I do."

"Excellent. Have a seat." She waved in the general direction of the table with the kettle before turning to fill it.

I took a seat as she put the kettle on to boil. The chairs were straight out of the '70s with black metal legs and vinyl-covered seats in avocado green. At least they matched the appliances. Emory scrounged in the cupboards, coming up with a couple of mismatched mugs and a banged up blue and white tea tin.

"Paris tea," she said, waggling the tin at me. "Have you had it? It's delicious."

"Um, no. Not that I recall. I mostly drink coffee."

"Oh, you'll love this. It's my favorite," she assured me. She popped the lid of the tea tin and sniffed, drawing in a deep breath. A look of bliss crossed her face that was just this side of orgasmic. Girl really loved her tea.

She tossed a teabag into each cup. They were funny looking teabags. Pyramid-shaped and made out of some gauzy material instead of the cheap squares of paper most teabags were made from. She dumped in raw sugar from a bowl on the counter, then joined me at the table to wait for the kettle.

"So," she said, folding her hands on the tabletop, "who are we scrying for?"

I took a deep breath, wondering how much Kabita had told her. "Alister Jones."

Her eyes widened slightly, and a small smile curved her glossy pink lips. I wondered vaguely if it would be rude to ask her what kind of lipstick she used so I could get some. "Really?" she said. "How very interesting."





Chapter Twenty-two



A sharp whistling interrupted whatever Emory was going to say next.

"What do you mean, 'interesting?'" I asked as she got up to rescue the tea kettle.

"Don't you find it odd that Kabita, who is one of the strongest Witches I know, won't scry for her own father?" she asked, slopping boiling water into the waiting mugs.

"She said it was because it was too close. I mean, he was too close."

"Yes." She stared at the ceiling making a humming sound. "Yes, very interesting, don't you think?"

I didn't, but I didn't want to say so. If I'd been Kabita, I doubt I would have been able to remain calm enough to scry for Alister, either. Still, I didn't know enough about these things to offer a valid opinion. I figured I should let the Witches sort their own shit out. I just needed answers.

"I'll be right back." Emory disappeared out the kitchen door and down the hall. She reemerged a couple minutes later and laid an iPad flat on the table.

Before I could ask what it was for, she'd drifted over to the counter to remove the teabags from the mugs. "Cream?" she asked a little vaguely. She wasn't looking straight at me, but sort of off into the distance. "Please."

She splashed cream into the mugs and gave both teas a good stir before carrying them back to the table. "Here," she said, handing me a white mug with the words "Obstinate Headstrong Girl" in swirly pink letters. Clearly a Jane Austen fan.

I took a sip of the steaming tea and almost cooed in delight. The rich, aromatic tea held a hint of sweet vanilla. Coupled with cream and sugar, it was almost better than coffee. I mentally chastised myself for such a lack of loyalty to my favorite brew.

"Wow."

"I knew you'd love it." Emory beamed. "Now, let's see what we can do, shall we?"