Harkness' heroine, Diana Bishop, comes up against a less-than-friendly coven of witches in this excerpt.
Deborah Harknessis back to cast a spell over your summer.
But is Diana truly ready to embrace her magic and identity as a witch?
Deborah Harkness; “The Black Bird Oracle”.Austin Sandhaus Photography
“You’ll have to wait and see,” teases Harkness.
“The real question should be, Is Matthew ready?”
The bigger the plot hole grew, the more I wanted to fill it!
My working title for the book wasMeet the Proctors."
“The books have always been about the complicated relationship between past and present,” she continues.
Whats the old saying of George Santayana?
‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.'"
The Thirsty Goat was clearly the hub of the local community.
It was also the perfect place to ask for directions to Ravenswood.
I turned off the ignition and grabbed my tote bag from the passenger seat.
My senses on high alert, I entered the cafe.
It was a cheerful space with a lofty beamed ceiling.
The cozy atmosphere turned chilly as I felt the strong probe of a witchs gaze.
Behind the cafes counter stood two witches.
One had wild black hair piled into a topknot and a nose ring.
The other witch had a colder, more forbidding air.
Her apron was embroidered with the nameMeg,and the Queen of Pentacles was displayed across the bib.
Meg wore a pin that read COVEN MEMBERSHIP COMMITTEE.
Not even the most obtuse human could overlook that these were witches.
As if to prove it, I spied one of the industrial Italian coffee machines that Matthew adored.
Though not a cauldron, it was black and set in a prominent place.
Occasionally, it discharged a puff of steam.
A sign taped to it read NO CAPPUCCINOS UNDER THE BALSAMIC MOON DUE TO POWER SURGES.
TAKE YOUR COMPLAINTS THE TOPSFIELD COVEN.
Can we help you?
Anns tone was brisk, her power carefully banked and managed.
A hot tea with milk, no sugar.
Our specialty tea is Witches Brew.
Its not on the menu, but its a town favorite.
Megs lips rose in a sardonic smile, the force of her stare intensifying.
No eye of newt?
I asked sweetly, fishing for the wallet inside my Bodleian tote bag.
Only in sorbet, came Anns quick reply.
English Breakfast would be fine, I said, refusing to take the bait.
Meg demanded, her eyes narrow with suspicion.Everything all right, Meg?
The witch studied us from behind round, rose-colored glasses.
Just an unexpected visitor, Ann said, placing a slight emphasis on the last word.
What she meant waswitch.Did Ipswichs coven require magical passports for creatures like me?
Its under control, Goody Wu.
Meg bristled at the unwanted interference.
It reached me in curious wisps that tickled my ears and slid up my nostrils.
How many witches were in this town?
Id been here less than ten minutes, and Id already met three.
A tall, slender willow of a witch breezed through the door, adding another creature to my tally.
An enameled pin proclaimed her to be MISTRESS OF COVEN CEREMONIES.
Welcome home, coz!
I looked around to see whom the witch was greeting.
After an uncomfortable pause, I realized she was referring to me.
The witch flung her arms around me, knocking her own hat off in her enthusiasm.
She whispered into my ear, Im Julie Eastey.
Just play along and Ill get you out of here.
