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“We need more people like you, Sunny,” Willow stated. “You have a gypsy soul.”
“You only say that because of my background.” She’d let slip that her mum’s line came from a nomadic North African tribe. Sunny didn’t often talk about her heritage, but with Celeste and Willow it felt natural.
“Describe your man to me,” Willow said, still lingering by the side of their table.
“Oh, he’s my man now, is he?” Sunny laughed. “Handsome, of course. He wore old fashioned clothing, longish dark hair.”
“Did he remind you of anyone?”
“No, that’s the weird thing. To be honest I haven’t been out with many white guys, so it was unexpected to dream about one so vividly.”
“But not unpleasant?” Willow qualified.
“Oh, no, not at all. He certainly seemed interested in me.” She flickered her eyebrows suggestively. “Then again, it was a dream, not a nightmare.”
?”Well, aside from the man himself, this definitely indicates you have a gift. What do you think, Willow?” Celeste asked over the rim of her teacup.
“I agree. You’ve certainly got the gift. Do you think you could bring her over to our ways?”
“I think we could.”
Sunny chuckled. “Stop teasing me. I’m already a local.”
“How do you know we hadn’t something else in mind?” Celeste’s eyes twinkled secretly. “Perhaps Cullen Thaine is the key for you. You solve his mystery and we can le
t you into our secret society.” Celeste winked.
Sunny was about to quiz them on this secret society, when Willow nudged Celeste on the shoulder.
Celeste picked up Sunny’s teacup and swilled the leaves left in the bottom of the cup. “The signs are good, sister.”
“You guys!” Sunny chomped on her scone happily.
Willow picked up the empty tea tray and was about to head off when a dark shadow fell across the table from beyond the window.
Willow gasped audibly.
Sunny looked out the window, but the shadow had moved on. She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it. It was too sudden, foreboding and dark to be a cloud. Besides, the sky had been clear all day. “What was that?”
“The shadow of the raven, perhaps,” Celeste answered. Her expression showed concern. She looked at Willow in query.
The atmosphere in the cafe had altered, the occupants falling quiet as they looked toward the window.
“The raven?”
“It’s called Raven’s Landing for a reason,” Celeste said in a hushed tone. “The raven’s shadow, when it falls, often signals trouble.”
More old wives’ tales, Sunny presumed. She glanced out the window, but saw no one who might have made the shadow. At the same time, the skin on the back of her neck prickled, as if her senses were on high alert. Was it because Willow and Celeste seemed concerned?
Just then Willow gasped audibly and moved back a pace. She nodded at the window again, her expression stricken. “Fox!”
“Surely not?” Celeste whispered. She and Willow exchanged meaningful glances. “It’s been a long while since he’s bothered us.”
Both Celeste and Sunny followed the line of her gaze.
On the opposite side of the narrow street stood a tall man. He had dark hair—noticeable for its widow’s peak—with distinguished white temples. He was a striking figure, and totally focused on the cafe and its inhabitants. Undisguised appraisal marked his expression.
The atmosphere grew intense, as if static clung in the air, and silence reigned. No traffic passed between them in the street and the clusters of passing tourists had thinned, leaving only this strange man, who was austere and yet good looking in a devilish way. He looked to be in his late forties, and wore a smart black suit and open necked white shirt. He stared at them openly, as if he wanted to be noticed.
