The Crone’s Nest
Weird, Deirdre decided, as she looked around. That was the only word she could use to describe the little teashop where she was having breakfast. In fact, it was the weirdest damned tea shop she’d ever been in, and she’d been in a few.
At least…well, she guessed that’s what The Crone’s Nest was supposed to be. The space contained a scattering of small tables, anyway. Most of them occupied by a surprising number of people, drinking tea and coffee and nibbling on pastries and sandwiches. But then, there were also the tall, dark, library shelves which lined two walls and rose to the ceiling and were loaded down with books, and crystals, and candles, and statues. And all those glass fronted cabinets displaying jewel encrusted knives and silver chalices and rings and pendants and other ornaments.
And then more shelves, with row upon row of big glass jars, glinting green in the light that filtered in through the windows. Jars filled with herbs and teas and who-knew-what else. All of it weird and freaky and odd--just like everything else in this strange little town.
©PG Forte 2005
A Taste of Honey
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