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Some people have the cockeyed idea running a tearoom is an elegant and genteel profession. I’d thought it would be elegant and genteel. Some people haven’t met my business partner, Hyperion Night. In fairness, I can’t entirely blame Hyperion for embroiling Abigail’s Tea and Tarot in a murder. After all, he was chained to the San Borromeo pier when California’s most famous psychic, Trevor Amalfi, was killed. And yet, here I am. And here we are. Embroiled. Fortune Favors the Grave is an exclusive Tea and Tarot novella for Raven(ous) Society members!
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“For Pete’s sake, get down.” I glared at Hyperion, perched like a Victorian acrobat on a piling at the end of the pier. If I could peer into the future, I might have known what my afternoon had in store. I might also have known why he was dressed like Oscar Wilde in a cravat and tailcoat. On the other hand, ignorance was usually bliss. A seagull soared low above his head. Hyperion ducked, and I sucked in my breath. He wobbled and tightened his stranglehold on one of the taller pilings. To hide my moment of panic, I checked the clock on my phone. The work day was mostly done, and my staff could deal with any lingering customers in our Tea and Tarot room. I didn’t like leaving my staff in the lurch for Hyperion-hijinks. But once my grandfather and his best friend, Tomas, had dropped by to tell me what my business partner was up to, I had to see for myself.

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