Sleep Stalker (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 1) by Joy Elbel

These aren’t the bland tea bags ya find down at the Piggly Wiggly.  One sip and I promise that I will change your mind about tea forever.”
         “Okay,” I consented begrudgingly, “one sip.  But I have no idea what a Piggly Wiggly is and I probably don’t want to, either.”  I took a second to contemplate my choice before pointing to the pot with what looked like a turtle lying on its shell.  “That one.”
         “You ain’t never heard of the Piggly Wiggly?  It’s only the best grocery store in the whole wide world.  I keep forgettin’ that I’m livin’ above the Mason Dixon Line.”  She gathered up the other pots and tossed them back into her bag.  “The hipster at table four is gatherin’ to leave.  Buss his table while I brew us up your selection.”
         As I wiped down his table, my phone gave a buzz from my back pocket.  Normally, I wouldn’t have whipped my phone out at work but I figured that Addie wouldn’t mind.  It was a text from Zach.  Not so long ago, I was excited to read every word he sent to me.  But with his recent strange behavior, I opened the message with trepidation.
         “Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
         His words seemed harmless enough but I knew better than to take them at face value—or more precisely, him at face value.  Not after the last few days anyway.  The shopping trip he wanted to take me on fell by the wayside because of our hellacious argument.  I sent a one word reply.  “Okay.”  If dinner happened, it happened.  If it didn’t, oh well.  At least we would be avoiding the possibility of a public fight if we stayed home.  There was no way I was going to let us become one of those couples, the ones who freely ripped each others’ throats out in front of strangers.  No, I was going to keep our dysfunction hidden as much as possible.
         I finished cleaning the table at the same time Addie was finished making the tea.  I sat back down and she slid a steaming cup of blood red liquid my direction.  Yeah, I was seriously considering taking back my guarantee that I would at least take a taste of it.  Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I asked her exactly what was in my cup.
         “Moroccan Rooibos Red,” she announced as though she expected me to know exactly what that was.  “I’m a teomancer.  I can even tell things about someone based solely on which pot of tea they pick.  Your choice tells me that you’re unique yet strong in your own weird way.”
         Her description of me was pretty much dead on.  “What’s a teomancer?” I asked, now more intrigued than skeptical. 
         “It’s a word I made up,” she said matter-of-factly while blowing lightly on the surface of her drink to cool it off.
         Once again, I felt like I was at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.  At least this time I knew that Addie wasn’t a psycho like Jonas was.  She wasn’t going to drug me and try to make me her bride.  I don’t think.
         “Okay, so what does this made up word of yours mean?” 
         “Teomancy is the technical term for tea leaf readin’ which makes me a teomancer.  I’m gonna tell your fortune based on what I see inside your cup once the tea’s gone.  So drink up.”
         I blew on it until the steam subsided then took a mouthful.  Instantly, I regretted it.  It tasted like dirt.  Dirt with a hint of vanilla followed by the aftertaste of more dirt. 
         “Eww!  It’s gross!  Do I really have to drink it to get my leaves read?  Or can I just pour it down the drain now so we can get to the important stuff?”
         “If you want an accurate readin’, you’ll drink it.  If you want me to look in that cup and see the sink’s fortune, you’ll pour it out.  It’s up to you.  For real, though—the cup gathers your energy as ya drink it.  Your readin’ will be more potent if ya actually consume it.  And think about any