Chapter Twelve
Bree's tracker worked like a champ. The third key branch point in our cone of possibility had fallen our way. The next one was going to require some real finesse.
The fortune teller's new digs was a little shop in a brick strip mall off Cheshire Bridge Road that sold crystals and dreamcatchers and the like and smelled of patchouli. Apparently, she rented a back room from the shop's owner to carry on her psychic readings. It lacked the ostentatious flamboyance of her previous shop, but it was a good location. She was doing okay for herself.
Bree and I entered the shop about two hours after the fortune teller had shaken me downtown. I figured that was just enough time for her to start feeling secure again and let her guard down. We navigated our way between the display case
