Ava asked Celeste to sit quietly with her eyes closed. To her relief, the other witch didn’t argue, but obediently shut her eyes and sat in the prim little white-washed chair, hands folded in her lap, mouth shut, as if she didn’t quite trust herself not to talk if she didn’t keep her lips firmly pressed together.
It was times like this that Ava was really glad her particular talent didn’t require her to reach out and physically touch the subjects of her mind-reading forays. She had a feeling that making physical contact with Celeste would have felt beyond awkward.
As it was, she still had to get past a few things she would rather not have seen to access the hidden memories of Nicholas Toulouse’s grimoires. Ava knew nothing of the dark warlock except what other people had said about him,
