“Here, Grandma, let me get you a stool.” Talia hurried to bring one from the other side of the island and helped her settle down into it. “Do you want a fresh cup of coffee?”
“No, dear, I’m fine.” One by one, her grandmother picked up each sweet potato. Her fingers were stiff with arthritis, the knuckles swollen. Talia wondered if she could get her plain gold wedding band off even if she wanted to. She turned each potato in her hands, murmuring as she did so. Talia knew she was doing math to calculate the number of servings, but it gave the impression of a sorcerer muttering an incantation.
I think my grandma might be a witch, she texted Rachael, and was surprised when her phone rang a moment later. “Hey, Rach.”
It only took that single word for Talia to know something was off. “What’s wrong?”
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