Excerpt from The Black Bird Oracle by Deborah Harkness

I drove into the center of Ipswich along Market Street, one of the town?s main thoroughfares, and pulled the Range Rover into a parking spot outside a thriving caf? called The Thirsty Goat.

Outside, under a swinging sign with an image of a goat in seventeenth-century clothing tipping his head back to drain a goblet, the tables were filled with a wide range of locals: young mothers sipping lattes, their children parked next to them in strollers; old salts in overalls and worn base-ball caps clutching paper cups full of steaming brew; and people with laptops clicking away at their email while downing mochas. The Thirsty Goat was clearly the hub of the local community.