Page 10 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
So, she had her candle, as has already been mentioned, but Clara felt it was always best to start lists at the top. She also had matches and her favorite crystals—obsidian for protection (her mom and her aunt preferred tourmaline, but she liked how smooth obsidian was, and she especially liked her obsidian crystal because it was carved in the shape of a cat), pink quartz for love, and moonstone because another thing Clara very much loved was the moon.
“Aunt Flo!” Clara called as Angela came in behind her and carefully closed the door that Clara had thrown open.
Florence stepped out from one of the rows of shelves and in a singsong voice said, “Is that my favorite helper come to brighten up my bookshop on this gloomy day?”
“It is!” Clara cried, running straight for Florence and wrapping her arms around her. Clara came up to Angela’s hip, but her aunt was tall, tall, tall, and Clara only just reached her thighs. One day, though, she knew she’d be as tall as her aunt because she had her aunt’s hair and her aunt’s smile, and she might not have her aunt’s (or her mom’s) witch’s mark, but maybe she’d grow into that, too.
Florence bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead before her focus landed on the door. Clara turned around, following her gaze.
“Your mom’s not coming in today?” Florence asked.
“Nope,” Clara said. “She sent me with Angela after you sent over those tarot cards.”
Florence ruffled her hair and said, more to herself than to Clara, “Maybe she’s sitting with my warning.”
Clara answered her anyway. “She doesn’t think it’s a warning. She thinks it’s a sign, like you do, but a sign you need to come home and stop hiding in the shop and being so lonely.”
With a surprised laugh, Florence arched an eyebrow, her attention now on Angela. “You told her about Owen.”
Angela pressed her lips together and gave a little shrug. “I might have mentioned him.”
“She’s never going to let this go,” Florence said.
“Well, she is actively avoiding you,” Angela replied.
“If I still worked the flame, I’d light my own candle to get her to come to her senses.”
“What color would you use?” Clara asked. “I could light one for you.”
Florence dropped down in front of Clara and gave her another kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, but that would only further prove your mother’s point.”
“That you don’t like magic,” Clara said.
Florence opened her mouth, then closed it. Clara knew her aunt didn’t think she or her mother should be dipping candles, much less lighting them, but she never said it to Clara directly. Well, she had. Once. And the way her mom got after? Clara had never seen her so mad and never wanted to see it again, and that was apparently enough for her aunt not to bring it up anymore, at least not when Clara was around.
“It’s okay,” Clara said. “You don’t have to say it.” She walked back to the front door where the tourmaline still sat broken. She planted her hands on her hips and leaned toward it. “At least you know it’s doing its job.”
Her aunt’s smile slipped as she looked at the cracked stones.
“And maybe you’ll have even more protection now,” Clara said. “More pieces means more crystals to keep you safe!”
Florence laughed. “That’s certainly one way to look at it. Why don’t we find you a book to read? Or do you want to help me stock some of the shelves?”
Clara didn’t want to do either. She wanted the shop to open the path to her special little corner, then close it off from her aunt so she could light her candle without anyone knowing. But Clara also didn’t like lying, so she decided she could read a page or two before she got started on her spell.
“Let’s find a book.” As the words left Clara’s mouth, there was a shuffling of pages from the children’s section and the familiar sound of a book hitting the floor.
Her aunt’s lips quirked. “It seems the shop has something in mind.”
Clara gripped her backpack tight as she ran down the space between the shelves until she reached the children’s books. Here, every bit of exposed wall had been painted with characters from all of Clara’s favorite stories (which were, coincidentally, her aunt and Angela’s favorites, too). A very hungry caterpillar stood poised to devour an entire shelf. Winnie the Pooh and Paddington sat down to tea with Alice, while unicorns and penguins and a mouse eating a cookie ran along the wall. Right in the middle lay a book, face up. The cover showed a little bee perched atop a coneflower.
Her aunt came up beside her and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Yes, shop,” Clara said, much more loudly. “Thank you! This is exactly what I need to impress Owen with my knowledge of the bees!” She scooped up the book, turned back to her aunt, and said, “I’ll go find somewhere to read, then.”
Florence tilted her head to the side and said, “Sounds like a plan. Let me know if you need any help.”
Clara flipped open the first page of the book and looked over the words. “I think I can handle this one all on my own.”
