Page 16 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“That is exactly the sort of worrying it is,” Florence said.
“The guest laughed it off,” Evie said. “No one was hurt.”
“They could’ve been. And what about what happened here?” Florence threw out her hand toward the cracked tourmaline.
“Not every bit of bad energy has to be the result of a curse,” Evie said.
“It’s too much of a coincidence not to be.”
“Thendosomething about it,” Evie said. “The tarot told you to come home.”
Florence shook her head. “I’m not going to the house unless you agree to shut down the bed and breakfast until this is all over.”
“October is our busiest month of the year,” Evie said. “People have already booked their rooms.”
Florence shrugged. “Those are my terms.”
Evie sighed and said, “Come on, Clara.” She took the last green taper from her basket and held it out toward Florence. “I dipped one for you.”
But Florence shook her head. “No candles.”
Evie set it on the countertop by the register anyway, then she took Clara’s hand and headed for the door.
“Bye, Aunt Flo!” Clara called.
Florence blew her a kiss.
“We’re good people,” Evie said before she reached for the door handle. “We don’t deserve to be cursed.”
“It doesn’t matter what we deserve.”
As the words left her mouth, she felt a twisting sensation at the center of her chest. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she found Evie stabilizing herself against the door frame.
Before either of them could speak, a siren’s wail filled the air, and a firetruck flew past the shop. Evie’s phone started to ring. The color drained from her face as she brought it to her ear.
“Is everyone all right?” She nodded, quickly. “I’m on my way right now.”
But when she hung up, she didn’t move.
Her eyes met Florence’s, round and dark and frightened. She held her hand over her chest and said, “The house is on fire.”
Chapter Seven
Evie, Now
Evie had been so desperate to be right about how to break the curse that she never let herself stop to think what it might mean if she were wrong, if the people she loved were in danger. Any one of them could be next, and for the first time in almost thirteen years, fear wrapped its hands around her and refused to let go. If the house could catch fire, anything was possible.
She looked up at Florence—her older sister, her protector for most of her life—and tried, and failed, to will the desperation from her eyes and voice.
“Are you coming?” Evie asked.
Florence looked away. “Evie, I can’t.”
The words cut deep. Evie knew her sister wouldn’t go near the house, but this was different. The house was hurt, and Evie was hurting, and this is what big sisters were supposed to do. She wanted to say, “You can’t ignore this.” She wanted to say, “I need you.” She wanted to say, “Please.”
Instead, she took Clara’s hand in her own, threw her hair over her shoulder, and said, “If that’s the way it has to be.” Then she dropped her phone into her bag and pushed the door open once more.
“Evie, wait!” Angela said, as she came out from around the counter and followed Evie onto the sidewalk.
