Page 5 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Owen reached across the space between them until his face was close enough to hers to feel intimate, to feel a swirling right in the middle of her chest, but far enough that he was still somehow respecting her personal space. She dared a glance at his eyes, and when hers met his, he grinned, at once soft and roguish, and it was a good thing Florence had sworn off love or she’d probably have kissed him right then and there. She tugged at the leather cord around her neck, pulling a small piece of tourmaline from under her sweater. She clutched the crystal tightly in her hand.
Owen fanned the cards out in front of her, and her chest went cold.
She hadn’t seen those dark green card backs since the day she’d given up her magic. They shouldn’t have been there. Before she could say as much, Owen flipped one of the cards toward her. Four candles were painted in each corner, and in the center sat Honeysuckle House.
Florence stared at the card, her heart racing. Beside her, Angela gasped.
“The four of wands,” Owen said.
A peel of thunder echoed around them, loud enough to shake the front window. Florence made a sound in the back of her throat. Maybe if she asked him to turn the card back over, she could pretend this had never happened.
He glanced up at her. “Is something wrong?”
She didn’t know where to start.
“Is that—?” Angela didn’t finish the sentence.
Florence nodded.
Owen looked between them, confusion clear on his face.
“That deck belonged to my great-aunt.” The words came out before Florence could think about them, and as soon as she spoke them, Owen glanced from her to the card the way one might take in the varying veins of green and purple in a piece of fluorite, all beautiful on their own but ultimately part of a whole. She pulled off her glasses and started cleaning them with the sleeve of her blouse.
Owen opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, then closed it just as quickly as he took out a second book on tarot. The shop had developed a habit of dropping guidebooks at his feet, and he had developed a habit of buying them. He flipped a few pages and said tentatively, “The wands are the fire suit. The four is a homecoming card.”
“It is,” Florence agreed.
He lifted the card gently and ran his thumb along the painted surface in a way Florence had longed to do for thirteen years.
“Is this Honeysuckle House?” He nodded at the front of the card.
“It is,” Florence said again.
Owen worried at his lip. “It also says the card is a good omen—a cause for celebration. Is your birthday coming up?”
“The thirteenth,” Florence mumbled.
“You don’t sound too happy about that,” he said. “Do you want me to pull a clarifying card or …?”
She did, and she didn’t.
“I think that’s good for now,” Angela interrupted. “Why don’t we pull a card for you?”
He glanced between the women then nodded. He held his hand over the cards, landing on one on the opposite end of the card he’d pulled for Florence. He picked it up, tilted his head to the side, then showed it to her.
Painted on its front were two cups held aloft by two hands. Honeysuckle vines twined around the fingers and up the stems of the glasses, binding them together.
Florence swallowed hard, ignored the very pointed look Angela was giving her, then once again started furiously cleaning her glasses.
“This is a much more fun card,” Angela said. “Go ahead, what do you think it means?”
“Cups represent emotions, and twos represent unions,” Owen said.
“Good,” Angela said. “Which means …”
“A union of emotions?” Owen suggested.
Angela laughed. “Exactly!”
