Page 59 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
The message was clear.
“We have to go to Honeysuckle House.” After her failed attempt that afternoon, she didn’t think she’d be able to do it on her own. “I’m going to need your help.”
“To go to your sister’s house?” Owen asked.
Florence took a sip of her tea, stalling. Talking about her past, about the way it still had its claws in her life, was something she didn’t do with anyone but Angela. And while she didn’t owe him a reason for needing his help with this, Florence found something inside of her wanted to open up to Owen.
“I can’t drive there on my own,” she said. “I’ve tried. I never make it past the last bend in the road without a panic attack.”
“Oh, Florence,” Owen said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
She waved a hand, trying her best not to feel anything, but shame crept in. “It’s been almost thirteen years—I should be able to go back there.”
“Is it because your mom and dad died in the house?”
“The curse almost took me thirteen years ago instead of my mother.” She could’ve left it at that. It would’ve been enough, but it wasn’t the full truth. “But before that, a lot of horrible things happened to me there. My mom was a difficult person.”
That was letting Linda Caldwell off too easy. Florence had no reason to protect her, not now.
“That’s understating it, actually. My mother was abusive. Emotionally and physically and magically.” As she spoke the words, her anger shifted into something both softer and sharper. Her heart clenched, and her throat tightened. She brought a hand to her cheek and found herself crying.
“Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t planning to go into my past.”
“Don’t apologize,” Owen said. “I’m here to listen, if you want to talk.”
To Florence’s surprise, she found she did.
Part VIIIThe Four of Wands
Represents celebration and completion. May point to some sort of homecoming.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Evie, Now
The morning after the fire, Evie left Clara with Angela. They stood outside on the steps of Angela’s two-bedroom Craftsman, Clara insisting Evie bring her along to check on the house. Evie hadn’t made it very far in her grandmother’s journal, not after what happened between her and Angela—a thought that sent heat all through her. Though she was tempted to spend the day reading, she had a meeting with the fire remediation expert. More than that, she wanted to prepare the binding spell. But if she was going to find a way to make it work—and a way to do it without harming the house in the process—she couldn’t have Clara hanging around.
“It’s been alone all night,” Clara said, throwing up her hands. “It needs me.”
“You’ll get to check on it soon, honeybee,” Evie said. “But if the damage is worse than we thought, I need to make sure you’re safe.”
Clara crossed her arms and frowned.
“You can play with Ink when we get to the bookstore,” Angela reminded her.
“Ink!” A smile spread across Clara’s face. Then it disappeared just as quickly, as if she couldn’t decide between her desire to hold the kitten and her worry over the house. “But how are we going to bind the curse together if I don’t go with you?”
Evie hated lying to her daughter. She’d followed along with Clara’s idea that the spell had been meant to bind the curse only because she was afraid of what the house would do if it knew her plans. But if she told Clara the truth, Evie had no doubt Clara would want to be there, and Evie wouldn’t risk her safety.
“Your mom isn’t going to do the spell today,” Angela said, shooting Evie a meaningful look, one filled with love and worry. Evie reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, then she knelt down beside Clara.
“We’re going to take things one step at a time,” Evie said. “But right now, you need to make sure Aunt Florence is taking care of the cat you conjured for her.”
“Yes, well, he might need another friend,” Clara said. “Will you tell the house I’m worried about it and I love it and I’ll be home soon?”
“Of—” Evie started, but Clara cut her short.
“And give it a hug from me? The second porch column on the left. It likes hugs there the best. Oh, and give it this.” She produced a small black pebble from her pocket, one of the many she’d gathered at the creek earlier that week.
