Page 67 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“Extra honey, please!” Clara said. “Oh, and put aside some goat cheese for Ink. I think he’ll like it.” The kitten meowed, and Clara nodded. “Just as I thought.”
Angela laughed lightly, then disappeared through the front door. Clara pushed herself to her feet and made to follow after her into the house when Ink squeezed through one of the railings, leapt off the porch, and started through the clover toward the workshop. She stood, torn between following after him—afraid of losing him, especially after she took him out of the bookstore—and wanting to go inside and make sure the house knew how much she loved it.
“Ink!” She called. The kitten looked back at her, twitched his tail, then continued through the yard. “We have to check on the house!” He didn’t respond, intent on whatever mission he’d set off on.
One of the floorboards shifted beneath Clara, tilting her toward the edge of the porch, away from the house. She gave the railing a squeeze and said, “I’ll be right back.”
She ran toward the steps and chased after Ink. By the time she caught up to him, he’d reached the workshop. Clara bent down to scoop him up, but before she could, the door creaked open, and he slipped through.
Kittens, Clara decided, were a lot more work than she realized.
She followed him inside, planning to tell him as much, when the bulb brightened overhead. Ink sat back on his haunches, low to the ground, his back legs wiggling. Clara grabbed him before he could leap onto the table. He let out a small yowl, then settled into Clara’s arms.
“This is where we make our candles,” she told him. “This is how I brought you to us!”
He leaned his head to the side.
“Just like these here.” Clara lifted him from under his front legs, bringing him close to two candles that sat drying on the rack. She, too, took a closer look. One was black and one was brown. Both were a little lopsided.
“Mom must’ve been in a hurry when she made these,” Clara said. “Her candles are usually perfect.” She set Ink on the tabletop and brought the tip of her finger to one of the candles. It gave a little bit beneath the pressure, the wax not yet set.
Ink reached a paw out toward the tapers, about to swat at them. Clara grabbed him around the belly and pulled him back. He gave a disgruntled meow.
“We can’t mess with Mom’s magic,” she said. “Especially if she’s trying to stop the curse.” The thirteenth was the day after tomorrow, so there wasn’t much time left to do it.
She gently deposited Ink on the ground and brought her stepping stool over in front of the stove.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t give her a little help.”
She turned on the double boiler and started a candle of her own.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Florence, Now
Florence sat in the front seat of Owen’s truck, fuming. After so many failed attempts, she’d finally made it home, only to have her sister drive her away. She almost asked Owen to stop and turn around so she and Evie could sort this out. But there was no point. Evie wasn’t going to help her put an end to things.
“I cannotbelieveher,” Florence said. “I came to fix this, to break the curse, and all she wanted to do was tell me how I failed her.”
Owen tapped his hands against the steering wheel, stealing glances at Florence. “Did you ask the house about your great-grandparents?”
Florence turned back in her seat, watching the house disappear behind them. “I never had the chance. And now we have nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Owen said gently. “Your shop helped us figure out where that photo was taken, and it showed us something that it thought was important enough for us to know. We just have to figure out why.”
“Where the photos were taken …” Florence trailed off. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about the tie to Grey’s Gifts and the idea she’d left half formed the night before. She pulled out her phone and started to dial.
“Who are you calling?” Owen asked.
“The woman who sold me the bookstore,” Florence said, hope taking hold once more.
After a few moments a person picked up on the other line. “Hello? Florence?”
“Mary Louise,” Florence said with a certain softness in her voice. Before she’d used her inheritance to purchase the shop, Florence had worked for the woman for almost nine years, starting as a teenager and eventually becoming a manager. She’d kept her distance these past thirteen years to protect her from the curse, but it didn’t change how much Mary Louise meant to her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mary Louise asked. “Are you finally going to stop by for a game of backgammon?”
Florence could hear the smile in her voice.
