Page 76 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“I gave him goat cheese for dinner,” Clara told her.
Her aunt had laughed and thanked Clara for taking care of her kitten. Now, Clara held him tight against her chest with one arm as she and Angela neared the bookshop.
“I wish Mom was coming with us,” Clara said. “She’s going to miss out on the hot chocolate.”
Angela held a drink carrier in her free hand—pumpkin spice lattes for her and Aunt Flo and Owen, and the cocoa for Clara. When they reached the bookshop door, Angela said, “Your mom has to have some difficult conversations today.”
Clara nodded sadly. That had been the other part of what they’d talked about last night. Her mom was canceling the festival and the honey harvest and the candle dipping. Three of Clara’s favorite things. Clara had been sad enough she started to cry, even though she very much didn’t want to cry because she wanted to be brave for her mom. But, to Clara’s surprise, her mom hadn’t seemed terribly sad at all.
“If her candles work, maybe she won’t have to cancel the festival,” Clara said hopefully.
Angela paused with one hand on the door, and she looked down at Clara. Something flashed in her eyes, reminding Clara of the fear she’d seen there just the night before.
“What do you mean, her candles?” Angela asked.
“The ones she made yesterday,” Clara said. “Before we came over and had grilled cheese and the kitchen caught on fire.”
Angela blinked a few times.
“I saw them in the workshop,” Clara explained. “Well, Ink led me to them. They were a little lumpy, nothing like Mom’s usual candles. But one of them was black, and the other was brown, like in Grandma’s spell. They weren’t dry yet, so Mom must’ve made them yesterday. Do you think if she burns them today it will fix the house, and we can still have the festival?”
Angela stared at her without responding for so long Clara said, “Angela?”
The door opened, and Florence stood on the other side.
“You brought coffee,” Florence said. “And my favorite niece.”
“I’m your only niece,” Clara said.
“You’re my favorite only niece.” When she reached for the coffee, Angela still hadn’t spoken.
“Angela?” Florence asked, concern in her voice.
“I think we need to go to Honeysuckle House,” Angela paused. “Your sister …”
Clara’s heart stuttered. “You think she’s doing the spell by herself. And we’re not there to keep her safe.”
Clara wasn’t particularly familiar with fear. The dark had never scared her and the bees had never stung her and her mom had always, always been there. These past few days had been the first time she’d really felt it grip her. But it wasn’t until that moment that something cold settled into her chest, and with it came the realization that her mother might be in danger and the house wouldn’t be able to protect her.
Chapter Forty-Four
Evie, Now
Evie stood on her mother’s side of the attic room, the wall still gaping with the damage from the fire. After Florence had left, Evie had taken a few good swings at it to get her anger out, but she hadn’t had a chance to finish. Not with dinner and then the second fire.
Flames were at the heart of the Caldwells’ magic. Yes, the wax and the dipping of the candles all played into it, but it was the burning that sealed their spells and brought them into being. The house’s inability to control fire within its walls seemed important somehow. Had Evie more time, she’d sit with that fact. Were she and Florence on speaking terms, she’d talk it over with her. But tomorrow was the thirteenth, and time was the last thing Evie had.
She wouldn’t lose anyone to this curse and to her own mistake in thinking her benevolence was enough to break it. She’d had thirteen years to pick it apart and undo it, and she’d wasted them.
She wouldn’t waste this last day.
Yes, she told Angela she was canceling the festival. But she hoped after her work was done, there would be no need. Whatever dark magic lurked inside the house would be bound, and any danger to those she loved would be gone forever.
She’d prepared everything from the spell she’d found in her mother’s journal. The candles hadn’t turned out as perfect as the onesshe’d found in this room, but she trusted her own magic more than she trusted her mother’s. She sat in the antique chair and read over the list of components one more time.
Black candle
Brown candle
