Page 78 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“Tell her what you saw,” Angela said to Clara.
“There were candles in the workshop,” Clara said. “But we can’t let her burn them alone. What if something goes wrong? What if there’s another fire?”
Florence pushed herself off the door and stood tall. She rested a hand on Clara’s head and said, “We won’t let anything happen to her.”
Florence knew her sister was reckless. She knew Evie never once listened to Florence’s warnings after their mother was out of their life and her need for Florence’s protection had left along with her. But this went beyond recklessness.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Florence asked Angela.
“Evie was afraid you’d try to talk her out of it.”
“That’s exactly what I would’ve done,” Florence said. “I can’t believeyoudidn’t.”
“What if she’s right?” Angela asked. “What if it works?”
“What if it kills her?” Owen said.
“We can argue about this later,” Florence said. “Right now, we need to make sure Evie is safe, and we need to stop her from casting that spell.”
The four of them piled into Angela’s Jeep. Florence sat up front. Owen and Clara in the back. Florence passed the drinks around as Angela turned off Main Street to avoid the tourists who had come early for the festivities—the hayride and the pumpkin patch and the craft fair ran the day before and after the events at Honeysuckle House.
“At least Evie canceled the festival,” Angela said, her hands tight on the wheel and her latte untouched in the cupholder. “Not that any of these people seem to have heard.”
Florence almost spit out her coffee. “When? How did you convince her?”
“It wasn’t me,” Angela said. “It was the second fire.”
Clara, who sat taking a giant sip of hot cocoa, swallowed loud enough for them all to hear, then said, “If she’s casting the spell, then when is she going to tell everyone she canceled the festival?”
Silence fell over the car.
“She was supposed to be meeting with the businesses who are running the events they moved downtown.” Angela’s words were a whisper.
“She lied,” Florence said.
But Angela shook her head. “She wouldn’t. Not after … She wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this.”
“Knowing Evie’s logic, it wasn’t a lie,” Florence said. “If the spell doesn’t work, she’d cancel the festival. But if it does, there’s no reason to turn people away yet.”
As Angela neared the curve leading to Honeysuckle House, Florence felt the familiar well of panic rising up inside her. She gripped her thighs tight, her knuckles going white. She almost jumped when a hand came down on her shoulder. She pulled the visor down and met Owen’s eyes in the mirror.
She reached up and gripped his hand with her own, still amazed at how he’d slipped into the cracks in her heart in such a short time. She didn’t know where things would go between them after the curse—if they both made it that far—but she found herself wanting to find out.
“You okay?” Angela asked with a sidelong glance.
“I think so.” It wasn’t getting any easier for Florence to face her trauma when it was triggered in such a deep way, but she found it more tolerable now that she wasn’t alone.
Angela rolled to a stop. She had her door open the moment she pulled her keys from the ignition and was halfway to the porch before Florence even had a chance to catch her breath and still her racingheart. Florence unbuckled her seat belt to find Owen on the other side of the door, opening it for her.
“Angela!” Florence called. “Wait!”
But Angela didn’t slow. “She could be hurt.”
The door to Honeysuckle House opened wide like a mouth.
“Keep an eye on Clara,” Florence said to Owen. Then she took off after Angela.
The lights flickered in warning as Florence burst through the door and started up the steps, each footfall reminding her of the night before her father died. Fear ricocheted in her chest. Memory and trauma bled into the here and now. It was enough to stop Florence in her tracks, to have her bent double with panic. Instead, she let it carry her up and up. Past the floor where her childhood room had been. Past the pain and the heartache and the loss.
