Page 91 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Violet felt her heart breaking. She grew cold, right in the middle of her chest where once she had felt every warm and wonderful thing. It was as if the light inside of her dimmed, and she didn’t know if it would ever burn brightly again.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Florence, Now
Florence glanced up from Violet’s journal. She hadn’t known much about her grandmother. But from what Violet had written, Regina Caldwell really was a monster. She may have been there with Violet in Tillie’s final moments, but she’d done everything she could to tear them apart. It was because of Regina that the house thought Owen’s family murdered Helen and Christopher.
“Your great-grandfather didn’t kill them,” Florence said.
“What do you mean?” Owen asked. “How do you know?”
“It’s in here.” She held the journal up. “Robert had been drinking. He drove into that tree all on his own. Violet never told anyone—not even Regina.”
There was a pause as Owen took in her words. “Then the house killed Tillie for nothing,” he said with a deep sort of sadness.
But Florence shook her head. “I don’t know. From what Violet wrote, the house seemed as heartbroken as she was.”
That got Evie’s attention. She looked up from the journal she’d been reading. “You don’t think the house did it?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Florence reached for the diary containing her mother’s spell and looked it over.
She ran her fingertip over the list and bit her lip. “I don’t think this spell is what you think it is.”
“It’s clearly a binding spell,” Evie said. “The string, the black candle, the objects.”
Florence shook her head and tapped the list with her fingertip. “The temperance card is throwing me. It’s a card for balance. If she wanted to bind, she’d have been better off using the eight of swords or the devil or even the hanged man.”
“It’s the same card you pulled thirteen years ago,” Evie said. “When we were looking for a way to end the curse. Just because we can’t see how it works, doesn’t mean that it won’t.”
“Did she write anything about it in what you read?” Florence asked Owen.
He flipped back a few pages. “No, but shedidwrite about drawing the seven of swords.”
“That’s the card Mom pulled before you started reading!” Clara said from where she sat with Ink by the fire.
“We thought it pointed to Helen and Christopher’s deaths.” Owen shook his head slowly. “But if my great-grandfather didn’t kill them for the shop, then it must mean something else.”
“It can also represent stealing something!” Clara added.
“That’s right, honeybee,” Evie said.
Owen held up the journal he’d been reading. “Regina wanted to strengthen her own magic. She’d been casting spells on Violet—”
“—but Violet was more powerful,” Florence finished. “Violet wrote about that, too.” She glanced over her mother’s spell one more time, then took the journal from Owen and flipped to her grandmother’s spell.
Evie leaned over the edge of her chair to take a look. “I thought it was a binding spell because of the string and the candles—black to bind and brown for the house. But Grandma left out the brown candle. I couldn’t figure out why, but after what you both read …” she paused as she pressed her lips together. “With the temperance card and the offering, what if it’s a siphoning spell?”
Florence took a surprised breath. “You think she was trying to take Violet’s magic.”
“It would strengthen her power,” Evie said.
But Regina wasn’t the only Caldwell witch to cast that spell. Their mother had as well.
“Why would Mom need a siphoning spell? And what would she have offered to make it happen?” Florence looked up at her sister. “What did you offer?”
A flush crept up Evie’s neck and settled into her cheeks. “I …” She paused, shook her head. “My love for Angela.”
“Oh, Evie,” Angela said, reaching for her hand.
