Page 11 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Then she was off, weaving between the books until she reached the very back of the shop. She glanced over her shoulder, and when she was sure no one was watching, she knocked on one of the shelves. It swung open, revealing a small corner with a beanbag chair, a reading lamp, and a little table just for her. On its opposite side sat every single one of Clara’s favorite books. After reading the first two pages of the new story the shop had given her and getting caught up in it and then reading three more pages, Clara finally set it down and got to work. She dug through her backpack—rocks she’d gathered from the creek, brown candles she used to get home in time for dinner, and everything she’d brought for today’s spell.
First, she pulled out her candlestick holder. Then, she created a circle around it with her crystals, arranging her obsidian cat front and center. Finally, she put the candle in place. She struck a match and held it up to the wick. Once it caught flame, she shook out the match dramatically, stared into the fire, and said, “Bring my Aunt Florence a friend. And show me how I can help the house.” She paused, gaspedas she remembered what her mother had taught her, and said, “Oh and may my magic be safe, my loved ones be good, and my work …” She paused, furrowed her brow, then smiled with satisfaction. “And may my work be a blessing.”
The fire glowed brighter with her words, and as it did, the candle began to melt. Rather than the slow burn she’d expected, slow enough to let her read the book and wait for her mom to come and get her, the wax melted quickly. It spilled out over the top of the candle, dripped down the edge, and pooled on the little table so fast that one moment the candle was burning and the next it had put itself out, the spell complete.
Her mom had always told her intention was at the heart of their magic, if she wanted something badly enough, she could bring it into the world. And right then she could feel her intention at the center of her chest, like she’d had a hot cup of cocoa and swallowed it down much too fast. It seemed the candle had felt it too, which was well and good because that meant she could get back to reading sooner rather than later.
The wall behind her began to shake, and she let out a small yelp as the bookcase opened to reveal her aunt.
“Is that smoke?” Florence asked, gaze shifting from Clara to the now-empty candlestick holder. She dropped to her knees in front of Clara’s spell circle, a hand over her mouth and her eyes wide in a way Clara had never seen them.
“Sorry,” Clara said. “I know you don’t like magic in the shop, but it was for you. Mom said this was going to be a hard month for you, so I had to make the candle. Then when she said you were lonely, I didn’t want you to be lonely because I love you and I thought I could help you find a friend and also the house needed it and …”
Clara could feel the tears starting to well up, and all at once her aunt’s face shifted from fear to concern.
“Please don’t stop wanting to see me the way you don’t want to see the house.”
Florence wrapped her arms around Clara. “I’ll never want to stop seeing you.” She held her tight, right up against her chest and restedher chin on the top of Clara’s head. “I’m sorry if I ever said anything that made you afraid I would.”
“It’s just, you never come see me,” Clara said.
Florence pulled back. “That has nothing to do with you, but your mom made me promise not to talk to you about it, and I have to respect that. If things were different, I’d be there every day to give you a hug and walk with you by the creek and sip nectar from the honeysuckles. Who knows, after my birthday I might be able to.”
“You really think so?” Clara asked as she wriggled out of her aunt’s arms to look up at her and better assess her answer.
Florence’s face clouded. “I certainly hope so. But until then, you know I don’t allow candles in the shop. And I thought your mom had a rule about casting spells for another person without their knowledge.”
Clara’s mom did, in fact, have that rule. But before she could say as much, a soft mewling sound came from behind her aunt. The shelf-turned-door opened wider of its own accord, and a small, long-haired black kitten stepped into the alcove. It blinked at them with eyes yellow as the moon. With a twitch of its tail, it approached Clara and rubbed its head against her leg. She scratched between its ears. Then, it crouched low, shook its back legs, and jumped in the direction of Clara’s favorite books. It almost reached the shelf that was eye level with Florence, but fell just short. Florence caught it before it could tumble to the floor, though Clara knew it would land on all four feet. That’s simply what cats did.
“Who let you in here?” Florence asked, holding it up to her nose.
No one let the cat into the shop. Clara’s magic had called for a friend for her aunt, and the cat had answered. It was that simple. She couldn’t wait to tell her mom.
“No collar,” Florence said with concern. “And I haven’t seen any pregnant strays around.”
The kitten meowed again before wriggling out of Florence’s grip, clinging to her sweater, and crawling up her shoulder, where it started purring furiously. Her aunt smiled so wide, Clara wondered if she’d ever really seen her smile before that moment.
“Are you gonna keep it?” Clara asked. “You have to keep it.”
The smile slipped and, with a sigh, Florence said, “We should put up signs.” She nodded at the kitten. “I’m sure someone is missing you.” It burrowed in deeper against Florence’s collarbone.
“Maybe it’s here for you!” Clara said.
Florence glanced at Clara’s setup—the spent candle, the crystals. Her eyes widened. “You … summoned a cat?”
Clara shrugged. “Not on purpose. Well, yes on purpose, but I didn’t know it was going to be a cat. Mom and Angela said you were lonely and I love you and don’t want you to be lonely. Can we call him Ink? I think that would be just perfect.”
“Him?” Florence asked, holding up the kitten. She tilted her head, as if unsure how Clara could tell the cat was a boy.
“Feels right,” Clara said.
“If someone comes looking for this kitten, you know I have to give him back, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Clara said. But she knew no one was going to come looking. “Until then, he’s here with you in the shop.” It wasn’t a question.
Florence laughed softly as the kitten rose on unsteady legs and balanced on her shoulder before he leapt off and landed on the shelf he had missed earlier. He rubbed his back against the spines, then turned his eyes on Florence once more.
“He loves books!” Clara said.
