Page 18 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
She rolled up the sleeves of her checkered blouse, then lifted a small green bottle and added its contents to the melted wax. Then, she began the process of dipping her wicks and hanging them to dry, allowing each layer to set before adding the next, speaking power into the candles—growth, prosperity, success. Everything green represented, made manifest by the simple act of Regina willing it so. By the time the tapers were the perfect thickness, the sun had already risen high in the sky.
She brushed a loose curl from her forehead with the back of her hand before she switched to a second pot of wax. As the flames licked up around the sides of the double boiler, she pulled an unlabeled jar of herbs from the very back corner of the cabinet, a special mix she’d made for this particular spell. Witchgrass to banish, magnolia for purity, comfrey to prevent a man from stealing her sister away, nettle to keep her sister from suspecting her work, and chickweed to amplify it all.
She added a few drops of red to the pot, enough to turn the wax pink, and stirred the color into the melted yellow. While the sisters sold their pink candles to foster love, each color could also be used for the opposite purpose. It was a simple matter of cutting off the top of the candle, flipping it over, and burning it from the bottom.
“May no man love my sister,” Regina said as she dropped weighted wicks into the pot, holding the string from the middle. Warmth stirred in her chest, like the first strike of a match—her intention turning to magic as it traveled from her heart to her hands to the cotton.
She lifted the wicks, paused as the first layer set, then dipped again. Wax coated the string, and the fire in her heart grew from ember to flame.
“May no man love my sister,” she repeated.
The heat in her chest expanded, flickering against her ribs, so hot she swore if she pressed a hand to her heart, her palm would come away burned. She dusted the wax with the powdered herbs. Then, she continued to dip, her words infusing each layer. Once she finished, she hung the candles to dry, the room thick with magic. But itwouldn’t be until she lit the wick the next morning—and repeated the phrase for the third and final time—that the spell would be complete.
A vine of honeysuckle wove through the open window and tapped her gently on the shoulder. She looked up from her work with a soft smile. Were it not for the house, she would never remember to stop to eat. But before she could turn off the stove and push up from her stool, there was a knock at the door.
“Regina?” Her sister’s voice came from the other side. “I have a treat for you.”
Her eyes darted to the tapers still drying only a few inches away. There was nothing unusual about making pink candles—but the herbs were a different story, something the Caldwells only used in personal spells or special orders. Regina reached for the jar and quickly stashed it in the cabinet as the door opened.
Violet stepped through, the sun shining bright behind her. Where Regina had her hair cut just above the shoulder, Violet’s was cropped much closer in a pixie, the brown so dark it looked almost black in the right light. No matter how many times Regina tried to help her sister style it to give it a gamine appeal, it seemed to have a mind of its own, never quite falling in the way Audrey Hepburn’s did.
Violet glanced from her sister to the slightly ajar cabinet. Regina pushed it closed and turned off the stove.
“Just finished this morning’s candles,” Regina said a little too brightly. But if Violet noticed the slightly higher pitch in her sister’s voice, she didn’t show it as she set down a slice of banana cream pie.
Violet pulled out the second stool and perched on the edge, her brown cigarette pants riding up her ankles. Her eyes fell to the now-drying candles. “Oh good! You’re dipping pink. We got a special order in today from a recently engaged couple who’s been having more than a little tension while they’ve been planning the wedding.”
“And they paid you in pie?” Regina asked.
Violet laughed, shook her head, and tugged at her marigold neck scarf. “No, this is from Tillie Grey.”
The older daughter of the family who owned Grey’s Gifts, Tillie had long been a friend of Violet’s. She was one of Honeysuckle House’s few regular guests, joining the Caldwell sisters for cocktails, dinner, and even helping them harvest honey more than once. Regina didn’t much care for the woman, but then, Regina didn’t much care for anyone. She tolerated Tillie because Tillie was a Grey, and without the Greys, the Caldwell sisters wouldn’t have made it through those first few years after their parents’ deaths.
“I didn’t know Grey’s sold food,” Regina said.
“They don’t.” Violet took one of the undipped wicks in her hand and rubbed the thread between her fingers. “She baked it for you.”
Regina arched her eyebrows. “What’s the occasion?”
Violet hesitated, her lips pursed. Then all in one breath she said, “I’ve invited her to move in with us.”
Regina stared at her sister for a few moments, tracking the movement of her hands, the unconscious tapping of her feet, her lack of eye contact. When Regina didn’t say anything, Violet continued.
“Our house is so big and empty with just the two of us,” Violet said. “Tillie isn’t looking to get married any time soon. There aren’t many options around here for her to move out and be on her own. The way we live, forging our own path, supporting ourselves—it’s a dream for a lot of women.”
Regina’s brow furrowed as she tried to follow her sister’s logic.
“You want to turn our home into a boarding house for unmarried women?” Regina asked.
“No, not at all. It would only be Tillie …” Violet trailed off, a slight flush in her cheeks.
“We don’t need a roommate,” Regina said.
“But wouldn’t it be fun?” Violet rubbed her hands through her hair, further undoing the work Regina had done on it that morning. “We could host parties, invite other women our age who aren’t … married. Like us. We could start a social club.”
Regina didn’t think that sounded like fun at all. “I don’t see why Tillie has to live here for that.”
“You’re so alone here. You don’t go into the shop or even into town much,” Violet said. “I think it would be good for both of us to bring more people into our lives. And I think the house would like it, too. Besides, we can always use another hand with the bees.”
