Page 27 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Evie said.
“But that was my spell,” Clara said. “To bring Aunt Florence home.”
“And we will,” Evie said. “I just need a little time with this to make sure she knows it’s safe for her here.”
“Because of the fire?” Clara asked.
Evie knelt down in front of her daughter. “I love this house as much as you do, honeybee, and so does your aunt. But when we were little like you, a lot of bad things happened to us here. She still feels those feelings when she thinks about this place.”
“Do you feel them?” Clara asked.
If Evie was honest with herself, she did feel them, sometimes, when she let her mind slip back to her childhood. But it was easier not to think about those times, to turn around and walk out of the room when an unpleasant memory floated to the surface. It was something she wished her sister would do. Florence, at least, had lived thirteen years here with their father to keep her safe before the curse took him. Evie had only been seven when he died. She’d spent most of her childhood at Honeysuckle House with no one to protect her, and yet still she walked its halls. She’d reshaped it, then reclaimed it, and made it her own instead of running from what had happened.
“Not anymore,” Evie said. “For me this place is full of memories of you and me and Angela and the festival. It’s a place of joy, andthat’s why we’re going to make sure nothing bad happens to it.” She said the words not only for Clara, but for the house. “For now, we should probably go ahead and pack our things. Why don’t you ask Angela to help you put your bag together while I finish up in here?”
“I don’t need any help,” Clara said. “But I did find some new rocks at the creek yesterday. You can look at them while I pack.”
“I love new rocks,” Angela said. Then she crouched down and said, “Hop on. I’ll carry you over the broken glass.” Once Clara was on her back, Angela looked over the altar one last time, her eyes meeting Evie’s.
“Let’s keep this between us for now,” Evie said. “I don’t want Florence to feel forced to come home before she’s ready.”
Angela hesitated but ultimately nodded. “Be careful, and be quick.”
“I will,” Evie said.
Once Angela and Clara disappeared through the hole in the wall, Evie reached for the journal that lay open on her mother’s altar. As her fingers closed around it, a moan echoed through the room, like a heavy weight had been placed on the floor. A lamp in the corner flicked on long enough for the old bulb to shutter off with a loud pop and an explosion of glass.
“I’m going to make this right,” Evie said to the house. “Whatever this curse is doing to you, I’m going to fix it.”
Again the wood creaked, right beneath Evie’s feet. As the floorboards shifted, throwing her off balance, her breath caught. The fire might be out, but the house still wasn’t safe. Her hands went cold. Fear made its way up her spine to the base of her neck—the first time she’d felt anything like it in a long, long time.
She grabbed the stack of journals and her mother’s tarot deck, and with one last look over the room, she hurried through the hole in the wall and out, out, out.
Chapter Fourteen
Florence, Now
Only a handful of customers had come in that afternoon, almost as if the shop had decided against its normal habit of enticing people off the streets. Normally, Florence would welcome the quiet. It gave her a chance to wander and see what new mysteries Ink & Pages had for her, to be alone with her thoughts. But the last thing she wanted now was space to think.
The look in Evie’s eyes stayed with Florence long after the door closed behind her. It should’ve been easy to go with her, to hold her hand as she took in the damage—whatever that might be—to be the sister Evie needed and the aunt Clara deserved. But Florence’s fear bound her to the shop.
Even the thought of going up the driveway, of seeing the front door, the yellow walls, the black-trimmed windows, made her palms sweat and her heart race and her throat close up. She wanted to tell herself it was the curse. With October thirteenth so close, she couldn’t bring herself to go back there. But if that were the case, she could’ve visited these last thirteen years, or at the very least driven past.
The first year, she tried to stop by on Evie’s birthday only to end up pulling over in a full-blown panic attack. She’d given it another shot after Clara was born and she was old enough to understand birthdays, but as soon as Florence reached the bend in the road thatwould reveal the old Queen Anne, her eyes spotted over and there was a roaring in her ears.
The year her mother died, the curse had almost claimed Florence instead. Her mother had summoned her and Evie home with a spell, and though Florence had tried to talk her sister out of listening to the call, Evie feared for their mother’s life. When they’d arrived, the honeysuckle vines had wound their way around Florence. They’d pinned her to the ground. They’d closed around her windpipe. Then, they stopped. Like they’d never touched her at all. The curse had taken her mother instead.
But it wasn’t only the curse that kept Florence from going home. She couldn’t visit Honeysuckle House without being reminded of everything bad that had happened behind its walls. Though her mom was long gone, Florence’s memories of her lived on—not only in her mind, but in her body. She rubbed at the scar along her forearm and wished she were stronger, or at least a little bit closer to healing.
She considered calling Evie, but after the way things had gone earlier, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Better to give her sister space.
Instead, she sent a text to Angela.
Is the house still standing?
She’d hoped for an immediate response, but the message had sat unread for the past hour, twisting up her stomach even more. She stood idly scratching between Ink’s ears with one hand and tapping her fingernails against the counter with the other. She needed a distraction.
Her eyes landed on the front window.
