Page 33 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Florence and Angela shared a look that was a mixture of fear and resolve, and Florence had never felt as seen in her life as she did in that moment.
“We’ll try,” Florence said.
As hard as Linda Caldwell was, Florence loved her mother. She certainly didn’t want her to die, but she’d kept the truth of the curse from her, and, as far as Florence knew, she had no plans to take them away from Honeysuckle House—to protect them. If getting her father and her sister to safety meant leaving without her mother, then that’s what she would do.
Chapter Sixteen
Evie, 1999
At seven years old, there were a lot of things Evie didn’t yet know about the world or herself or her family. But there were a few things she knew for certain.
She knew Florence was her favorite person and the worst part of the day was when Florence left for school and Evie was stuck at home learning from her mom.
She knew her dad loved her more than he loved anyone else except for Florence and her mom, but he told her more than once that with them it wasn’t a competition because he loved them all equally.
And she knew she loved her mom even when her mom was sad or angry or didn’t want to talk to anyone, which was more days than not, and if there was anything Evie could do to make her happy, she’d do it. Because that’s what daughters did.
When they got home and found their mom crying while eating the first piece of the cake she’d baked for Florence’s birthday, Evie ran right to her, wrapped her arms around her waist, and leaned her head into her back.
“Don’t be sad, Mommy.”
Her mother only ever ate sweet things when she was very sad or very angry, and Evie hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Linda stiffened at Evie’s touch, then relaxed into her hold. She was a tall woman, so tall that, even seated, Evie only came up to her shoulder, and when Evie hugged her, she could wrap her arms almost all the way around her thin frame. Evie pressed her face into her long brown hair—just like Florence’s and not at all like Evie’s short blonde waves—and took a deep breath that smelled of candle smoke and sadness.
She glanced back at her sister, who stood frozen in the doorframe, eyes shifting from Linda to the cake. Evie was still learning to read. It took her a moment to realize the frosting said, “Happy Birthday Florence” because the “day” and part of Florence’s name were missing.
“Where’s Dad?” Florence asked.
Her mother didn’t turn around, didn’t look at them. She only took another bite and said, “He’s taking a nap.”
Florence’s brow furrowed.
“I didn’t know Daddy took naps!” Evie said.
“He doesn’t,” Florence replied.
“He had a long day at work,” Linda said.
“But he was here when we left to get candy,” Evie said.
“And he doesn’t work on Tuesdays,” Florence added.
Linda set her fork down. “All I know is he was tired.” She pushed the plate of cake away.
Evie considered this, and, after everything Florence and Angela had talked about that afternoon, a thought occurred to her. “Did you cast a spell on him like you did on us?”
Across the room, Florence took a sharp breath.
Her mother turned around in her seat, forcing Evie to let her go and take a step back. Her eyes had a dark look to them as they slid over Evie slowly, a quick flick to Florence, then back to Evie.
“What did you say, sweetie?” her mom asked.
A cold feeling washed over Evie. She still hadn’t quite gotten a hold of her mother’s moods the way Florence had. But another thing she knew for certain was Linda Caldwell didn’t use nicknames for her children, not unless something was wrong. Not unless she was about to turn into needles and thorns and broken glass.
Evie crossed her arms, holding herself close, and swallowed, trying to figure out where she went wrong.
“She didn’t—” Florence started, but Linda held up a hand, stopping her short.
