Page 46 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Violet felt Tillie let out a long breath beside her, and Violet, too, found her sense of relief to be a physical thing. She pressed closer to Tillie and tried not to cry.
“I thought you didn’t bring men around because of the candles,” Regina said more to herself than to Violet, “but it’s always been this way. I should’ve seen it.”
At her words, Violet’s chest went cold. The hairs on her arms prickled.
“What do you mean, ‘the candles’?” she asked.
Regina blinked, a flush creeping into her cheeks. After a few seconds she started to speak, slowly, “I lit candles to protect you. You know how men can be.”
Violet’s body went cold. “You tried to keep men away from me.”
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Tillie said with a light, uncomfortable laugh.
“For your own safety,” Regina said, as if it were obvious. “With you working in town, I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Violet’s memory went back to the workshop that afternoon, the single set of pink tapers she’d walked in on her sister drying. Pink was not a color for protection. Before she could say as much or even follow the thought to its conclusion, Regina started talking again.
“Should I make some black candles for you both, for us?” Regina asked. “With Tillie living here now, if people knew …”
“We’ve been careful,” Violet said. Their town had no history of violence against women like Violet and Tillie, but McCarthyism had only ended a few years ago. Violet still remembered the news, the call to report any suspicious activity. Love, it seemed, was dissidence.
“A spell couldn’t hurt,” Regina said.
“Violet’s been lighting them for us,” Tillie said.
“Good,” Regina said with a nod. “Good.” Then, she offered a light smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Welcome to the family, Tillie.” She held her arms open, and both Violet and Tillie stepped into them.
The lights in Violet’s room let out a soft buzzing, almost too high-pitched to hear, but Violet felt it right where fear had pooled in her stomach at the mention of the candles. When she pulled back from her sister’s hug, she said, “You know I love you, Regina.”
“Of course I do,” Regina said. “I only wish you’d told me sooner. You were right. It’ll be nice to have someone else in the house. We’ll have to celebrate tomorrow.”
And with that, Regina kissed first Violet on the cheek, then Tillie, before she disappeared down the hallway. Violet took a few steps forward and braced herself against the doorframe as she stared after her sister.
Tillie came up behind her and rested a hand on Violet’s shoulder. “That went better than I expected.”
A small, thoughtful noise slipped through Violet’s lips. She reached her hand up to grip Tillie’s. “I think my sister has been casting spells on me.”
As if in confirmation, all of the lights down the hall glowed a touch brighter before they flickered off and then back on.
“To protect you,” Tillie said. “It sounded good-natured.”
Violet shook her head. “I think she was trying to keep me from falling in love.”
Part VIThe Three of Swords
A sign of betrayal, heartbreak, or both.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Florence, Now
Florence sat inside the room the shop had prepared for her and Owen, cradling a cup of tea in her hands that was still steaming from when she poured it from the pot. She closed her eyes and let herself savor the marshmallow and cinnamon taste, giving her a chance to sit in this moment for a few seconds longer before she shared her family history with a stranger who had somehow begun to melt the ice around her heart in the few short weeks he’d been there. When she finally opened her eyes, she found Owen staring at her intently, his mug untouched.
“It’s delicious tea,” she said. “You shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
He slowly lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip. Though they were both on the love seat—and though Owen took up a fair share of it—he’d managed to keep a sliver of space between them, just enough that should Florence lean slightly to the left, their thighs would brush. As it was, she could feel the heat from him even more than the warmth from the tea. He took another sip, watching her all the while.
“It tastes like s’mores,” he said. “Where’d you get this?”
