Page 4 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Once Harper closed the door, Evie tapped her fingers against the wall, a twisting feeling in her stomach. October thirteenth was right around the corner. She’d been so certain her use of magic would be enough to break her family’s curse, but if a guest had been pushed out of bed …
She shook her head. This had nothing to do with the curse. It couldn’t.
“No touching the guests,” she whispered.
But if the house heard her, it didn’t respond.
Chapter Three
Florence, Now
As Angela turned on the lights inside Ink & Pages, Florence switched off the alarm. They faced the room, eyes sweeping over the shelves and floors for any tricks the shop may have played in their absence. A few rows down, several books had been tipped off one of the seasonal end caps and scattered in the walkway.They were all stories about magical sisters. The shop had a way of knowing what worried Florence.
Angela started to reach for the books when Florence waved a hand. “I’ll get them.” If she let Angela take the message meant for her, the shop would simply drop them on the ground again, and as much as Florence had come to enjoy her back-and-forth with the shelves, she didn’t want the merchandise damaged. As she put the books back in their places, a loud crack of thunder shook the walls of the store, and the sky opened up outside. She made her way back to the front and paused when the window came into view. Already, water dripped down the glass. The cloud cover cast the street in shadow, and though Florence worried about her sister’s bees, she hoped the rain would stay through the week and force Evie to cancel the festival.
It was only when Angela cleared her throat that Florence noticed Owen had arrived. He and Angela sat in the front corner reading nook, a tarot guidebook on Owen’s lap and their lattes on the smalltable between them. A lamp cast a soft yellow glow despite the darkness on the other side of the window.
Even seated, Owen towered over Angela. Florence would’ve put him at six-foot-three if she had to guess. He had just a hint of brown in his complexion; from what Florence had learned in eavesdropping on his sessions with Angela, his grandmother was Indian. He looked up, brushing dark hair from his face, and when his brown eyes met hers, her chest warmed clear down to her fingertips. He raised a hand in greeting.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, trying her hardest not to think about what Angela had said about him earlier. She hurried over to the register and busied herself by looking over the list of preorders coming in that week, but she couldn’t help listening in on the tarot lesson.
“I finished the guidebook.” Owen’s baritone was soft against the pounding rain. “I’ve been doing a daily pull like you suggested.”
“And?” Angela asked.
“I almost can’t believe how spot-on they’ve been.” He ran a hand over his well-trimmed beard.
“You didn’t think they would be?” Angela asked.
He shrugged. “I was mostly looking for a way to pass the time. My grandfather used to read tarot—something he learned from his sister …” He trailed off, shook his head. “I never really understood it, but I think I’m starting to.”
Angela answered him with a grin. “Think you’re ready to do a reading for someone else?”
Across the room, Florence tucked a receipt into one of the books and slid it onto the shelf behind the register.
“You want me to read your cards?” Owen asked.
Angela glanced in Florence’s direction. “Not exactly. What do you say, Florence?”
Florence did, in fact, want a reading. With her upcoming birthday and the Caldwell curse and her sister’s refusal to give up her magic and cancel the festival, she wanted the guidance only the cards could bring, but she would never risk pulling them herself.
“Maybe,” she said.
Owen’s eyes brightened. He opened his bag and started digging around. “They’re not here,” he said. “I know I brought them.”
“We have plenty of decks in the shop.” Angela waved a hand. “Go find one that calls to you.”
He jumped up and started for the mystical section. Florence watched him until he disappeared behind the shelves.
“You’re staring,” Angela said, loud enough for only Florence to hear.
Florence ignored the comment. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“You’ve been watching us every lesson,” Angela said. “Maybe a card pull will help put your mind at ease. Besides, you’re not the one reading them, so there’s no Caldwell magic involved.”
Florence considered this. Before she could decide either way, Owen appeared once more, a box in hand. “This one was already open,” he said as he sat down and started shuffling. He glanced up at Florence with a tentative smile. “What do you say? Want a reading?”
With a heavy sigh, Florence closed the register and came over to join them, perching on the armrest of Angela’s chair. As Owen held the deck and bit his lip, it took everything in Florence to look away from his mouth and remind herself of the curse. Though Florence hoped her sacrifice would be enough to stop it, she wouldn’t know for certain until October thirteenth, and she wouldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt because of her sister’s unwillingness to give up her magic, too.
