Page 7 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
As the words left her mouth, the lights in the shop flickered. There was a rustling of pages, and all at once, there was a loud crack, crack, crack. Florence turned in her seat, eyes landing on the black crystals surrounding the front door.
Each piece of tourmaline had split right down the middle.
Chapter Four
Evie, Now
Evie sat in one of the rockers on the front porch of Honeysuckle House with her arms crossed and her foot tapping lightly against the wood. The storm had eased its deluge, leaving behind only a gentle rainfall. Evie would’ve found it peaceful, were it not for the worry creasing her brow. On her way downstairs she learned another person had fallen from their bed, two people had been locked out of their rooms, and the cinnamon had been swapped for cayenne at the oatmeal bar. The guests had taken it in stride, excited to get the full Honeysuckle House experience. But these were not the usual tricks, and they unsettled Evie. Her mind strayed to the black candle burning in her attic, and she wondered, for the first time ever, if she shouldn’t have left an open flame unattended.
She shook her head. She would not let her sister’s paranoia get to her. She’d done everything the cards had shown her to break her family’s curse. If it hadn’t worked, the house would know, and it would tell her. Honeysuckle House loved her and Clara as much as they loved it. It wouldn’t put them in danger.
So lost was Evie in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the footsteps on the porch until Angela stood right in front of her. Evie pushed up from the rocking chair and grabbed Angela in a hug, holding a littletighter than usual. Angela took a step back, hands on Evie’s forearms, and looked her over, eyes at once gentle and searching.
“Something’s wrong,” Angela said.
Angela might’ve been Florence’s best friend, but she and Evie had a special bond all their own. Florence wouldn’t set foot in the house, but where Florence couldn’t be there for Evie, Angela had. It had been Angela who stood by Evie’s side when the first guest booked a stay. Angela who had driven Evie to the hospital when Clara was born, who had helped celebrate Clara’s first birthday and her second birthday and all the way to her seventh.
Evie glanced down at Angela’s hands on her, and though she wanted Angela to keep them there far longer, she knew better than to get mixed up with her sister’s best friend in that way. There was enough tension between herself and Florence as it was. She wouldn’t give Florence something else to hold over her.
Not that it stopped Evie from gripping Angela’s hand—lingering on the feel of her skin beneath Evie’s fingertips, the ridges of her knuckles, her short-cut nails—and pulling her around the side of the porch, where the once-bright clapboard was now chipped and stained. The house had never been worn down when Evie was younger, but since her mother’s death it had done its part to look haunted for Evie’s guests.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Evie said, more for herself than for Angela. “The house is being a little more mischievous than usual.”
Angela arched an eyebrow. “Not just the bookshop it seems.” As she reached into her bag, Clara came running from the yard, followed by a stream of honeybees. She shot up the steps and barreled right into Angela, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in her wake. She wrapped her arms around Angela’s waist, already quite tall for her age.
“Angela!” she shouted then buried her head into Angela’s side.
Angela grabbed her in a hug. “Good morning to you, too.”
Where Evie had her late father’s blonde hair, Clara took after Evie’s mother, making her look more Florence’s daughter than Evie’s, with an angled face and long brown waves that had managed to fallalmost completely out of their braids. Evie was constantly trying to talk Clara into cutting it, but Clara wanted it long like Aunty Flo’s. Evie didn’t mind too much, as long as Clara was happy. The one feature all three shared: the hazel Caldwell eyes. Though, much to Evie’s surprise, Clara had been born without a birthmark above her right cheekbone. Evie and Florence both had a freckle at the corner of their eye. It was one of the few physical features they shared, not only with each other but with their mother, and, if she was to be believed, with every Caldwell witch who’d come before them. Evie’s hadn’t become apparent until she was around Clara’s age, so it was possible Clara’s would arrive with time.
In one fist Clara held a handful of rain-damp honeysuckle flowers, which the bees were still attempting to drink from, in the other the taper candle she’d dipped the night before with Evie. Clara had been eager to learn magic the first time she saw Evie light a candle, and while Evie didn’t let her daughter cast spells on a whim (at least, not without guidance), she did let her dip her own candles, as long as she promised only to use her magic for good.
“What’ve you got there?” Angela asked when Clara finally let go.
“Candle,” Clara said, holding it up.
“Pink!” Angela said. “Aren’t you a little young for a love spell?”
Clara laughed brightly. “Pink can do other things.”
“If not love, then what?” Angela asked with a quick look at Evie.
Evie smiled and mouthed,Thank you. Angela didn’t only indulge Clara, she listened to her. Treated her like a person. There was a reason her daughter loved Angela like she was a part of the family.
Clara pursed her lips in thought. “Friendship.” she said. “Besides, it’s not all pink.” She gave the candle to Angela, and where Clara’s hand had covered the base, the pink wax bled to blue. Evie used blue for healing, forgiveness, truth, or clarity—sometimes all four. It was the first time Clara had used the color, and the first time she’d combined it with another.
The choice had surprised Evie. She preferred working with multiple candles for a spell if she needed the properties of different colors, but she wanted to foster her daughter’s intuition. Clara felt drawn toput two colors together in a single candle, so Evie helped her make it happen.
“What’s the blue for?” Angela asked.
“All of us,” Clara said. “But the house especially.” She looked up at the windows, her brow furrowed. Then, she took the candle and sat on one of the porch rockers, absorbed in her own thoughts.
Evie stared at her daughter.
“Seems you’re not the only one who’s noticed something off with the house,” Angela whispered. “What happened?”
But Evie shook her head. “The usual antics.”
