Page 74 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
The night before she’d found almost the same spell her mother had cast in her grandmother’s journal. As she reached for the diary to see what her grandmother had written about it, her eyes landed on a different one. It was from 1973, thirteen years after her grandmother’s, and she started to wonder.
Had her family cast that spell every time? If so, why hadn’t it worked?
She reached for the later book, flipping through the pages as she searched for anything that might resemble a list. There! A spell, just like her mother’s—brown candle and all. She reached for the next journal in the stack, Regina’s from 1986, the year Florence was born. It too, had the spell. Though this page had Florence’s name scrawled across the top.
Evie traced her fingertip over her grandmother’s writing, trying to account for the change in the spell. Had she tried to use Florence as the anchor before she was even born?
Evie plucked her mother’s 1999 journal from the stack, turning page after page until she found the spell there, too. This time, Evie’s name was added to the list. Her mother, it seemed, had tried to evolve the spell, too, instead using Evie as her anchor. Then thirteen years ago, she must have anchored the spell to Evie and Florence both. But even with two Caldwells, it hadn’t been enough to bind the magic.
Now, though, things were different. Evie had all the spells the Caldwells before her had cast to stop the curse. More than that, Evie had Clara, which meant there were three Caldwell witches to ground the spell’s magic.
She hoped it would be enough.
Part XThe Two of Cups, Reversed
A soulmate card. Points to a deep emotional bond between two people.
When reversed, it indicates a lack of trust.
Chapter Forty-One
Regina, 1986
Regina Caldwell had never been one for domesticity. Dipping candles, harvesting honey, and managing her bees, yes. But these were things witches did; these were acts of magic. She supposed therewerewitches who enjoyed setting a table or infusing intention into sweeping their entryway. With Honeysuckle House, there was no need for a broom.
All that to say, she never expected to take up crocheting.
Yet here she was at fifty-two years old, sitting on the lounge chair in her living room, alternating between rows of single and half-double stitches. No matter how many times she counted her chains, her work always came out slightly misshapen. After her fifth attempt, she gave in to the imperfections. Her granddaughter wouldn’t notice them until she was much older anyway, and by then they’d feel charming rather than lazy.
Her daughter lay across their couch, one hand on her over-large belly and her feet on her husband’s legs. After Regina mentioned wanting another little witch in her family, Linda had dipped and lit a couple of pink candles, and despite the town’s avoidance of the Caldwells and their curse, Robert had only had eyes for Linda. They’d married a couple of months later, Linda already pregnant with a child that was due any day now.
Robert had settled into their lives like he’d always been there. While Regina had no particular love for the man, she did enjoy his passion for cooking, something neither she nor Linda had ever picked up. Besides, he’d provided Regina with a grandchild, and that was more than enough of a reason to tolerate having a man in her home for a short while.
“Are you not worried about the curse at all?” Linda asked as she sipped a cup of raspberry tea. “After it took Violet …”
“Aunt Violet,” Regina corrected her. Though her daughter may never have had the chance to get to know Regina’s sister, it felt important to remember her in this way. After all, Regina had never loved anyone quite so much as she’d loved her sister.
Linda rolled her eyes, then winced. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” Robert said. “Too much pressure?”
But Linda shook her head. “Not you,” she said. “Florence. Seems she’s just as worried about all of us as I am.”
“I’m sure your mother’s magic will take care of us,” Robert said.
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side,” Linda said with a sigh she had no right to. Her eyes met Regina’s. They both knew about the candles Linda had dipped and burned to keep Robert’s worries at bay. To her mother she said, “Your magic didn’t work last time.”
“I’ve had another thirteen years to work things out,” Regina said. “This time, we’ll be safe.”
Her daughter tapped her fingertips against her belly, her lips pressed thin. “Last time you let me help you.”
“Last time, your magic wasn’t affected by it,” Regina said.
The past week had been like 1973 all over again. As soon as October arrived, Regina’s candles started looking like the blanket in her lap—rough and haphazard—the work of a novice. When Linda had come to her after trying to dip a candle for the baby’s health, Regina discovered her daughter’s magic hadn’t fared any better than her own. And with each day that brought them closer to the thirteenth, things only got worse. They’d stopped dipping candles altogether a few days ago after Linda’s shirt had caught fire while she was trying to light a stubborn wick.
“I still think we should work the spell together,” Linda said. “Two witches are better than one.”
“You need rest,” Regina told her.
