Page 85 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Angela gripped Evie’s hand. The warmth of her touch spread from Evie’s palm, up her arm, and settled in her chest. “It’s absolutely what I want.”
“Even with the curse?” Evie asked.
Angela looked up at the house. “I think we’re a little far in for that.”
Evie wasn’t about to let the curse take Angela from her. She wasn’t going to let it take anyone ever again.
“Why don’t we make those calls on the way to grab the rest of the journals,” Angela said. “Then we can meet Owen and Florence back at the bookshop.”
Chapter Fifty
Honeysuckle House, Now
Black-shuttered windows stared out over the lawn, and though the family had gone, the bulbs still flickered on and off, on and off. At first, the lights had been a warning, a way to get the witches out, but now, it couldn’t seem to stop, as if all the magic that had brought the house to life couldn’t be contained within its walls.
It had been coming out in bursts. Not the first fire—that had been a magic beyond the power pumping through the pipes like a beating heart. The beam, too, had been out of the house’s control.
But the fire the night before? That should never have happened. The house had been so overjoyed for one final dinner with its family. After Florence had come—even if it did end with a fight between the sisters—Honeysuckle House knew it could finally rest, its work complete and the family free. It hadn’t expected them to risk a dinner, and it should’ve warned them away. But it only had precious few moments left, and it wasn’t prepared to waste them.
That had been its mistake.
It couldn’t risk hurting the people it loved the most ever again.
Part XIITemperance, Reversed
A symbol of balance.
When reversed, something is out of balance.
Chapter Fifty-One
Florence, Now
When Florence and Owen got back to the bookstore, Ink sat waiting for them by the front window. The sign on the entrance readFinish your book tonight, and we’ll be back tomorrow to help you find the next one!
Florence turned the key in the lock. The lights flickered on as she pushed open the door. “Hello, Shop,” she called. In response, there came a sound from somewhere deep inside the building, like a person flipping through a book.
Ink pounced onto her jeans and climbed his way up. Florence grabbed him before he reached her chunky sweater and cradled him in her arms. She brought her nose to his nose, his breath fogging up her glasses, and he let out a small, delighted meow. She rested him gently on her shoulder, but rather than settle there, he squatted back and leapt for Owen.
Owen caught the kitten with a laugh, set him on his own shoulder, and said, “It’s nice to see you too.”
“I think we should start with a tarot reading,” Florence said. “The cards called me home. They foretold the house catching fire. Evie and I may have misinterpreted the reading thirteen years ago, but with all of us together, I think we’ll have a better chance at getting it right this time around.”
The register started to beep, and there beside it sat Florence’s tarot deck.
With a whispered thanks, she grabbed it and whirled around, smacking right into Owen’s chest. She pulled back quickly, almost falling over, when he steadied her with his hands on her forearms. The heat of them seeped through her sweater clear to her skin, and a flush made its way up her throat in response. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for a moment neither of them moved.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Her eyes fell to his lips, and she swallowed.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were right there. I …” She almost rose up on her toes, almost pressed herself into him. If they were right about the house murdering Tillie, then maybe the house wouldn’t kill someone Florence cared about. Maybe it was only doomed to kill someoneitloved. But that wasn’t a risk Florence could take. There was still a chance Owen was safe, that whatever this mess of emotions she felt toward him wasn’t enough to count, wasn’t enough to put him in danger if they couldn’t break the curse tonight. But if she kissed him, she’d be done for.
She tore her eyes away from his mouth. Then she cleared her throat, and he dropped his hold on her.
“Tarot?” She held up the deck.
“Tarot,” he said, his voice deeper than it had been a few moments before.
