Page 87 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
With a nod, Florence said, “How do we break the curse?” Then, she turned to her sister.
Evie leaned forward in her seat. She shook out her hand and held it over the fanned-out cards, moving it back and forth a few times until she paused on a single card; she flipped it over.
They were greeted by the sight of Honeysuckle House on fire.
“The tower,” Owen said.
“Wedohave to destroy the house.” Sadness threaded through Evie’s voice, and she slumped back in her seat.
“No!” Clara shouted, jumping up from her chair. “I love the house. We can’t hurt it. Mommy, you said the tower can be a meta … a meta …”
“A metaphor?” Angela offered.
Clara crossed her arms and nodded. Then, she started digging through her backpack.
“It wasn’t the last time it was pulled,” Florence said.
“But that fire also didn’t burn the house down,” Angela said.
Florence tapped her finger against her lip. “Let’s say itisa metaphor. The tower is a card of destruction—of cutting ties with the past.” She leaned forward in her chair, her arms on her knees as she tried to suss out how that related to the house. “I’d hoped things would be a little more clear. That we’d have a direct answer or at least something to tell ushowto do what the cards said.”
“We have the journals,” Evie said.
But each book was filled with writing. There was no way they could get through every page, even with all of them reading.
Clara held up a small pink-and-blue candle. “I made a spell for us! Ink helped me.” She set the taper in a candlestick holder next to the cards, then looked up at Florence.
“You brilliant girl,” Florence said.
Clara beamed. Then, she frowned. “What about your rule?”
“I think it’s time we changed it,” Florence replied.
With a broad smile, Clara struck a match and lit the wick. The candle burned faster than any taper Florence had ever seen or lit herself. The blue and pink waxes pooled on the table. As the fire went out, the journals opened, the pages flipping of their own accord, until almost all of the journals sat face up, waiting to be read.
Clara reached for one of them and brought a finger to the page, her lips moving as her brow furrowed. She looked up with a frown.
“I can’t read this. The words are all swirly.” At the despair in Clara’s voice, Florence almost jumped up to wrap her niece in a hug.
Evie took the diary from her. “It’s in cursive, honeybee. You’ll learn it soon.”
“But I want to help, now!” Clara said.
“Your magic got us this far,” Evie said.
“Why don’t you keep Ink busy?” Florence suggested.
Clara nodded slowly. “I can do that.” She scooped up the kitten and went to sit by the fireplace the shop had conjured.
Evie’s eyes met Florence’s, and the warmth Florence found there had her wishing they’d done all of this much, much sooner.
“This is Mom’s spell.” Evie opened the one journal Clara’s spell hadn’t. “I found it on her altar when the wall first burned down.” She held it out toward Florence. “Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”
At the sight of her mother’s handwriting, Florence’s heart rate kicked up. Her hands trembled, the notebook shaking.
“It’s okay,” Evie whispered, voice soft. “She’s not really here.”
Florence looked up at her sister. “I wish my body understood that.”
