Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Florence, Now
As Angela turned on the lights inside Ink 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.
Owen reached across the space between them until his face was close enough to hers to feel intimate, to feel a swirling right in the middle of her chest, but far enough that he was still somehow respecting her personal space.
She dared a glance at his eyes, and when hers met his, he grinned, at once soft and roguish, and it was a good thing Florence had sworn off love or she’d probably have kissed him right then and there.
She tugged at the leather cord around her neck, pulling a small piece of tourmaline from under her sweater.
She clutched the crystal tightly in her hand.
Owen fanned the cards out in front of her, and her chest went cold.
She hadn’t seen those dark green card backs since the day she’d given up her magic. They shouldn’t have been there. Before she could say as much, Owen flipped one of the cards toward her. Four candles were painted in each corner, and in the center sat Honeysuckle House.
Florence stared at the card, her heart racing. Beside her, Angela gasped.
“The four of wands,” Owen said.
A peel of thunder echoed around them, loud enough to shake the front window. Florence made a sound in the back of her throat. Maybe if she asked him to turn the card back over, she could pretend this had never happened.
He glanced up at her. “Is something wrong?”
She didn’t know where to start.
“Is that—?” Angela didn’t finish the sentence.
Florence nodded.
Owen looked between them, confusion clear on his face.
“That deck belonged to my great-aunt.” The words came out before Florence could think about them, and as soon as she spoke them, Owen glanced from her to the card the way one might take in the varying veins of green and purple in a piece of fluorite, all beautiful on their own but ultimately part of a whole.
She pulled off her glasses and started cleaning them with the sleeve of her blouse.
Owen opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, then closed it just as quickly as he took out a second book on tarot.
The shop had developed a habit of dropping guidebooks at his feet, and he had developed a habit of buying them.
He flipped a few pages and said tentatively, “The wands are the fire suit. The four is a homecoming card.”
“It is,” Florence agreed.
He lifted the card gently and ran his thumb along the painted surface in a way Florence had longed to do for thirteen years.
“Is this Honeysuckle House?” He nodded at the front of the card.
“It is,” Florence said again.
Owen worried at his lip. “It also says the card is a good omen—a cause for celebration. Is your birthday coming up?”
“The thirteenth,” Florence mumbled.
“You don’t sound too happy about that,” he said. “Do you want me to pull a clarifying card or …?”
She did, and she didn’t.
“I think that’s good for now,” Angela interrupted. “Why don’t we pull a card for you?”
He glanced between the women then nodded. He held his hand over the cards, landing on one on the opposite end of the card he’d pulled for Florence. He picked it up, tilted his head to the side, then showed it to her.
Painted on its front were two cups held aloft by two hands. Honeysuckle vines twined around the fingers and up the stems of the glasses, binding them together.
Florence swallowed hard, ignored the very pointed look Angela was giving her, then once again started furiously cleaning her glasses.
“This is a much more fun card,” Angela said. “Go ahead, what do you think it means?”
“Cups represent emotions, and twos represent unions,” Owen said.
“Good,” Angela said. “Which means …”
“A union of emotions?” Owen suggested.
Angela laughed. “Exactly!”
Owen’s eyes flicked toward Florence, and when his met hers, his cheeks flushed. He tucked a fallen piece of hair behind his ear. Florence looked away.
“More precisely, it suggests a deep emotional bond between two people,” Angela said. “It’s a romance card.”
“Not always,” Florence said a little too quickly.
Angela quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s a soulmate card,” Florence clarified.
“Angela and I are soulmates, and we’re just friends.
” They’d tried dating once after they took over the shop—Angela suggesting that since she was the one person Florence had let in, they might as well give it a go—but they’d quickly realized neither of them had romantic feelings for each other.
“But it can represent romantic love,” Angela pressed.
“Except that it’s reversed, which indicates a lack of trust in a new or an existing relationship,” Florence said.
Angela cut Florence a look, glanced at the cards. “It’s facing the same direction as your card.”
“Right, but Owen pulled this one for himself, not me.”
Angela leaned forward. Her brow furrowed for a moment then smoothed just as quickly as she leaned back and clapped her hands.
“A reversal can also indicate an amplification of the regular meaning,” Angela said.
Owen glanced between them, following their back-and-forth with a small smile playing on his lips.
“Maybe you should draw another card,” Florence suggested. “Get a little more insight.”
“Careful,” Angela said. “Sounds like you’re giving tarot advice.”
“It’s not like I’m reading the cards,” Florence said.
“You don’t read tarot?” Owen asked.
“Not for a long time,” Florence replied.
“Well, I like the idea of a little clarification.” He flipped another card.
Honeysuckle House sat before them once more. Only this time, it was on fire.
Florence stared at the card.
Angela stared at the card.
Owen stared at the card.
None of them spoke for a few moments.
“Oh. Well. Hmm,” Angela said, breaking the silence. “I did not expect you to pull the tower.”
Owen let out a choked sound.
“It’s okay,” Florence said, as much for herself as for him. “The tower doesn’t have to mean impending disaster.”
Angela blinked a few times, then nodded. “Right! Of course! The tower can be a sign of sudden change. Like … like …”
“Like taking a temporary job as a beekeeper in a small town?” Owen suggested.
“Exactly!” Florence said.
“It doesn’t have to mean things literally burning to the ground.” Angela laughed uncomfortably as she picked up the card and held it up for them to see. “The illustration is a metaphor.”
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.