Chapter 4
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 little tighter 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 fall almost 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 to put 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.”
Angela narrowed her eyes, and Evie sighed.
“It locked a few guests out of their rooms, tumbled a couple out of their beds.” She paused. “One of them was pregnant.” Then, quickly, “Don’t tell Florence.”
“Florence is why I’m here.” Angela reached into her bag and pulled out a tarot deck.
“Don’t tell me you talked her into a reading,” Evie said.
“It wasn’t me,” Angela said. “The bookshop managed to pull these cards out of the house during my lesson with Owen.” She handed them over.
Evie had wanted to shuffle her sister’s cards more than once these past thirteen years, but she left them untouched on a high shelf in the upstairs library, where Clara couldn’t get to them.
“Did she pull any?” Evie asked.
“Owen did,” Angela said. “Before she recognized the deck. The four of wands.”
Evie arched her eyebrows. “Yet she sent you to our childhood home, instead of doing what the cards told her. Let me guess, she interpreted it as a sign she shouldn’t come home.”
“It’s not only that,” Angela flipped the top card, and Evie frowned at the sight of Honeysuckle House burning. “He also pulled the tower. It was for his own reading, but …”
“But?” Evie asked.
“Our tourmaline cracked,” Angela said. “All of it.”
Evie’s eyes widened a fraction. “While that’s concerning, it was in the shop, not here at my house.”
“The house where Owen happens to be working,” Angela said.
Evie opened her mouth to reply, but Angela cut her off.
“I know you and Florence see things differently, but you can’t ignore this.” Angela reached for Evie, then hesitated, eyes searching. “What if she’s right?”
“I thought you were on my side,” Evie said.
“So did I,” Angela said. “But with the cards and now the house, I’m worried about the festival.”
“We’ve spent the last thirteen years bringing this town back to life,” Evie said. “The festival is at the heart of that. We can’t cancel it.”
The whole point of the festival was reclaiming what had happened to her family—she and Angela had come up with the idea together.
When Evie told the house her plans for the bed and breakfast after she’d inherited it thirteen years ago, she’d asked for its help in renovating, and photos of the witches who came before her had appeared on the walls.
These were the ghosts who haunted her home, or so she told the tourists.
But the festival put hope at the end of all that darkness.
After a raucous tour of the house, they sent each guest home with a candle and the promise there would be no more deaths at Honeysuckle House.
“What if you move it to the twelfth?” Angela suggested.
“It’s too late,” Evie said. “The rooms are booked.”
“If this rain keeps up, we might not have a choice,” Angela said.
But they both knew the house would help them find a workaround.
All at once Clara was beside them. She reached for the deck in Evie’s hands, and to Evie’s surprise, she let her daughter take it.
Clara shuffled the cards. When she was finished, she lifted the top one, revealing the same thing Florence had seen—the four of wands.
She looked up at her mother. “The house wants her to come back.”
“We all want her to come back.” Evie bent down and pulled the rest of Clara’s hair free from her braids then started replaiting them. “She gets lonely in that shop.”
“She’s lonely?” Clara asked. “What about us?”
“She loves us, honeybee, but unless we go to her, most days she only has the books and Angela to keep her company.”