Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Clara, Now
Clara Caldwell loved three things most in the world: Honeysuckle House, her magic, and her family. But every time she stepped inside Ink & Pages, that list grew.
She loved the smell of her aunt’s fresh-cut lemons soaking up negative energy and the way the books sat on (and sometimes fell off) the shelves and the energy of the crystals and the magic in the plants and all the tarot decks, and she especially loved hiding in the reading nook the shop created just for her whenever she came to visit.
All of that, of course, came back to her aunt.
And Clara very much loved her aunt.
That was why even though she also very much loved helping her mom deliver candles, she agreed to spend the day in the shop. Because maybe—just maybe—she could help her aunt with whatever it was that was making her so lonely.
Clara burst through the door of Ink & Pages with a backpack full of supplies.
She had the candle she dipped fresh the night before all pink and blue and set with intentions to help her aunt and help the house because while she didn’t exactly speak the same language as the house, she knew whatever was happening—whatever her mom was doing her best to ignore—was tied to her aunt coming home.
So, she had her candle, as has already been mentioned, but Clara felt it was always best to start lists at the top.
She also had matches and her favorite crystals—obsidian for protection (her mom and her aunt preferred tourmaline, but she liked how smooth obsidian was, and she especially liked her obsidian crystal because it was carved in the shape of a cat), pink quartz for love, and moonstone because another thing Clara very much loved was the moon.
“Aunt Flo!” Clara called as Angela came in behind her and carefully closed the door that Clara had thrown open.
Florence stepped out from one of the rows of shelves and in a singsong voice said, “Is that my favorite helper come to brighten up my bookshop on this gloomy day?”
“It is!” Clara cried, running straight for Florence and wrapping her arms around her.
Clara came up to Angela’s hip, but her aunt was tall, tall, tall, and Clara only just reached her thighs.
One day, though, she knew she’d be as tall as her aunt because she had her aunt’s hair and her aunt’s smile, and she might not have her aunt’s (or her mom’s) witch’s mark, but maybe she’d grow into that, too.
Florence bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead before her focus landed on the door. Clara turned around, following her gaze.
“Your mom’s not coming in today?” Florence asked.
“Nope,” Clara said. “She sent me with Angela after you sent over those tarot cards.”
Florence ruffled her hair and said, more to herself than to Clara, “Maybe she’s sitting with my warning.”
Clara answered her anyway. “She doesn’t think it’s a warning. She thinks it’s a sign, like you do, but a sign you need to come home and stop hiding in the shop and being so lonely.”
With a surprised laugh, Florence arched an eyebrow, her attention now on Angela. “You told her about Owen.”
Angela pressed her lips together and gave a little shrug. “I might have mentioned him.”
“She’s never going to let this go,” Florence said.
“Well, she is actively avoiding you,” Angela replied.
“If I still worked the flame, I’d light my own candle to get her to come to her senses.”
“What color would you use?” Clara asked. “I could light one for you.”
Florence dropped down in front of Clara and gave her another kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, but that would only further prove your mother’s point.”
“That you don’t like magic,” Clara said.
Florence opened her mouth, then closed it.
Clara knew her aunt didn’t think she or her mother should be dipping candles, much less lighting them, but she never said it to Clara directly.
Well, she had. Once. And the way her mom got after?
Clara had never seen her so mad and never wanted to see it again, and that was apparently enough for her aunt not to bring it up anymore, at least not when Clara was around.
“It’s okay,” Clara said. “You don’t have to say it.” She walked back to the front door where the tourmaline still sat broken. She planted her hands on her hips and leaned toward it. “At least you know it’s doing its job.”
Her aunt’s smile slipped as she looked at the cracked stones.
“And maybe you’ll have even more protection now,” Clara said. “More pieces means more crystals to keep you safe!”
Florence laughed. “That’s certainly one way to look at it. Why don’t we find you a book to read? Or do you want to help me stock some of the shelves?”
Clara didn’t want to do either. She wanted the shop to open the path to her special little corner, then close it off from her aunt so she could light her candle without anyone knowing. But Clara also didn’t like lying, so she decided she could read a page or two before she got started on her spell.
“Let’s find a book.” As the words left Clara’s mouth, there was a shuffling of pages from the children’s section and the familiar sound of a book hitting the floor.
Her aunt’s lips quirked. “It seems the shop has something in mind.”
Clara gripped her backpack tight as she ran down the space between the shelves until she reached the children’s books.
Here, every bit of exposed wall had been painted with characters from all of Clara’s favorite stories (which were, coincidentally, her aunt and Angela’s favorites, too).
A very hungry caterpillar stood poised to devour an entire shelf.
Winnie the Pooh and Paddington sat down to tea with Alice, while unicorns and penguins and a mouse eating a cookie ran along the wall.
Right in the middle lay a book, face up.
The cover showed a little bee perched atop a coneflower.
Her aunt came up beside her and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Yes, shop,” Clara said, much more loudly. “Thank you! This is exactly what I need to impress Owen with my knowledge of the bees!” She scooped up the book, turned back to her aunt, and said, “I’ll go find somewhere to read, then.”
Florence tilted her head to the side and said, “Sounds like a plan. Let me know if you need any help.”
Clara flipped open the first page of the book and looked over the words. “I think I can handle this one all on my own.”
Then she was off, weaving between the books until she reached the very back of the shop.
She glanced over her shoulder, and when she was sure no one was watching, she knocked on one of the shelves.
It swung open, revealing a small corner with a beanbag chair, a reading lamp, and a little table just for her.
On its opposite side sat every single one of Clara’s favorite books.
After reading the first two pages of the new story the shop had given her and getting caught up in it and then reading three more pages, Clara finally set it down and got to work.
She dug through her backpack—rocks she’d gathered from the creek, brown candles she used to get home in time for dinner, and everything she’d brought for today’s spell.
First, she pulled out her candlestick holder.
Then, she created a circle around it with her crystals, arranging her obsidian cat front and center.
Finally, she put the candle in place. She struck a match and held it up to the wick.
Once it caught flame, she shook out the match dramatically, stared into the fire, and said, “Bring my Aunt Florence a friend. And show me how I can help the house.” She paused, gasped as she remembered what her mother had taught her, and said, “Oh and may my magic be safe, my loved ones be good, and my work …” She paused, furrowed her brow, then smiled with satisfaction. “And may my work be a blessing.”
The fire glowed brighter with her words, and as it did, the candle began to melt.
Rather than the slow burn she’d expected, slow enough to let her read the book and wait for her mom to come and get her, the wax melted quickly.
It spilled out over the top of the candle, dripped down the edge, and pooled on the little table so fast that one moment the candle was burning and the next it had put itself out, the spell complete.
Her mom had always told her intention was at the heart of their magic, if she wanted something badly enough, she could bring it into the world.
And right then she could feel her intention at the center of her chest, like she’d had a hot cup of cocoa and swallowed it down much too fast. It seemed the candle had felt it too, which was well and good because that meant she could get back to reading sooner rather than later.
The wall behind her began to shake, and she let out a small yelp as the bookcase opened to reveal her aunt.
“Is that smoke?” Florence asked, gaze shifting from Clara to the now-empty candlestick holder. She dropped to her knees in front of Clara’s spell circle, a hand over her mouth and her eyes wide in a way Clara had never seen them.
“Sorry,” Clara said. “I know you don’t like magic in the shop, but it was for you.
Mom said this was going to be a hard month for you, so I had to make the candle.
Then when she said you were lonely, I didn’t want you to be lonely because I love you and I thought I could help you find a friend and also the house needed it and … ”
Clara could feel the tears starting to well up, and all at once her aunt’s face shifted from fear to concern.
“Please don’t stop wanting to see me the way you don’t want to see the house.”
Florence wrapped her arms around Clara. “I’ll never want to stop seeing you.” She held her tight, right up against her chest and rested her chin on the top of Clara’s head. “I’m sorry if I ever said anything that made you afraid I would.”
“It’s just, you never come see me,” Clara said.
Florence pulled back. “That has nothing to do with you, but your mom made me promise not to talk to you about it, and I have to respect that. If things were different, I’d be there every day to give you a hug and walk with you by the creek and sip nectar from the honeysuckles.
Who knows, after my birthday I might be able to. ”
“You really think so?” Clara asked as she wriggled out of her aunt’s arms to look up at her and better assess her answer.
Florence’s face clouded. “I certainly hope so. But until then, you know I don’t allow candles in the shop. And I thought your mom had a rule about casting spells for another person without their knowledge.”
Clara’s mom did, in fact, have that rule.
But before she could say as much, a soft mewling sound came from behind her aunt.
The shelf-turned-door opened wider of its own accord, and a small, long-haired black kitten stepped into the alcove.
It blinked at them with eyes yellow as the moon.
With a twitch of its tail, it approached Clara and rubbed its head against her leg.
She scratched between its ears. Then, it crouched low, shook its back legs, and jumped in the direction of Clara’s favorite books.
It almost reached the shelf that was eye level with Florence, but fell just short.
Florence caught it before it could tumble to the floor, though Clara knew it would land on all four feet. That’s simply what cats did.
“Who let you in here?” Florence asked, holding it up to her nose.
No one let the cat into the shop. Clara’s magic had called for a friend for her aunt, and the cat had answered. It was that simple. She couldn’t wait to tell her mom.
“No collar,” Florence said with concern. “And I haven’t seen any pregnant strays around.”
The kitten meowed again before wriggling out of Florence’s grip, clinging to her sweater, and crawling up her shoulder, where it started purring furiously. Her aunt smiled so wide, Clara wondered if she’d ever really seen her smile before that moment.
“Are you gonna keep it?” Clara asked. “You have to keep it.”
The smile slipped and, with a sigh, Florence said, “We should put up signs.” She nodded at the kitten. “I’m sure someone is missing you.” It burrowed in deeper against Florence’s collarbone.
“Maybe it’s here for you!” Clara said.
Florence glanced at Clara’s setup—the spent candle, the crystals. Her eyes widened. “You … summoned a cat?”
Clara shrugged. “Not on purpose. Well, yes on purpose, but I didn’t know it was going to be a cat. Mom and Angela said you were lonely and I love you and don’t want you to be lonely. Can we call him Ink? I think that would be just perfect.”
“Him?” Florence asked, holding up the kitten. She tilted her head, as if unsure how Clara could tell the cat was a boy.
“Feels right,” Clara said.
“If someone comes looking for this kitten, you know I have to give him back, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Clara said. But she knew no one was going to come looking. “Until then, he’s here with you in the shop.” It wasn’t a question.
Florence laughed softly as the kitten rose on unsteady legs and balanced on her shoulder before he leapt off and landed on the shelf he had missed earlier. He rubbed his back against the spines, then turned his eyes on Florence once more.
“He loves books!” Clara said.
“Ink it is,” Florence replied. Then she scooped him up and said, “Come on, let’s see if we can find him a saucer of milk.”