Chapter 13 #2
Evie shook her head subtly, then nodded to the ceiling directly above them.
Angela glanced up at the remains of the old chandelier, then back down, one eyebrow arched.
Evie dropped to her knees and lifted the edge of the rug.
There, in the wood, markings as if something had crashed through once, long ago.
Evie stood and brushed the dust from her knees. She leaned in close to Angela once more. “The house kept this room from us.” It had shut away her mother’s spell and the very journal Evie had read that made her think her benevolence could break the curse.
“Then how are we in here now?” Angela asked.
Evie glanced at her daughter who held her mother’s quartz in the palm of her hand.
“Why did you think the fire was your fault?” Evie asked her.
Once more tears welled up in Clara’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt the house.”
But Evie took her hand and said, “Don’t you see, honeybee? You made this possible. Your magic broke through whatever kept us from finding this place.”
Clara’s eyes brightened. “When we made the candles yesterday, I was thinking about you and Aunt Flo. I know she doesn’t ever come here, and I wanted her to.
You and Angela are always talking about how lonely she is, so I put all of those feelings together.
I did the pink wax because you love Aunt Flo and I love Aunt Flo and everyone should love Aunt Flo, and then I added the blue mostly because it felt right. ”
Evie smiled softly. “Trusting your intuition.”
Clara nodded emphatically. “When I lit the candle I spoke my intentions, like you taught me. I asked for the fire to bring her a friend, and after everything I heard you and Angela talking about this morning with the house … I asked it to show me how I could help. Then the whole candle burned, fast. Really fast. And then … and then …” She looked back toward the hole in the wall and sniffled.
“I wanted to help it, not set it on fire.”
“Fire is part of our magic,” Evie said. “And I’m the one who left that candle burning.”
“And,” Angela chimed in. “From what the firefighters said, there really isn’t much damage at all.”
“Does that mean we can come back tomorrow?” Clara asked. “And maybe this time Aunt Florence will come!”
“We could call her,” Angela said. “If anything is going to bring Florence back here, this is it.”
Part of Evie knew Angela was right. The spell would be stronger with the two of them, and with the way Florence felt about Honeysuckle House, she’d have no qualms binding it.
But if Evie were going to do this, she had to find a way to make sure the spell would only bind the darkness in the house—whatever it was that caused the house to kill—rather than putting out its magic all together.
No, binding the house was something Evie had to do alone.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Evie said.
“But that was my spell,” Clara said. “To bring Aunt Florence home.”
“And we will,” Evie said. “I just need a little time with this to make sure she knows it’s safe for her here.”
“Because of the fire?” Clara asked.
Evie knelt down in front of her daughter. “I love this house as much as you do, honeybee, and so does your aunt. But when we were little like you, a lot of bad things happened to us here. She still feels those feelings when she thinks about this place.”
“Do you feel them?” Clara asked.
If Evie was honest with herself, she did feel them, sometimes, when she let her mind slip back to her childhood.
But it was easier not to think about those times, to turn around and walk out of the room when an unpleasant memory floated to the surface.
It was something she wished her sister would do.
Florence, at least, had lived thirteen years here with their father to keep her safe before the curse took him.
Evie had only been seven when he died. She’d spent most of her childhood at Honeysuckle House with no one to protect her, and yet still she walked its halls.
She’d reshaped it, then reclaimed it, and made it her own instead of running from what had happened.
“Not anymore,” Evie said. “For me this place is full of memories of you and me and Angela and the festival. It’s a place of joy, and that’s why we’re going to make sure nothing bad happens to it.
” She said the words not only for Clara, but for the house.
“For now, we should probably go ahead and pack our things. Why don’t you ask Angela to help you put your bag together while I finish up in here? ”
“I don’t need any help,” Clara said. “But I did find some new rocks at the creek yesterday. You can look at them while I pack.”
“I love new rocks,” Angela said. Then she crouched down and said, “Hop on. I’ll carry you over the broken glass.” Once Clara was on her back, Angela looked over the altar one last time, her eyes meeting Evie’s.
“Let’s keep this between us for now,” Evie said. “I don’t want Florence to feel forced to come home before she’s ready.”
Angela hesitated but ultimately nodded. “Be careful, and be quick.”
“I will,” Evie said.
Once Angela and Clara disappeared through the hole in the wall, Evie reached for the journal that lay open on her mother’s altar.
As her fingers closed around it, a moan echoed through the room, like a heavy weight had been placed on the floor.
A lamp in the corner flicked on long enough for the old bulb to shutter off with a loud pop and an explosion of glass.
“I’m going to make this right,” Evie said to the house. “Whatever this curse is doing to you, I’m going to fix it.”
Again the wood creaked, right beneath Evie’s feet.
As the floorboards shifted, throwing her off balance, her breath caught.
The fire might be out, but the house still wasn’t safe.
Her hands went cold. Fear made its way up her spine to the base of her neck—the first time she’d felt anything like it in a long, long time.
She grabbed the stack of journals and her mother’s tarot deck, and with one last look over the room, she hurried through the hole in the wall and out, out, out.