Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Unlike most twelve-year-old girls, Florence had never particularly cared for her birthday.
It came every October, and every October her mom became stormy.
At the slightest provocation, Linda would yell, slam a door, and fly out of the room, only to come back hours later and hold her children close and whisper apologies into their hair.
Florence’s father would wrap his arms around them all and tell Linda they’d make it through this.
Florence knew this time of year was hard for her mother.
Her own mother, Florence’s grandmother, had died the same day Florence was born.
But Florence thought, maybe one day, her birthday would change things.
That her mother would celebrate Florence, who was right there in front of her, not mourn the grandmother Florence had never met.
That had yet to happen, so Florence would rather skip the whole affair if it meant Linda Caldwell stayed closer to overcast than full-on thunder.
Her dad, at least, had a constant sunny disposition, and birthdays only made him shine brighter.
Most years, Florence tried her best to mirror his enthusiasm, but this year was different.
As soon as October rolled around, Florence had felt an unease start in the center of her chest—where she most often felt her magic—and with each day that brought her closer to turning thirteen, it grew worse, like she had become the sky in the moments before a lightning strike.
When her father gave her a crisp ten-dollar bill to spend however she wanted after the bus dropped her off from school, and with it, permission to ride into town on her bike with Evie at her side, she couldn’t help but smile a little.
The cool fall air rushed against her as she pedaled toward Main Street, her sneakers a blur of blue and her flannel puffed out behind her. She held onto her backward ball cap with one hand and gripped the handlebar tight with the other.
“Florence!” Evie cried. “You’re going too fast!”
She slowed her speed and turned, circling back to where she’d left Evie several yards behind, her training wheels moving as fast as they could to keep up, and her cheeks pink with the effort.
“Don’t worry,” Florence said as she brought her bike alongside her little sister. “I won’t leave you behind.”
“I can’t go as fast as you,” Evie huffed.
Florence reached across the space between them and adjusted the sunflower on the front of Evie’s denim hat. “Once we get you out of those training wheels, I’ll be the one asking you to wait up.”
The sisters bought as much candy as they could with ten dollars, then took their bounty to the little park off Main Street.
The sweetgum trees looked like bonfires with their orange-red leaves, providing cover for the cardinals that flitted from branch to branch, their song the perfect backdrop for a perfect day.
Angela already sat under one of the trees with a blanket spread out for the three of them. She leaned back against the trunk and crossed her ankles, the soles of her combat boots facing skyward, and the orange of her dress matching the leaves overhead.
Florence’s mom had homeschooled her and Evie most of their lives, but last fall, her dad had insisted they send Florence to school to be around kids her age.
She mostly hated it. The other kids were nice enough, but no one seemed to want to get close to a witch.
But after Angela had gotten a bad grade on a test, Florence offered to study with her and dipped her a candle to help her focus. They’d been inseparable ever since.
Evie let her bike drop to the ground with a crash before jumping on the blanket, landing on all fours, and pulling her backpack free. She managed to unzip it and dump the candy out before Florence had even finished carefully resting her bike against Angela’s.
“I got two pink ring pops and a blue one because I remember you said you liked the blue one, but if you’d rather have the pink, you can have mine,” Evie said all in one breath.
“Blue is perfect,” Angela said, as she took the offered candy ring. Then she jumped up and grabbed Florence in a fierce hug. Sometime between April and September, Florence had grown six inches and now towered over Angela, all elbows and knees.
“Happy birthday!” she said into Florence’s side.
“Almost birthday,” Florence said. “I wish you could come over tomorrow and celebrate.”
Evie shook her head. “Mom’s in one of her moods.” It was a phrase she’d picked up from their father. “Doubt it’ll be over by tomorrow.”
“I don’t know why my mom’s so worried about it. If there really was—”
But whatever Angela said was lost on Florence as her ears started to ring. When she looked back at Angela, her mouth was still moving, but Florence couldn’t make out the words. She’d gotten used to her hearing going in and out over the years—a trait she and her sister shared.
She stuck a finger in her ear, thinking maybe that would help even though it never did, to find Evie was shaking her head.
“—you’d tell me,” Angela finished. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Tell you what?” Florence asked.
“Did you hear anything I said?” Angela asked.
But Florence shook her head. “Ears were ringing.”
Angela pursed her lips. “They seem to do that every time I bring it up.”
“Bring what up?” Florence asked.
“I know I hardly mention it,” Angela said. “All the kids at school whispered about it when you started. The first time I asked you about it, I thought maybe you were acting like you couldn’t hear me because you didn’t want to talk about it. But tomorrow’s the thirteenth.”
“My birthday,” Florence said.
“Yes and …” Angela trailed off. “I think maybe your mom doesn’t want you to know. Could she do something like that? Light a candle to keep you from hearing something?”
Florence nodded without hesitation. “She muffled my ears once. Said I was listening to something I shouldn’t have been.
” She still remembered the sensation, even more she remembered the conversation.
Her father claimed Linda had used her magic on him—to do what, Florence didn’t know.
She’d leaned too far over the stairs, and her mother had seen her straightaway.
She hadn’t been able to hear right for a week.
“It wasn’t like the ringing though. I don’t think the magic works that way. She’d have to keep doing it.”
“Maybe she has,” Angela said.
“You could ask her,” Evie suggested, still not fully aware how the wrong question could send their mother over the edge.
“Maybe after my birthday,” Florence hedged.
Angela opened her bag and took out a small box that she handed to Florence.
“My mom helped me pick it out.”
Inside Florence found a necklace—a black leather cord with a small dark crystal hanging from it.
“Tourmaline!” Florence said. Though her mom sometimes used crystals in her spell work, Florence had learned more about them from Angela than she ever had from her mother. Angela had bought a guide about them at the book fair, and she’d been obsessed with them ever since.
Angela pulled a cord from around her own neck and fished a matching stone from beneath her shirt. Florence pulled hers over her head and tucked the crystal under her shirt to rest beside the half of the heart necklace she shared with Evie.
Beside them, Evie pouted. “What about me?”
Angela met Florence’s eyes with a grin and an arched eyebrow. Florence nodded.
“It’s not your birthday, is it?” Angela asked.
“No,” Evie said with a sigh and a matching frown.
“Don’t worry,” Angela said. “Mom got one for you anyway.” She pulled out another small box and Evie squealed with delight.
“I thought these might help with your mom,” Angela said. “And with the thing you never seem to be able to hear me talk about.”
“The thing that’s keeping you from coming over tomorrow,” Florence said. She worried at her lip. “Maybe there’s a way around it. Could you write it down?”
Angela pulled a notebook out of her bag and flipped to an empty page. She started to write, but when Florence looked over her shoulder, all she saw were smudge marks. She shook her head.
“Evie?” Florence asked.
Her little sister looked up from the necklace she hadn’t stopped turning over in her hands. “Hmm?”
“What does that say?” She pointed to the notebook.
Evie frowned. “Doesn’t say anything.”
“Let’s try something else,” Angela said. “It rhymes with …” she paused and tapped a finger against her lip. “Purse.”
“Nurse!” Evie suggested.
“You think my mom wouldn’t let me come over because of a nurse?” Angela asked.
“If it was a scary nurse,” Evie said. “It’s going to be Halloween soon.”
Florence pursed her lips, then, starting with the beginning of the alphabet, made her way through the consonants. “Burse … curse. Oh! Curse?”
“Yes!” Angela said.
“There’s a curse?” Florence asked. “At … my house?”
“On—”
Again with the ringing. Florence shook her head. “I think you might be right.”
“What’s a curse?” Evie asked.
“It means something bad happens,” Florence said.
“Bad things happen all the time,” Evie said. “Like mom forgetting you at school or getting mad about the broken flowerpots or yelling when I got honey stuck in my hair.”
“Not those kind of things,” Florence said. “Curses are much worse.”
“She cut off all my hair,” Evie said. “I guess curses must be pretty bad.”
“It’s like in Sleeping Beauty,” Angela said. “If the princess pricked her finger on a spindle, she’d fall asleep forever.”
“The wicked grandmother did that to her,” Evie said.
“Godmother,” Florence corrected.
“Do we have a wicked godmother?”
Florence considered the question. Her mother had never spoken to her about curses. “Not that I know of,” Florence said. “But I think they work like spells.”
“So someone cast a curse on us—”
All at once, both Evie and Florence clapped their hands over their ears, the ringing worse than it had ever been. After a few moments, it subsided. That was when it hit Florence. She’d learned about curses from books.
“Tell it to us like a story,” she said to Angela.
“You really think that will work?” Angela asked, doubtful.
Florence shrugged. “It depends on what my mom wanted the spell to do when she made the candle.”
“Make sure you start with ‘Once upon a time,’ ” Evie said as she tried—and failed—to put her necklace on. Angela leaned over and took it from her. She unclasped it and brought it around Evie’s neck.
“Once upon a time,” Angela said, “there was a family of witches who could cast spells with candles. They had a magical house at the edge of town. Though they were powerful, their magic wasn’t enough to protect them from bad things happening.
Once every thirteen years, someone they loved died at that magical house. ”
As the words sunk in, Florence’s heart stuttered.
“I don’t like this story,” Evie said. “It doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Is it true?” Florence asked.
“In the story, it’s been happening since …” Angela paused. “The forties.”
Florence tried to think back to what she knew about the Caldwells who came before her. Her grandmother had died thirteen years ago, the same day Florence was born, but before that? Her mom didn’t talk about it.
If Florence’s family really was cursed, there were only four people she loved—her mom, her dad, her sister, and Angela.
“Your mom’s afraid it will be you,” Florence realized.
When Angela nodded, Florence took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“In the story, does it always happen at the house?” Florence asked.
“It does,” Angela said.
“Then we can’t be home tomorrow.” If all the deaths happened at Honeysuckle House, she thought, then being somewhere else might keep them safe.
“Maybe you can get your dad to take you somewhere,” Angela suggested.
“What about Mommy?” Evie asked.
Florence and Angela shared a look that was a mixture of fear and resolve, and Florence had never felt as seen in her life as she did in that moment.
“We’ll try,” Florence said.
As hard as Linda Caldwell was, Florence loved her mother.
She certainly didn’t want her to die, but she’d kept the truth of the curse from her, and, as far as Florence knew, she had no plans to take them away from Honeysuckle House—to protect them.
If getting her father and her sister to safety meant leaving without her mother, then that’s what she would do.