Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
After Regina pulled the three of swords the night Tillie moved in, her mind was a mess of worry and overthinking.
She made herself a cup of tea, lit a blue taper, and went to bed early, not even bothering to wash her face or wrap her hair.
In the candle smoke, the house had conjured up images of a young Regina and Violet tending to the hives with their mother and father.
It was a nighttime ritual the house had begun not long after her parents died, give Regina a chance to see her parents’ faces and hear their voices again thanks to the house’s magic.
Those quiet, easy moments brought Regina peace, but tonight that wasn’t enough.
She lay beneath her quilt for what felt like hours, the soft music winding its way up the stairs, but sleep wouldn’t come.
The walls creaked in her bedroom, as though the house sensed her unease, and when she finally sat up in bed, giving up on sleep altogether, the bedside lamp switched on.
“What should I do?” The question was for the house as much as herself.
Her new deck of cards sat open on the bedside table—not on the dresser where she’d left it. A slow smile spread across her face. She lifted the box and flipped it over, depositing the deck in her hand.
“You always know exactly what I need.”
The curtains fluttered at the compliment.
She hadn’t taken the time to look at the cards closely, had been almost afraid of them after her draw, but the beautiful thing about tarot was the deck always offered clarification.
Before she pulled another card, she fanned the cards face up in front of her, marveling at Tillie’s work.
Regina might not care much for the woman, but she couldn’t deny her talent.
The care she’d taken into hand-painting the cards and the detail were unmatched.
Regina imagined Violet running her fingers over the same cards, the decks now yet another thread in the magic that bound them together.
The blue candle still burned where she’d left it on the windowsill, wax spilling down the edge and pooling at the base.
She’d dipped the candle specifically to help with sleep—she had a full stock of them thanks to the nightmares that plagued her, reminding her of every detail of her parents’ deaths—but blue also fostered intuition.
It brought clarity, and clarity was exactly what Regina needed.
She shuffled the cards, taking care not to bend the backs. Then, with a deep breath, she spread them out on the quilt. As she lifted one, her bed frame rattled, the floorboards shook, and it slipped from her hands. She narrowed her eyes.
“I thought you wanted me to do this.”
The window cracked open, and a breeze stirred the hair around Regina’s face. She reached for the card she’d dropped. Once again, the bed began to shake, but this time she held tight.
“You don’t want me to have this card?”
The window opened and closed in response.
“Unfortunately for you, this is the card I drew.”
She flipped it over, but before she could make it out, the lamp turned off.
“You can’t stop me from seeing it.”
She reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp, but it didn’t react.
With an annoyed sigh, she slipped out from under the quilt, several cards falling from the bed and landing on her rug, their shadows just visible in the moon and candlelight.
She crossed the room to where her candle burned.
The curtains stirred, as if to put out the flame, but Regina snatched the candle holder away from them before they could.
She lifted first the candle, then the card.
The warm yellow light cast the depiction of Honeysuckle House in a soft glow.
At first, Regina smiled, seeing her front porch so lovingly detailed, but the longer she examined the artwork, the more her unease grew, until it threatened to choke her, much like the vines climbing the columns on the card—each one studded with thorns.
Seven of them. A warning of deceit. A call to be cunning.
Her mind skipped to Tillie, this invader in her home. Tillie, whose father had been trying to buy her family’s shop the day of the accident, who had been upset when the Caldwells wouldn’t budge. Tillie, whose family now owned the very storefront Christopher Caldwell had refused to sell.
Regina tapped a finger against the card, unsure what to make of it, why the house didn’t want her to see it. But she knew one person who could help her sort it out. She set the candle back on the windowsill, slid her feet into her slippers, and hurried toward her sister’s room.