Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Florence, Now
When Florence and Owen got back to the bookshop, there was already a hot pot of tea waiting for them.
Florence immediately went to it and poured herself a cup, trying to center herself.
As much as she’d come to fear her own magic, the day’s events made it clear that giving up her power had been for nothing.
If they wanted answers, the cards were the only hope they had.
“I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this,” Florence said. “But we’re out of options.”
“Unless the shop has some way to let us look into the past,” Owen said.
“It used to be Grey’s Gifts, but that was before it became like a home to me—before it came to life,” Florence said. “It’s possible the woman who sold me the shop still has something from back then. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a—”
Before Florence could finish her sentence, the lights flickered off, plunging her and Owen into darkness. Florence yelped and stepped a little closer to him until their shoulders touched. The bulbs came back to life a few moments later. Neither of them stepped apart.
“What was that about?” Florence asked.
The coffee table began to shake. In the middle of it sat an ordinary candle—the sort they sold at the home décor store just a few shops down the block—and beside it, a book of matches.
“That wasn’t there before, was it?” Owen asked.
Florence shook her head. “You want me to light this?”
The bulbs glowed brighter.
Florence sat down on the couch and stared at the wax. It wasn’t a spell candle, so there was no danger in it. And she had come back to the shop for the sole purpose of a tarot reading. Still, the thought of setting wick to flame sent a burst of fear through her.
Owen sat beside her.
“Lighting this candle will help us somehow?” she asked.
Beneath her, the sofa gave an impatient shake, threatening to tip her into Owen once more.
“Alright, alright.” Florence picked up the matches, her hand unsteady.
“Do you want me to light it?” Owen asked gently.
“Would you?”
When she gave him the matches, their fingertips brushed for just a moment. Their eyes met, and Florence almost gripped his hand and held him there. Instead, she let go.
Then, Owen struck a match.
As soon as he lit the candle, an unnatural breeze blew through the room, putting out the flame and sending up tendrils of smoke from the still-red wick until the wisps coalesced into shapes.
As a picture began to unfold, unfamiliar voices filled the room, and Florence watched the past play out before her.