Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Clara, Now
Clara had never been happier to be back at Honeysuckle House.
After the fire man—the man who knew about fires, not the man who fought them—had told them it was safe, Clara had begged her mom to let her come home.
And while her mother wouldn’t commit to a full night in the house, she did agree to let Angela bring her by that afternoon with a promise for tomato soup and grilled cheese with honey if Clara was good while she stayed with Angela at the bookshop.
And she had been good. So good Angela got her a hot cocoa from across the street and let her pick out a book.
She flipped through it now as they made the drive to Honeysuckle House. Ink—who sat in her lap because she couldn’t simply leave him behind at the bookstore without any family there to take care of him—stared intently at each page.
“That can’t be good.” Angela said from the front seat.
Clara looked up to see Owen’s truck driving toward them, her aunt in the passenger seat.
“I thought she’d still be there when we got home,” Clara said. “That we’d all get to eat dinner together.” She’d wanted to be the one to add honey to Aunt Florence’s grilled cheese, to flip it on the frying pan and convince her to come back for sandwiches again sometime soon.
“That was the plan,” Angela said.
“They started fighting again, didn’t they?” Clara leaned her head back against the headrest and sighed deep and long like she’d seen her mom do every time she talked about her aunt.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Angela said.
“But what is your guess?” Clara asked.
Angela glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “They started fighting.”
“I took Ink,” Clara said. “Is Aunt Flo going to be okay without him?” The truck drove past, and Clara turned around in her seat. “Should we follow them so I can give him back to her?”
“Is that what you want to do?” Angela asked.
Clara shook her head and held Ink to her chest. “I want to see the house.” She wanted him to see the house.
“Then I’ll text her and let her know we have him,” Angela said.
As Angela pulled her car up the drive, Clara pressed her hands against the back seat window and peered up at Honeysuckle House, looking for any sign it was getting worse. Ink climbed up the side of her seat and smushed his nose against the glass.
“That’s our house,” she told him. “It’s like the bookshop, but older. I think you’ll like it.”
He meowed, and though she didn’t speak whatever language it was cats spoke, she decided he agreed with her.
“It’s been sick,” she told him. “But it seems okay from out here. I won’t be able to tell for sure until we’re inside though.”
“I think it’s going to be just fine,” Angela said.
But Clara wasn’t so sure. The curse had the house acting all wrong, and she was afraid it might never get back to its usual self.
The car rolled to a stop. Clara unbuckled her seat belt, pushed the door open, and jumped out of the car. Ink hopped out beside her and followed her up the front porch steps. She wrapped her arms around her favorite column.
“I hope you weren’t too lonely without us,” she said.
The floorboards shifted beneath her feet, a gentle up and down that made Ink jump back and give a little hiss.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “The house is saying hello.” She kept one hand on the column and dropped down into a crouch. “See?” She held out her palm to the kitten, and he took a few tentative steps forward, eyes on the planks that had moved only moments before.
He twitched his tail, then, when he was certain the porch wasn’t going to move anymore, he trotted to the column and rubbed his back against it. Clara scratched between his ears and pressed a cheek to the wood.
“I missed you,” she said. “Mom says everything will be back to normal soon.”
Overhead, the porch light flickered.
Before Clara could ask what the house meant, Angela caught up to her.
“I’m going to go check on your mom and get started on dinner,” she said. “Any special requests?”
“Extra honey, please!” Clara said. “Oh, and put aside some goat cheese for Ink. I think he’ll like it.” The kitten meowed, and Clara nodded. “Just as I thought.”
Angela laughed lightly, then disappeared through the front door.
Clara pushed herself to her feet and made to follow after her into the house when Ink squeezed through one of the railings, leapt off the porch, and started through the clover toward the workshop.
She stood, torn between following after him—afraid of losing him, especially after she took him out of the bookstore—and wanting to go inside and make sure the house knew how much she loved it.
“Ink!” She called. The kitten looked back at her, twitched his tail, then continued through the yard. “We have to check on the house!” He didn’t respond, intent on whatever mission he’d set off on.
One of the floorboards shifted beneath Clara, tilting her toward the edge of the porch, away from the house. She gave the railing a squeeze and said, “I’ll be right back.”
She ran toward the steps and chased after Ink. By the time she caught up to him, he’d reached the workshop. Clara bent down to scoop him up, but before she could, the door creaked open, and he slipped through.
Kittens, Clara decided, were a lot more work than she realized.
She followed him inside, planning to tell him as much, when the bulb brightened overhead. Ink sat back on his haunches, low to the ground, his back legs wiggling. Clara grabbed him before he could leap onto the table. He let out a small yowl, then settled into Clara’s arms.
“This is where we make our candles,” she told him. “This is how I brought you to us!”
He leaned his head to the side.
“Just like these here.” Clara lifted him from under his front legs, bringing him close to two candles that sat drying on the rack. She, too, took a closer look. One was black and one was brown. Both were a little lopsided.
“Mom must’ve been in a hurry when she made these,” Clara said. “Her candles are usually perfect.” She set Ink on the tabletop and brought the tip of her finger to one of the candles. It gave a little bit beneath the pressure, the wax not yet set.
Ink reached a paw out toward the tapers, about to swat at them. Clara grabbed him around the belly and pulled him back. He gave a disgruntled meow.
“We can’t mess with Mom’s magic,” she said. “Especially if she’s trying to stop the curse.” The thirteenth was the day after tomorrow, so there wasn’t much time left to do it.
She gently deposited Ink on the ground and brought her stepping stool over in front of the stove.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t give her a little help.”
She turned on the double boiler and started a candle of her own.