Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Evie, Now
Evie stood in the kitchen of Honeysuckle House as Angela made grilled cheese and Clara sat at the table playing with Florence’s kitten.
Though yesterday’s events worried Evie, the house had been declared safe, and aside from its antics in the workshop that afternoon, it had almost felt normal.
She didn’t know exactly what would happen if she moved forward with her mother’s binding spell tomorrow, so she wanted to give Clara—and herself—this last chance to sit with the house as she’d always known it.
“I wish Aunt Flo was here right now having dinner with us,” Clara said as Angela shuffled a sandwich onto one of the many vintage plates Evie had thrifted over the years and handed it to her.
Now that Evie had cooled off a bit, part of her regretted pushing Florence away.
Another part of her felt justified. All their lives Florence acted like she knew what was best for the both of them.
She never paused to wonder if Evie might be just as capable as she was.
After all, Evie had raised Clara, and it was Clara whose spell had led them to her mother’s altar.
Not that Florence knew about any of that.
“We all make our own choices,” Evie said bitterly.
Angela wrapped an arm around Evie’s waist and leaned her head against her side. “At least she tried.”
“I’d rather she’d stayed at the shop if she was just going to come here to tell me I was wrong,” Evie said.
Angela pulled back and arched her eyebrows. “You don’t mean that.”
“Fine,” Evie admitted. “It was nice to have her here again.” Even if she wished things had gone differently.
“Did you tell her about what you found?” Angela asked as she started on another sandwich.
Evie shook her head. “We started fighting before I had the chance.”
“Maybe if you call her and tell her Angela is cooking, she’ll come back!” Clara said over a mouthful of soup-dipped sandwich. “If it was me, I’d come. Angela makes the best grilled cheese.”
“Better than mine?” Evie asked.
“Yes,” Clara said. “Much better.”
Evie and Angela both laughed.
“It helps that Honeysuckle House never lets it burn,” Angela said.
Evie leaned against the counter beside Angela, watching her.
It wasn’t the first time Angela had cooked for her, but after what they’d shared the night before, the moment felt brand new.
Angela looked up from the frying pan, her twists framing her face, and when she caught Evie watching, she smiled and set down the spatula.
Then she grabbed Evie by the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her in for a quick kiss.
Evie wanted to linger there, but Angela released her hold on her and went back to the sandwich.
“Are you two kissing now?” Clara asked.
The question filled Evie with a sort of contented warmth not even her magic had brought her. For a brief moment she forgot about the curse, and it was only her and Angela and Clara in the place Evie loved most.
Angela handed over Evie’s sandwich and tilted her head to the side, a smile playing at her lips as she let Evie take the lead on how to answer Clara’s question.
“We are,” Evie said, keeping it simple.
Clara sighed dreamily. “Kissing’s nice.”
“It is,” Angela agreed.
“We certainly like it,” Evie said, that warmth in her chest spreading.
“Maybe one day I’ll have a best friend who I want to kiss!” Clara said brightly as she tilted her head, clearly deep in thought. “But for now I have Honeysuckle House. And Ink, even though technically he’s Aunt Flo’s best friend.”
“Maybe he can have two best friends,” Evie suggested.
Beside Clara, Ink reached for her sandwich, claws sinking into the bread. She gently removed his paw before tearing off a piece and offering it to him.
“Ink likes the sandwich, too!” Clara said as he nibbled on it.
Evie took a bite of her own. “I wish the house would make my grilled cheese taste this good.”
“I don’t see why we can’t stay here tonight,” Clara said. “If it’s safe enough for dinner, why isn’t it safe enough to sleep here? I miss my bed.”
As much as Evie wanted that, the house had caught fire the day before.
She’d been careful not to leave any unattended flames burning today, but that didn’t mean she was ready to trust the house with her daughter’s safety.
“With dinner, I can keep an eye on everyone,” she said.
“If we’re sleeping, it’s harder to do that. ”
“We could all stay in the same bed,” Clara suggested. “Like a sleepover!”
Evie glanced at Angela, and they both laughed softly.
“As fun as a sleepover sounds, your mom is right,” Angela said.
Clara took another bite and made a thoughtful noise. “Has the house ever done this before?”
Evie shook her head. “Not that I can remember.”
“Then how do you know it’s the curse making it like this?” Clara asked.
“I suppose I don’t,” Evie said as she sat down across from her daughter.
“Not for sure.” The only time the house had ever been unsafe was on a curse day—the attack on her sister, her dad falling out the window.
Catching fire before the thirteenth didn’t line up with the curse as she knew it.
But something about it felt familiar, like the way Evie’s own magic had become erratic, as if, this time, the magic that brought the house to life was affected by the curse, too.
Angela flipped the last sandwich, the oil popping as it met the hot surface of the pan.
She gave it a pat with the spatula, then turned to face Evie, but the sound had drawn Evie’s focus.
The flames traveled up around the side of the pan, bigger than they’d been a moment ago.
She tilted her head as one of the other burners came on. Then another.
Her eyes went wide, but before she could say anything, flames shot straight up from the burners, engulfing the pan. The sandwich caught fire. The pot of soup, too, started to boil. Red liquid bubbled up and spilled over the edges, dripping down the front of the oven onto the floor.
Angela stood, staring at the flames. Evie jumped up from the table and pulled her out of their path. The lights flickered on and off. Pots and pans fell from their places on the racks overhead.
Evie ran for the fire extinguisher. She struggled with the release pin as she pointed it at the stove, the flames growing higher and higher, until, finally, it came loose.
She squeezed the handle. White dust covered the burners, the oven, the counter, putting out the flames.
Evie grabbed a nearby hand towel and reached into the smoke.
She turned the knobs, cutting off the gas.
When she turned around, she found Angela standing behind her, holding onto Clara who clutched Ink against her chest. Evie took them both by the hand and pulled them out of the kitchen, down the front stairs, and into the yard.
Once they were safe outside, Evie lifted Angela’s hands, checking over her palms. “Are you hurt?”
Angela shook her head, but the color had drained from her face.
“I thought it would be safe,” Evie said. “I was so certain the other fire was from Clara’s spell.”
“My spell.” The regret in Clara’s voice almost broke something inside of Evie as Clara clutched Ink tighter and looked back toward the front door.
Evie knelt down beside her. “This wasn’t your magic, honeybee. This was something else. The house it’s …” She shook her head, not quite knowing what to say. “It started before your candle.”
“I should’ve talked you out of dinner here,” Angela said, her body shaking.
“This isn’t your fault, either,” Evie said. “I’m the one who pushed us to come back. I was so sure after the fire didn’t cause any serious damage …” She looked up at the turret window where just yesterday she’d watched the flames from this very spot.
Beside her, Clara slipped her hand into Angela’s and leaned her head against her side. Ink hopped out of her arms and wound his way around Angela’s legs.
“Don’t worry,” Clara said. “Mommy won’t let anything happen to us.”
Evie ruffled Clara’s hair, but her eyes were on Angela.
“I want to believe that’s true,” Angela said. But she wasn’t looking at Clara, either.
“It will be,” Evie said. “It has to be.”
That night while Clara slept with Ink curled against her chest, Evie slipped from the bedroom.
She paused at Angela’s door, considered opening it to see if she was still awake, to apologize again for putting her in danger.
Instead, she padded down the hallway to where she’d left the journals stacked on the coffee table.
The night before she’d found almost the same spell her mother had cast in her grandmother’s journal.
As she reached for the diary to see what her grandmother had written about it, her eyes landed on a different one.
It was from 1973, thirteen years after her grandmother’s, and she started to wonder.
Had her family cast that spell every time? If so, why hadn’t it worked?
She reached for the later book, flipping through the pages as she searched for anything that might resemble a list. There!
A spell, just like her mother’s—brown candle and all.
She reached for the next journal in the stack, Regina’s from 1986, the year Florence was born.
It too, had the spell. Though this page had Florence’s name scrawled across the top.
Evie traced her fingertip over her grandmother’s writing, trying to account for the change in the spell. Had she tried to use Florence as the anchor before she was even born?
Evie plucked her mother’s 1999 journal from the stack, turning page after page until she found the spell there, too.
This time, Evie’s name was added to the list. Her mother, it seemed, had tried to evolve the spell, too, instead using Evie as her anchor.
Then thirteen years ago, she must have anchored the spell to Evie and Florence both.
But even with two Caldwells, it hadn’t been enough to bind the magic.
Now, though, things were different. Evie had all the spells the Caldwells before her had cast to stop the curse. More than that, Evie had Clara, which meant there were three Caldwell witches to ground the spell’s magic.
She hoped it would be enough.