Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Clara, Now
The day after the house lost control of the gas stove, Clara held Angela’s hand as they crossed the street from the coffee shop to Ink & Pages.
Angela’s mom had put extra whipped cream on Clara’s hot chocolate.
All down Main Street flags hung from the lampposts.
Though Clara was still learning to read, she had no problem piecing together the words “Burdock Creek Fall Festival,” which curved over and under an illustration of Honeysuckle House.
She hugged Ink tightly to her chest as she tried not to cry reading them.
She’d kept the kitten overnight. Angela had called Florence and told her about the second fire while her mom sat at Angela’s kitchen counter with a cup of tea and the look she only ever got when Aunty Flo “was being particularly difficult.”
Clara had shouted, loud enough, she hoped, that Florence could hear, “Do you want us to bring Ink back to the shop? I don’t want you to be lonely!”
With a smile, Angela handed Clara the phone.
“Aunty Flo!” Clara said.
“Are you and Ink okay?” Florence asked.
“It was scary, but I know Mom will protect us.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “It sounds scary. I think maybe you should hold on to Ink for tonight, so he feels safe.”
Ink hopped onto the counter beside her and butted his head against her hand.
“I can do that,” Clara said.
“Then tomorrow you can bring him by the shop,” her aunt said.
“I gave him goat cheese for dinner,” Clara told her.
Her aunt had laughed and thanked Clara for taking care of her kitten. Now, Clara held him tight against her chest with one arm as she and Angela neared the bookshop.
“I wish Mom was coming with us,” Clara said. “She’s going to miss out on the hot chocolate.”
Angela held a drink carrier in her free hand—pumpkin spice lattes for her and Aunt Flo and Owen, and the cocoa for Clara. When they reached the bookshop door, Angela said, “Your mom has to have some difficult conversations today.”
Clara nodded sadly. That had been the other part of what they’d talked about last night.
Her mom was canceling the festival and the honey harvest and the candle dipping.
Three of Clara’s favorite things. Clara had been sad enough she started to cry, even though she very much didn’t want to cry because she wanted to be brave for her mom.
But, to Clara’s surprise, her mom hadn’t seemed terribly sad at all.
“If her candles work, maybe she won’t have to cancel the festival,” Clara said hopefully.
Angela paused with one hand on the door, and she looked down at Clara. Something flashed in her eyes, reminding Clara of the fear she’d seen there just the night before.
“What do you mean, her candles?” Angela asked.
“The ones she made yesterday,” Clara said. “Before we came over and had grilled cheese and the kitchen caught on fire.”
Angela blinked a few times.
“I saw them in the workshop,” Clara explained.
“Well, Ink led me to them. They were a little lumpy, nothing like Mom’s usual candles.
But one of them was black, and the other was brown, like in Grandma’s spell.
They weren’t dry yet, so Mom must’ve made them yesterday.
Do you think if she burns them today it will fix the house, and we can still have the festival? ”
Angela stared at her without responding for so long Clara said, “Angela?”
The door opened, and Florence stood on the other side.
“You brought coffee,” Florence said. “And my favorite niece.”
“I’m your only niece,” Clara said.
“You’re my favorite only niece.” When she reached for the coffee, Angela still hadn’t spoken.
“Angela?” Florence asked, concern in her voice.
“I think we need to go to Honeysuckle House,” Angela paused. “Your sister …”
Clara’s heart stuttered. “You think she’s doing the spell by herself. And we’re not there to keep her safe.”
Clara wasn’t particularly familiar with fear.
The dark had never scared her and the bees had never stung her and her mom had always, always been there.
These past few days had been the first time she’d really felt it grip her.
But it wasn’t until that moment that something cold settled into her chest, and with it came the realization that her mother might be in danger and the house wouldn’t be able to protect her.