Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Florence, Now
“Evie came up with a spell to end the curse?” Florence asked. Then, a little breathless, said, “Evie came up with a spell to end the curse.”
Pride mingled with jealousy and disbelief.
Florence knew her sister had always had the more powerful magic between the two of them, even if she’d lost some of that spark after their father’s death.
If anyone could find a way to stop the curse, of course it was Evie.
But something in Florence wanted to feel the power flowing from her heart into the wicks and wax once more, to be the one to set her family free.
At the very least, she wanted Evie to include her.
“No,” Angela said, as she shook her head. “I …” The coffees were coming very close to spilling over the edge. Owen squeezed around Florence and took them from Angela. She gave him a strained smile then said, “It’s not her spell.”
Florence blinked slowly. Her gaze shifted to her niece. Clara had summoned a cat with a single candle.
“You did this?” There was wonder in Florence’s voice.
But Clara stood there, biting her lip, tears welling in her eyes. She shook her head.
“It’s your mother’s,” Angela said. “Evie found it in the attic the day it burned.”
Florence braced herself with one hand against the doorframe.
“Evie said it was a binding spell for the house,” Angela said. “She thought your mother had found a way to stop the curse.”
Florence stared at her for a few moments. Evie had come to the same conclusion Florence had: It was the house that was cursed, not the Caldwells. Then, the rest of what Angela said sank in.
“She’s going to try to cast one of my mother’s spells?”
Linda Caldwell was the one person they couldn’t trust. The person who had ensured their father’s death.
“Tell her what you saw,” Angela said to Clara.
“There were candles in the workshop,” Clara said. “But we can’t let her burn them alone. What if something goes wrong? What if there’s another fire?”
Florence pushed herself off the door and stood tall. She rested a hand on Clara’s head and said, “We won’t let anything happen to her.”
Florence knew her sister was reckless. She knew Evie never once listened to Florence’s warnings after their mother was out of their life and her need for Florence’s protection had left along with her. But this went beyond recklessness.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Florence asked Angela.
“Evie was afraid you’d try to talk her out of it.”
“That’s exactly what I would’ve done,” Florence said. “I can’t believe you didn’t.”
“What if she’s right?” Angela asked. “What if it works?”
“What if it kills her?” Owen said.
“We can argue about this later,” Florence said. “Right now, we need to make sure Evie is safe, and we need to stop her from casting that spell.”
The four of them piled into Angela’s Jeep.
Florence sat up front. Owen and Clara in the back.
Florence passed the drinks around as Angela turned off Main Street to avoid the tourists who had come early for the festivities—the hayride and the pumpkin patch and the craft fair ran the day before and after the events at Honeysuckle House.
“At least Evie canceled the festival,” Angela said, her hands tight on the wheel and her latte untouched in the cupholder. “Not that any of these people seem to have heard.”
Florence almost spit out her coffee. “When? How did you convince her?”
“It wasn’t me,” Angela said. “It was the second fire.”
Clara, who sat taking a giant sip of hot cocoa, swallowed loud enough for them all to hear, then said, “If she’s casting the spell, then when is she going to tell everyone she canceled the festival?”
Silence fell over the car.
“She was supposed to be meeting with the businesses who are running the events they moved downtown.” Angela’s words were a whisper.
“She lied,” Florence said.
But Angela shook her head. “She wouldn’t. Not after … She wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this.”
“Knowing Evie’s logic, it wasn’t a lie,” Florence said. “If the spell doesn’t work, she’d cancel the festival. But if it does, there’s no reason to turn people away yet.”
As Angela neared the curve leading to Honeysuckle House, Florence felt the familiar well of panic rising up inside her. She gripped her thighs tight, her knuckles going white. She almost jumped when a hand came down on her shoulder. She pulled the visor down and met Owen’s eyes in the mirror.
She reached up and gripped his hand with her own, still amazed at how he’d slipped into the cracks in her heart in such a short time. She didn’t know where things would go between them after the curse—if they both made it that far—but she found herself wanting to find out.
“You okay?” Angela asked with a sidelong glance.
“I think so.” It wasn’t getting any easier for Florence to face her trauma when it was triggered in such a deep way, but she found it more tolerable now that she wasn’t alone.
Angela rolled to a stop. She had her door open the moment she pulled her keys from the ignition and was halfway to the porch before Florence even had a chance to catch her breath and still her racing heart.
Florence unbuckled her seat belt to find Owen on the other side of the door, opening it for her.
“Angela!” Florence called. “Wait!”
But Angela didn’t slow. “She could be hurt.”
The door to Honeysuckle House opened wide like a mouth.
“Keep an eye on Clara,” Florence said to Owen. Then she took off after Angela.
The lights flickered in warning as Florence burst through the door and started up the steps, each footfall reminding her of the night before her father died.
Fear ricocheted in her chest. Memory and trauma bled into the here and now.
It was enough to stop Florence in her tracks, to have her bent double with panic.
Instead, she let it carry her up and up.
Past the floor where her childhood room had been.
Past the pain and the heartache and the loss.
When she reached her parents’ old bedroom, a deeper sort of terror reared up inside her.
She gripped her scarred forearm and could almost feel her mother’s nails digging in.
As she stood, staring through the open door at the spiral staircase, Angela’s feet disappeared above her.
Florence found she couldn’t follow. All of her panic, all of her fear coalesced right here in this moment.
She’d made it through yesterday, but that had been on her terms. She’d been facing her fears with support and purpose.
Yes, her panic had been simmering beneath the surface, but now it had her in its grip.
Owen came up behind her, Clara at his side. She slipped past Florence.
“Clara!” Florence managed, her voice breaking. “You need to go back outside, where it’s safe.”
“Mom needs me.”
Then she, too, was running up the steps.
Owen rested a hand on Florence’s upper back. His soft touch sent tears falling down her face. The feeling of them shocked her enough to break her out of her frozen stance, and she started up the spiral staircase.
When Florence reached the top, Clara was slipping through the damaged wall.
Florence ran after her to find her sister standing in front of her mother’s altar.
She took in the spell circle, the candles, the tarot cards.
In front of Evie sat a pile of spent matches.
The window had opened wide, and an unnatural gust blew through the opening. Evie held a lighter in her hand.
“Evie!” Florence said. “Don’t do this. You don’t know what that spell will do.”
“I know enough,” Evie said without looking up. She pulled the trigger on the lighter and brought flame to wick.
As the fire took hold, there was a loud crack, like a tree branch breaking.
A few feet away, Angela looked up as one of the attic beams started to fall.
Owen pushed past Florence and dove for Angela, knocking her out of the way.
The wood only just missed crushing him beneath its weight, but not before it hit his shoulder and sent him sprawling.
His head hit the attic floor with a thud, and his eyelids fluttered shut.