Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Evie, Now
“We need to go. Now!” Evie grabbed her mother’s journal then scooped Clara up from the ground.
Florence and Angela scrambled up from the floor. They helped Owen get to his feet. He swayed a little but stayed upright.
“Hold on tight.” Evie tried to keep the fear from her voice, but the words came out shaky. Clara wrapped her legs around Evie’s waist and gripped her around the neck. The spiral staircase creaked under every step. Lights blinked on and off as Evie hurried through the house with Clara in her arms.
The walls groaned as if the house might fall down around them at any moment.
When they reached the front room, they burst onto the porch and into the yard. The wind whipped up, and the lights flickered erratically against the storm-darkened sky, as if the house was looking down at them.
The window to Evie’s attic room slammed so hard the glass shattered in the pane and rained down on the side yard.
Evie stared up at it, waiting for the others to appear in the doorway.
Florence was the last one through, and as soon as she reached the porch, the door closed with a bang.
Honeysuckle vines covered it, barring their reentry.
“Is the house mad at us?” Clara asked. The fear in her voice made Evie’s heart ache.
“I’m not sure, honeybee,” Evie said. But it certainly seemed that way. At least it wasn’t trying to hurt them anymore.
Angela came up behind her and rested a hand on Evie’s back. Evie relaxed into her touch, and if she hadn’t been holding onto Clara, she would’ve collapsed into Angela’s arms.
“I know you were trying to help,” Angela said, her voice soft, “but you shouldn’t have done this alone.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Evie said.
“And you thought I’d stand by waiting for the house to hurt you instead?” The pain in Angela’s voice only undid Evie further.
“I wasn’t thinking about my own safety,” Evie said.
“Maybe you should’ve been,” Angela said.
“She’s right,” Florence said. “You didn’t have to do this alone.”
Evie glared at her sister and tried not to cry. “I almost brought you into it yesterday, but all you wanted to do was fight.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who picked a fight with me,” Florence said as she helped Owen walk to a nearby tree that could better support his weight.
“If you’d come the day the house burned, we’d never be in this mess,” Evie said. “You would’ve seen everything in the attic whether I wanted you to or not.”
Clara scrambled out of Evie’s arms and landed on her feet. She planted her hands on her hips and said, “Mom! We need to work together. All of us.”
“Clara’s right,” Florence said with a heavy sigh, almost as if the fight had gone out of her. “What was that you were saying about journals?” she asked Angela.
“Something I’m guessing the house didn’t want us to hear.” Owen cast a wary look at Honeysuckle House.
“Clara’s magic didn’t just burn a hole through the wall,” Evie said. “We found a pile of diaries in front of the bookcase. Mom’s spell was in almost all of them in some form or another. I didn’t have a chance to read much beyond that. I was too focused on the spell.”
“With all of us, we might be able to get through them fast enough to see if there’s something else in there that could help,” Florence said.
“All of us?” Evie shot Owen a glare. “He took a job here under false pretenses!”
“I didn’t,” Owen said. “Not on purpose. I came looking for answers about my family. I was going to ask you about the curse, but after I heard you talking about it, I didn’t think that was such a good idea. I didn’t want you to fire me.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Evie said. Then, she paused, and with a sigh said, “I might have.” She’d been so caught up in trying to get everyone to believe her efforts to break the curse had worked, that anything having to do with it could’ve set her off.
“I still don’t understand why you think the house killed Tillie Grey. ”
“The police reports—” Florence started.
“Called the house a murderer?” Evie asked.
“Well, no, but—” Florence tried again.
“You’re just as in the dark as I am,” Evie interrupted again.
“If you would let me talk,” Florence said, then paused, eyebrows arched.
“Sorry,” Evie said. “It’s just … this is Honeysuckle House we’re talking about.”
“The house was there for every death,” Florence said. “It could’ve told us how the curse started a long time ago, but it never did.”
“For all we know, Mom was the one who locked those journals away.” Evie was still unable to view the house as a killer, even though she knew it had hidden at least one of the diaries from Evie.
“Not the journals,” Florence said. “Ink & Pages showed us a memory of Regina and Violet at the shop, back when it was still Grey’s Gifts. I lit a candle, and it came to life in the smoke. If it could do that, then why couldn’t Honeysuckle House do the same?”
The house communicated with them in all sorts of ways, but it had never used smoke, at least not as far as Evie knew.
“I wasn’t sure why the memory was important, so I did a tarot reading that pointed us to the house. The curse, the deaths, all of it goes back to Honeysuckle House,” Florence continued. “If we want to fix it, we have to start there.”
“How? By burning it to the ground?” Evie’s voice came out sharp and pointed, but her sister didn’t even flinch.
“If that’s what it takes,” Florence said.
Behind them, Honeysuckle House shuddered.
“No!” Clara said. “We can’t hurt the house.”
Evie rested a hand on her daughter’s head and said, “Clara’s right. Even if the house did cause the curse, we’re not going to undo it by tearing it down. We have to find a way to bind the magic making it kill—like mom was trying to do.”
“If that’s even what the spell was for,” Florence said.
“You can look at it yourself,” Evie replied. “Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”
“If you had showed it to me—” Florence started, but Evie held up a hand.
“We’ve both made mistakes,” Evie said. “There’s no point punishing each other for them. I need to call tomorrow’s guests and let them know the bed and breakfast is closed.”
“And actually talk to the festival council?” Angela asked, her tone both gentle and admonishing.
Evie winced. “I was planning to talk to them if the spell didn’t work.”
“Well,” Florence said, arms crossed. “It didn’t work.”
“I am very aware of that, Florence.” Evie said her sister’s name with a certain sharpness. “I’m not going to let anyone get hurt here. I never was.”
“You were going to hold the festival,” Florence countered.
“And now the house has caught fire twice and a beam fell and almost crushed my girlfriend,” Evie said the words without thinking, but as soon as they left her mouth, they felt right. More right than anything had felt in a long time.
“Wait,” Florence said. “You and Angela …?”
Angela stiffened beside Evie, and a new sort of doubt crept up on her.
“I didn’t mean to say anything.” Evie said the words fast, wishing she could take them back, that she hadn’t put a name on what had started between them before it ever had a chance to grow. “I don’t even know if that’s what you want.”
Angela gripped Evie’s hand. The warmth of her touch spread from Evie’s palm, up her arm, and settled in her chest. “It’s absolutely what I want.”
“Even with the curse?” Evie asked.
Angela looked up at the house. “I think we’re a little far in for that.”
Evie wasn’t about to let the curse take Angela from her. She wasn’t going to let it take anyone ever again.
“Why don’t we make those calls on the way to grab the rest of the journals,” Angela said. “Then we can meet Owen and Florence back at the bookshop.”