Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
It was almost midnight by the time Violet made it to Burdock Creek. She turned down the driveway to find Honeysuckle House rising up in the dark, and with it came a deep sorrow in her chest.
She killed the engine and stepped out of the car. As she approached the house, the porch lights flickered on, and a honeysuckle vine made its way toward her.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Violet said sadly as the vine loosely wound its way around her waist and up her torso.
She plucked a blossom free, pulled off the end, and brought the base of the flower to her lips, drinking the nectar.
When she finished, the vine released her, and she continued to the stairs.
She stopped short as she found a child she didn’t recognize sitting on the steps, and Violet’s sadness grew even deeper.
“You must be Linda,” Violet said. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“You know me?” Linda asked.
Violet crossed her arms and shook her head. Of course Regina had kept the truth of her from her child. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I?” The girl sounded scared.
“I’m your mother’s sister,” she said. “Violet.”
Linda mouthed the word sister, surprise clear on her face. She came down a few steps until she was at eye level with Violet. She studied her for a few moments, head tilted to one side.
“I like your beauty mark,” she finally said. “I wish I had one.”
Violet pressed the tip of her finger to the freckle at the corner of her eye. It had appeared after Tillie died and had been another thing she was certain her sister would’ve insisted Violet cover up.
“Mine came later in life,” Violet said. “Maybe yours will, too. How old are you?”
“Eleven,” Linda said shyly.
Violet stood staring at her niece, this young girl who looked so much like Violet and almost nothing like Regina.
Yes, she had the same eyes—hazel, like all the Caldwell women—but at eleven Linda was already well on her way to Violet’s height.
When she smiled, her right incisor came down over her lower lip, so much like Violet’s.
And even the way she held herself, confident but wary, as if she, too, had seen her fair share of tragedy felt all too familiar.
She looked thin for her age, and she had the shadow of a bruise on her cheek, which had Violet worrying over how Regina had cared for her, or if she’d cared for her at all.
“Have you eaten?” Violet asked.
Linda shook her head.
“I need to talk to your mother, but as soon as I’m done, we’ll take care of that.”
“I’m fine. Mom’s been busy.” There was a touch of defensiveness in Linda’s voice. “If you care so much, why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I didn’t know about you,” Violet said. “Just like you didn’t know about me.”
“But my mom is your sister. Didn’t you want to see her?”
“It’s a long story, and one we don’t have time for,” Violet said. “Not right now—not if we want to keep you and your mother safe.”
“You’re here because of the curse.” Then, with a gasp, Linda said, “The candles were for you.”
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“My mother had me dip brown candles to call someone home. And here you are.”
“Wait,” Violet asked. “Your mother called me home? With magic?”
“She was having trouble doing it on her own, so she had me make them.”
Violet pressed a hand to her chest to where she, too, had felt a shift over the past few days, an erratic flickering of power that felt like it might go out at any moment.
“Where is your mother now?” she asked.
“Upstairs,” Linda said with a shrug, but Violet could see the fear in her eyes. “She said she was going to stop the curse, and I didn’t need to worry.”
Violet glanced up at the house. Inside the lights flickered. On and off. On and off. Then, they held that way. The only glow came from the window at the top of the turret where her sister had always cast her spells after their parents died.
“She said it was very important I didn’t interrupt her.” At first, Linda’s voice was matter of fact, but it slowly shifted as fear crept in, and with it, sadness. “If I distract her, she might mess up the spell and the curse will kill her and leave me all alone.”
“She told me she needed my help with the spell,” Violet said.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Realization dawned on Violet. “She wanted you to talk to me. She wanted you to keep me busy.”
The night Tillie died sped through Violet’s mind like a film. The fight with her sister, the black candle on her altar, the bathtub. Her confidence that nothing Regina did would be more powerful than Violet’s magic.
Unless Regina had found a way to change that.
“No,” Violet whispered. She stepped around her niece and started up the stairs at a run.