Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
Florence, Now
As her niece said goodbye to Honeysuckle House and her sister cradled the girl in her arms, Florence watched them, a sadness boiling deep inside her, threatening to spill over. Though she couldn’t stop her tears from falling, she wouldn’t let herself break. She wouldn’t make this moment about her.
This was their loss. Their home, something Florence had left behind long ago. She had no right to this sorrow. She’d turned her back on her family and on Honeysuckle House. She would do what she had to do to help make things right, but she wouldn’t intrude on their heartache.
The house had other plans.
The floorboards underneath her lifted up, and Florence fell into Evie and Clara.
“Sorry,” Florence said to her sister.
But before she could back away, Evie threw an arm around her and pulled her in close. Clara, too, burrowed against Florence’s side. Even Ink, who hadn’t moved from where he’d been lying in the middle of Clara’s spell circle, jumped up and joined them.
“I never would’ve been able to do any of this without you,” Evie said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t try to help sooner,” Florence replied.
But Evie shook her head. “You were hurting, just like I was. We dealt with what Mom did to us in our own ways. I can’t rush your healing.”
Florence’s tears fell harder. “And I can’t rush yours.”
“Thank you for not letting me turn out like Mom,” Evie said through tears of her own.
But Florence shook her head. “You were never going to be like her.”
“The candle—”
“No.” Florence cut her sister short. “You wanted to protect us. To keep us safe. Mom wanted to hold on to her magic, even at the cost of losing Dad. She could’ve put an end to this. She didn’t have to light that candle.”
Evie sighed, disappointment in her voice. “I still should’ve told you about the spell.”
“We’re not looking back anymore,” Florence said, resolved. “It’s time to move forward.”
She waved Owen and Angela over, and they came to join them on the floor, Angela taking up the spot on the other side of Evie and Clara, and Owen settling in next to Florence. He draped his arm over Florence’s shoulder, and she rested her head against his chest.
The rain slowed, and the clouds parted. Moonlight fell through the hole in the ceiling, bathing them in its soft light. They sat that way, crying and hugging and feeling the house all around them until dawn raised its head on the horizon, turning the sky the soft blue that heralded morning.
“We need to get started on the spell,” Evie said.
The floorboards started to shake.
“Not that spell.” Florence pressed a hand to the floor. “We’re going to do a cord cutting, severing our bond so when the siphoning spell ends, it’s only your magic that will fade.”
The shaking stopped, but the lights in the room dimmed.
“You’ve done so well.” Evie’s voice was heavy with tears. “You kept us safe. You hid Mom’s spell from us so there would be no more siphoning. We’ll take it from here.”
“Why don’t Owen and I go get some breakfast while the two of you work?” Angela asked.
“No cooking in this kitchen,” Evie said.
“I was thinking muffins from my parents’ coffee shop,” Angela said.
“And pumpkin spice lattes,” Owen said. “For Florence’s birthday.”
All eyes turned on Florence.
“I can’t believe I forgot,” Evie said, a hand over her mouth.
With everything going on, Florence had forgotten, too. “You’re not the only one.”
“I can’t believe you’re the one who remembered,” Evie said to Owen. To Florence she said, “I think you might want to keep him.”
“I think I just might.” Florence looked up into Owen’s eyes. “Make my drink a double.”
“You’ve got it,” he said. Then, he pressed his lips to her cheek, feather light.
The feel of his kiss unwound what remained of her fear.
For so long she’d put up a wall between herself and the world around her, afraid someone would get hurt simply because she’d come to care for them.
But she didn’t need to fear love. Not then, not now, not ever again.
As Owen started to pull away, Florence turned her head, catching his mouth with hers.
His lips parted in surprise, then answered in equal measure.
It was a soft kiss, a moment of acknowledgment of this new and beautiful thing that had started to burn between them, and a promise of a fire that would grow even brighter in the days to come.
Florence was the first to pull away, her cheeks flushed and her heart full. Owen’s eyes lingered on hers, his lips tilted up in a smile that, finally, Florence let herself return.
“If you’re looking for a full-time job, I could always use a little more help around here,” Evie said.
“But first, breakfast,” Angela said. She glanced around them. “Do you think you’ll be safe up here?”
Clara crossed her arms. “We’re not leaving the house. This is our last chance to say goodbye.”
Evie tucked Clara’s hair behind her ears and said, “We’ll have to if we want to dip a candle.”
Clara threw up her arms. “We don’t have time to make a new candle!”
“We’ll set the wax with water,” Evie said. “It’ll have to do.”
Clara shook her head. “This is too important.”
It had been a long time since Florence had dipped a candle of her own, but even she knew their spells worked best when they had a full twenty-four hours to set, letting the witch’s magic and intentions infuse the wax. It left less room for error.
Florence glanced at her niece’s spell circle—the crystals, the twine, the candle Clara had cut—and an idea started to take shape.
“Is that the taper you dipped?” she asked her sister.
“I think so,” Evie said.
“It is,” Clara confirmed.
Florence gently lifted Ink out of her lap and set him on the ground before she crawled over to what remained of Clara’s unfinished spell. She picked up the candle and held it between her hands.
She stood and crossed over to the table that had once belonged to their mother, and before her, their grandmother. She picked up the knife Clara had used earlier that night. Then she held it up and turned to face her sister.
“I think we can use this,” she said.
Evie nodded slowly, and she, too stood. “You’re right. If we cut it in half …”
“One side for the house, one side for us,” Florence said.
Clara glanced between them. “Don’t we need to put our magic in it?”
“You and your mom already did that,” Florence said. Even now, she could feel the wax brimming with her sister’s intentions—her niece’s, too. Clara may not have dipped it, but she’d planned to use it to save the house, and it seemed some of that magic had made its way into the taper.
“By cutting the candle in half, we’ll reverse those intentions,” Evie said. “Like what you tried to do with the candle for Ink.”
“But don’t we need something more?” Clara asked. “Like the crystals and the tarot cards?”
Florence shook her head. “We have all the magic we need right here.”
They spent the rest of the day saying their goodbyes to Honeysuckle House. Though the house was no longer trying to stop them from casting their spells, its own magic was still unstable, so they didn’t go anywhere alone. They ate their muffins and drank their coffee in the warmth of the parlor.
When Florence suggested they put on some music, the turntable started spinning on its own.
At first, the needle missed the vinyl, but Florence gently set it on the record.
Billie Holiday’s voice reverberated from the speakers, and could the Caldwells see ghosts, they might’ve found Violet and Tillie there in the room with them, dancing, chest to chest and cheek to cheek.
It wasn’t until they’d walked into each room—until Florence pressed her hand against every door Honeysuckle House had used to keep her safe and Evie trailed her fingers across every wall that held her memories and Clara hugged every column that had watched her grow—that they finally made their way back up to the attic.
The moon had risen high in the sky, and the clock ticked down the minutes toward midnight.
The damaged wall had fallen away. All the burned and broken plaster had disappeared, and the rainwater had dried up. The attic was whole once more. Painted honeysuckle vines trailed along the wall, the only sign the room had ever been locked away, the house’s final act of magic and love.
Florence grasped her sister’s hand, her heart both heavy and full. Evie glanced up at her and nodded. Rather than use the old table that had once belonged to their mother, they gathered around Evie’s altar.
Together, they lifted the knife and severed the candle that would’ve siphoned their magic. One side for Honeysuckle House, the other for Florence and Evie. Then, Evie tied the two candles together with string and handed a match to Florence.
“You’ve been siphoned all your life,” she said. “You should be the one to cut the cord.”
“Are you sure?” Florence asked.
Her sister nodded, eyes shining with tears.
But when Florence struck the match and brought it to the candle, the wick wouldn’t light. She tried again. Again, the flame wouldn’t catch. A small sound escaped her sister’s lips, and she lit her own match only to be met by the same fate as Florence’s.
“Our magic is tied up in the house,” Evie said, realization in her voice.
“We can’t free it ourselves,” Florence finished her thought.
They looked to Clara, who stood between them.