Chapter 68
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Evie, Now
The morning of the fourteenth came in a burst of color, the sunrise the most beautiful Evie had ever seen. Where in years past the house would’ve opened a window wide and called her to the glass with a soft breeze, this time it was Angela who gently shook Evie awake.
“We need to get going if you still want to make the honey harvest happen,” Angela whispered from where she lay behind Evie.
Evie rolled over to face her and wrapped her arms around her. Their foreheads pressed together, then their lips. Angela was safe, and so was Evie. But that didn’t mean Evie was ready to let her go.
When they finally broke apart, it was only because Evie’s door opened with a bang and a “Mom! Time to get up!”
They spent the morning calling the festival committee. Each conversation brought with it a sigh of relief—and disbelief—that for the first time in seventy-eight years, no one had been harmed at Honeysuckle House.
The curse was finally broken. The cycle their grandmother started had come to an end.
Most of the tourists had already left, but that didn’t stop the town from celebrating. Their neighbors filled the lawn outside the bed and breakfast. While Owen worked the honey extractor in the front room with Florence at his side, Evie helped her neighbors make their own candles in the workshop.
At sunset, they lit a large fire out behind the house and gathered around making s’mores dipped in honey and sipping cider and telling their neighbors the full story of what had happened behind the walls of their house.
By the time everyone left, Evie’s heart was one part full and one part aching at the loss of one of her closest friends, a member of her family. They covered what remained of the fire with sand, and started to turn in.
Florence stood arm in arm with Owen, Ink on her shoulder.
“Do you want to stay here again tonight?” Evie asked, not quite ready to see Florence leave.
“I think we’re going to go back to my apartment,” Florence said.
“Before you go,” Evie paused. “You never came out to dip a candle. I thought, maybe …”
Slowly, a smile spread across her sister’s face. “You thought right. I’d love to make a candle with you.” She turned to Owen, rose up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his. “You okay to stay up a little while longer?”
“I think I can manage,” Owen said, taking the kitten from her.
Clara took his hand and said, “Let’s go thank the bees for all their hard work.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” he said.
Once they were gone, Evie hooked her arm in Florence’s and led her down to the workshop. She opened the door and waited for the light to come on. After a few seconds, she remembered it wouldn’t—not anymore—and turned it on herself.
Together, they started up the boiler. As the wax melted, Evie turned to Florence. “What color?”
Florence looked over the shelf of dyes. After a few moments, she selected blue.
“For healing,” she said. “And forgiveness.”
“For Mom?” Evie asked.
But Florence shook her head. “For ourselves.”
Evie pressed her shoulder to her sister’s. Then, she cut a long piece of string. Together, they tied a weight to each end, like they’d done as children. They gripped the twine from the center and held it over the wax.
“May we always find peace and healing,” Florence said.
“And the power to forgive ourselves and each other,” Evie finished.
As the magic stirred in her heart, she saw it move in her sister’s. Golden light spilled from Florence’s fingertips and mingled with the light from Evie’s. When they lifted the wicks from the wax, the curtains fluttered. A light flickered. And the boards beneath their feet creaked softly.
The Honeysuckle House they knew was gone—its memories, its history, its love for the witches who called it home. But a witch’s house is a living, breathing thing, and it was only a matter of time before the building it had left behind would take on a life of its own.