Page 11 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)
A Key
Suggests that help will come during times of difficulty.
As Beatrix and Violet waited for Anne to join them, they tried their best to savor the familiar embrace of the family parlor.
After spending so much time away, tucking themselves in the worn quilts and letting the warmth of the hearth stones sink into their toes made it feel like the house had wrapped its arms around their tired shoulders and pulled them in close.
It doted on them as if they were girls again, unveiling a box of chocolates that had been hidden away for safekeeping and encouraging them to settle back on the freshly fluffed cushions of the settee so that their eyelids would grow heavy.
But though the Crescent Moon was doing everything it could to convince the sisters that there was no need to leave home again, Beatrix could tell its thoughts were drifting from the parlor.
The embers needed to be stoked, and the curtains that usually covered the windows this time of the night were still tied back on either side of the pane, letting the light from the gas lamps that lined the sidewalk shine freely into the room.
The house wouldn’t sit back and enjoy the comfort of the evening, it seemed, until Anne returned to her place in the worn wingback chair and made the parlor feel whole again.
“When do you think she’ll join us?” Beatrix asked as she gazed toward the door.
“It’s difficult to say,” Violet sighed. “Especially since we don’t know what these types of meetings entail.”
She started to tap her feet against the floorboards but shifted abruptly so that they were trapped beneath her on the settee. Beatrix noticed the odd movement, wondering why Violet seemed to be trying to make herself sit still.
“It’s strange knowing she has secrets that we can’t share in, isn’t it?” Beatrix asked as she turned a careful eye toward her sister. “After all we’ve been through, it would be nice not to have to worry about which questions to stray away from.”
At that, Violet moved again, tucking her legs to her chest so that she could rest her cheek against her knees.
The gesture made her look fragile, as if she needed to protect herself against questions that could break her, and Beatrix remembered that Anne wasn’t the only one who seemed to be hiding parts of herself from view.
Beatrix set her cup on the side table and placed a hand against Violet’s cheek, silently urging her to turn her striking eyes upward.
“Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?” Beatrix asked. “I feel the weight you’re carrying as if it were settled across my own shoulders.”
“You have enough to worry about while writing your next book,” Violet replied with a shake of her head, though Beatrix could sense that her resolve was wavering.
“My sisters will never be a burden,” Beatrix said as she brushed Violet’s fringe to the side so she couldn’t hide beneath the short curls. “Please tell me what you’re running from.”
“Something that I can’t escape, it seems,” Violet whispered. “No matter how far I go.”
Beatrix parted her lips to utter the words that would push Violet forward, but before she could say Let me help you, the floorboards in the hallway began to creak, announcing that Anne was about to walk through the door.
As soon as the footsteps neared the threshold, Beatrix felt Violet pull away and knew that the moment where she might have confided in her had passed as abruptly as a coal cracking in the stove.
Turning toward Anne in the hopes that her sister might be able to put everything back on course, Beatrix was startled to find that she looked like someone who’d wandered down the whole of State Street only to learn that the shop they were searching for was on the opposite end of the city.
Her cheeks were stained a deep shade of red, and her lips were pinched so tightly together that Beatrix felt an ache beginning to radiate from her own jaw.
It was an expression that always appeared on Anne’s face just before she displayed a rare show of frustration, and Beatrix instantly wondered what had rattled her eternally composed sister.
“What’s happened?” Violet asked as they both watched Anne start to pace in front of the hearth, one hand tucked tightly around her rib cage and the other held up to her lips, as if the movement might help her conjure the words that remained out of grasp.
Anne turned to them then, opening her mouth for just an instant before closing it again.
“She can’t tell us,” Beatrix whispered, laying a hand on Violet’s shoulder in a gentle reminder.
But a sense of fear was starting to flitter across Anne’s face, so strange and unfamiliar that it caused a shiver to rake down Beatrix’s back.
It seemed like the worries brewing within her had grown so strong that they were starting to crack through her calm exterior, working their way into her trembling hands and tired eyes.
“I’ve overlooked something,” Anne finally confessed, turning away from her sisters so that she was staring at their reflections in the gilded mirror above the mantle, as if the distance might help her remember how much she could reveal. “And now I don’t know how to put it to rights.”
“You can’t expect to foresee every problem in time to stop it,” Beatrix sighed.
Forgiving others came as easily to Anne as picking up the shards of a saucer that had fallen to the floor. But when judging her own faults, she was as meticulous and unrelenting as a parlor maid scrubbing every last smudge from a silver tea set.
“But I wasn’t even keeping my eyes open for the possibility,” Anne said. “And now, what hope do I have of fixing it?”
As her voice broke, Anne looked down at the mantle so that her face was hidden beneath her shaking fingers.
But Beatrix and Violet didn’t need to see Anne’s reflection to know that her thoughts had taken a dark turn.
Her shoulders were shuddering in the way they only did when she was trying to hold back some deep emotion that would draw out her vulnerability for all to see, and the sight made them leap from the settee and wrap their arms around her, hoping that the strength of their embrace might give her the foundation she needed to let go.
And, as Anne leaned into the steady rhythm of her sisters’ comforting words and finally let the warmth of their bodies chase away the icy fear that had so obviously chilled her to the core, the texture of the parlor began to slowly change.
The scent of peppermint, black tea, and early morning dew infused the room, and the house knew that Anne was drifting away from the present and fading somewhere beyond time.
Her magic vibrated outward as the fragrance grew stronger, causing the delicate hairs along Beatrix and Violet’s arms to stand on end while they watched her eyes flitter beneath her closed lids, fixed on impressions that they couldn’t fathom.
And gradually, the heady scent of Anne’s power was consumed by an even more potent aroma that managed to seep out of her vision and into the parlor: chrysanthemums, rosemary, and the distinct essence of aged paper.
Anne’s eyes snapped open then, and as soon as her gaze met the looking glass, the entire surface cracked, as if it had been suddenly cast into the freezing winter’s night.
The sisters gasped, but something kept them rooted in their spots before the mantle, and after taking a moment to catch their breaths, they gazed up at the mirror and realized that the breaks formed a pattern.
Hundreds upon hundreds of delicate miniature keys were now imprinted across the looking glass, radiating outward from the Quigleys’ shocked reflections. Their mother had taught them that whenever a key appeared on the rim of their teacup, they should look to one another for help.
Beatrix could feel Anne’s knees begin to buckle, but she and Violet tightened their hold just in time to keep her standing.
Anne may have fallen into the habit of taking on every burden before her sisters had left to pursue their own paths, but they’d returned, ready to lend a hand if Anne was strong enough to ask.
Glancing toward the mirror again, Beatrix watched as something shifted in Anne’s expression, a softness settling where there had been only hard lines before.
Still facing the looking glass, Anne gazed at her sisters’ reflections and whispered, “I’m going to share something with you that I shouldn’t.”
She said the words in the same tone that their mother had whenever she tucked the girls into their quilts for the night and was about to tell them a new story, one that promised to keep them from fidgeting or asking if they could stay awake beyond their bedtime.
“But what about the rest of the Council?” Beatrix whispered, the fear that they had all felt every time one of their calling cards arrived still fresh in her mind.
“The others won’t know I’ve told you until after everything’s been resolved,” Anne said with determination. “You both are meant to help. I can sense it in the depth of my bones.”
The strength in her voice reminded Beatrix that Anne was no longer under the watchful eye of the Council but a part of it herself, with all the power and responsibility a witch of that sort possessed.
It was still taking some getting used to, the idea that Anne, who’d seemed so rooted to the Crescent Moon, had moved beyond the boundaries of the shop as well, her magic and knowledge of the city growing in ways that were difficult to imagine.
But as Beatrix glanced back at the keys etched into the looking glass and noticed the assured set of Anne’s shoulders, she understood that her sister’s intuition could be trusted.
“Tell us,” Beatrix said, ready to help in any way she could.
“There are strange things happening in the city,” Anne began to explain as they shifted to the settee. “Beyond what we typically expect to see. Objects going missing when they should be staying put. Time speeding up or slowing down and leaving gaps that people are starting to notice.”