Page 34 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

And then Anne noticed it, a closed silver box small enough that she could have held it in both hands sitting atop the mantle of an unlit fireplace.

The tune dancing just beneath Anne’s consciousness was spilling from it, growing stronger and stronger with every step she took.

“It’s a music box,” she murmured in comprehension as she glimpsed the cylinder catching against the delicate metallic teeth through the intricate cutwork along the lid.

“It’s much more than that,” Vincent whispered from behind her shoulder. “It’s a heartsong.”

Anne nearly gasped then, catching her breath just before it had a chance to slip from her lips for fear the sound might disrupt the melody.

A heartsong was an extraordinarily rare magical artifact, forged from the hopes and dreams of a witch whose power rested in the strains of music.

Each person who happened across one would hear something different, a score that matched the pace of their deepest fears and desires to a perfect pitch.

They were crafted to draw out fantasies that had grown silent, tempting those who heard the notes to discover pieces of themselves that were buried beneath the weight of their reality.

Though Anne knew that such things existed, she’d only heard of them in the confines of fairy tales.

“Where did you find one?” Anne asked in surprise, her gaze still fixed on the gears turning within the box.

“My family acquired it long ago,” Vincent answered.

“From a witch who made one specifically for our purposes. Heartsongs are usually crafted to help guide the living, but this one draws out the deepest longings of those who aren’t tethered to the present, pulling them back to moments when all seems possible.

That’s why only the spirits can hear it. ”

“And me,” Anne said to herself, so softly that she was certain Vincent wouldn’t hear her.

“And you,” Vincent replied before reaching forward to lift the lid, causing the strains of music to grow even stronger.

The shocking familiarity that danced from each and every note made gooseflesh rise along Anne’s forearms. It seemed strange to think that the sound pouring from the music box had rippled beneath the everyday rhythm of the Crowleys’ lives for generations without being truly heard by any of them.

“What should I do now?” Anne asked, already entranced by the sense of possibility that beat beneath the rhythm.

“Close your eyes and listen,” Vincent instructed as he turned her gently to face him.

“Once you think the tune is strong enough, start to drift backward and see if the spirits have anything to share. They’ll be drawn by the way the music makes you feel and want to show you moments when they experienced the same thing.

It will seem like they are pulling you back in time. ”

“You said before that they sometimes grasp too tightly,” Anne said, trying to keep a sliver of fear from slipping into her voice.

“There shouldn’t be many of them to contend with,” Vincent said. “Ghosts are solitary creatures, so coaxing them out takes time. And if you let me anchor you, I’ll be sure you don’t get too drawn into their memories.”

He lifted his hands then and turned his palms upward in silent expectation.

Though Anne still hadn’t yet decided to accept Vincent’s help, she found herself reaching for him, drawn to the memory of how it had felt to grasp his wrist amidst the sound of clicking clocks and hushed whispers.

Even if she had no plans to open her mind to him, what harm was there in letting the warmth of his skin make her feel more grounded in the present?

When her hands came to rest on his, Vincent turned his palms and wove their fingers together, instantly making Anne feel like he was drawing her closer though neither had taken a single step forward.

“Just listen,” Vincent whispered, the gentle hue of his tone encouraging Anne to let her lids grow heavy.

She did just that, allowing the darkness to heighten the song that felt just as if it were slipping beneath her own skin.

At first the melody reminded her of the steady ticking of her own clock, a faint beat that encouraged her shoulders to ease and the tightness in her chest to drift away with every exhaled breath.

But then a stronger strain that felt just like the slow pull of a bow against strings entered the score, tugging at the hopes that she’d buried deep within herself.

It reminded her of hidden desires tinged with the heavy texture of danger and the promise of discovery: the pieces of herself that didn’t quite fit the picture she wished to present to the rest of the world but were always pulsing there beneath the surface of each and every intention.

Her magic felt the shift and danced along with the music, drawn to the way it was making Anne feel more and more alive. If she opened her eyes, Anne wondered if she would see the glow of it flickering beneath the dark cotton of her sleeves.

As she let her powers awaken, Anne could sense the presence of Vincent’s magic.

The strength of it vibrated through their clasped hands and seemed to sink into her bones.

She could feel him starting to open his awareness to her, the texture of the spells he was crafting growing so tangible that it felt like she could touch them.

“Drift back,” she heard Vincent murmur, though his voice was more distant than it had been before, as if he were speaking to her through a current of water.

With a final release of breath, Anne did as he instructed, eager now to see what would happen if she let herself go, just this once.

And as she slipped away from the present moment, sensations that vibrated to the same rhythm of her heartsong began to strum to life, brushing against her skin as they pulled her deeper and deeper into the past.

She heard the tinkling of glass and an echo of laughter, so rich that Anne could very nearly taste champagne touch the tip of her tongue.

The bittersweet flavor faded as her vocal cords began to vibrate, as if she were singing, though no note escaped her lips.

And then the overwhelming scent of roses and twilighttouched soil filled her nose, chased by the nervous anticipation that comes whenever you fear no one will ask you for a dance.

The memories came so quickly that Anne was starting to feel like she was peering through a spinning kaleidoscope as she gazed back into the past. The vibrant texture of a taffeta ball gown caught in the corner of her inner gaze before her attention shifted to the polished gleam of a cello and then a crisp white collar that covered a man’s neck.

Distantly, Anne thought she heard something rumbling beneath all these sensations.

It sounded almost like a muffled voice calling through a closed door, and the deep timbre of it warmed the tips of Anne’s fingers.

But she was too swept away by the feeling of each scent, taste, and touch to concentrate long enough and make any sense of it, turning a lock in her mind so that she wouldn’t be tempted to pull her attention away from the past.

And then she saw it: a brief flash of a gold signet ring as she watched a woman’s hand shoot within sight, only to be lost among a whirl of marble when she was pulled into a memory of someone looking down at the floor as they flew from one partner to the next.

She had to drift further back. It was the only way. . . .

“Anne.”

The word was saturated with warning and cut through her growing need to stretch the boundaries of her magic, but it wasn’t strong enough to draw her focus away from the feel of a hand pressing against her lower back as she was pulled closer into a waltz.

She thought of the flash of gold again, and in the next instant, she was clasping a woman’s hand in her own, their fingers brushing for the barest instant as they flew down a line of dancers, just long enough for Anne to see the ring once more.

When she glanced up, Anne was shocked to find that the woman standing across from her was leaning forward, so close that she could smell the white roses tucked in the ribbon covering her hair.

And when Anne managed to focus on her face, she realized with a start that the laughing eyes staring back at her didn’t match.

One was a rather ordinary brown, while the other looked as if it had been carved from a sapphire.

The woman’s lips parted, and Anne leaned forward, eager to hear what she was about to share, but she felt someone grab her gently by the arm then, urging her to move forward in the dance.

She tried to shake the hand away, but the pressure suddenly shifted to her shoulders, turning rough and insistent, as if someone was shaking her as hard as they could.

“Anne!”

Anne’s eyes flew open then, and she was startled to find Vincent’s face drawn deep with worry instead of the strange eyes that had peered at her through the past only a second ago.

“Why did you stop me?” Anne asked as she gasped for breath.

She tried to snap her spine straighter, but for some reason, her body felt as if it didn’t know how to steady itself, and she ended up tipping over.

Vincent instantly shot forward, pulling Anne against his chest to keep her from hitting the unforgiving marble floor.

“To save you!” he cried in exasperation. “I’ve never seen so many ghosts in one place before, and you just let them keep coming.”

“I saw the ring!” Anne said excitedly. “A woman was wearing it. She had the most unusual eyes, one brown and the other blue.”

She felt Vincent’s hold tighten then as he tried to keep her in the present moment.

“I have to go back. Let me go back!” Anne insisted.

“No,” Vincent said firmly.

“But I can learn more,” Anne said, pushing herself away from Vincent now that she felt her feet were her own again. “It was right there.”

“You might see the ring again, but whether you’ll be able to return is another question entirely,” Vincent hissed. “You wouldn’t let me anchor you.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Anne said. “I can control my own power.”

“Not from what I saw,” Vincent scoffed. “You may be able to traipse into the future without any worry whatsoever, but the past is different. It’s laced with deep emotions that ripple outward into our own time.

You can’t predict where the memories will pull you, and sometimes, they’re so alluring that you forget why you’d want to return to the present at all.

There’s a reason people want to linger in the past instead of looking toward the future. ”

Now that some of the haziness was starting to thin, Anne noticed the way Vincent’s hands were shaking and realized that he must have truly believed he was about to lose her, that he had sensed her drifting further and further away and been terrified there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Guilt poured through Anne’s veins, so hot that it drew all speech from her tongue.

“For someone who holds the fate of an entire city in her hands, you’ve acted recklessly,” Vincent said, the crackling heat in his tone instantly smothering the apology that Anne was just about to offer.

“Why should I let you anchor me?” Anne asked, infuriated that the same person who’d kept her from falling to the ground only moments ago had now struck her to the core. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know enough to understand I’m capable of keeping you safe,” Vincent spat back. “Or are you questioning my power again?”

“It’s not your magic that I’m worried about,” Anne said, stepping forward so that their faces were only the barest breath apart. “It’s you.”

Was it a trick of the light, or did Anne see a glimmer of panic flash across Vincent’s face then?

Before she could be certain, the rich amber hue of his eyes became noticeably darker.

“I’m determined to uncover the history of the ring,” he said, his voice rough with frustration. “You know that.”

“What I know is that you’re keeping secrets,” Anne hissed back. “There is more to this story than you’re letting on. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice all the shadows creeping about the corners of this house?”

The candlelight that had been filtering into the room abruptly flickered out then, as if the hallways hadn’t liked being brought into the conversation.

Though she couldn’t see him any longer, Anne could feel the warmth of Vincent’s heavy breaths against her cheek. Now that they were standing in complete darkness, they seemed nearer to each other than they had been only a moment ago when the light of the candles had seeped into the room.

She expected him to step back, but Vincent surprised her by shifting even closer. Though he didn’t touch her, Anne could feel his magic pulsing to life beneath his skin, causing the hairs along her neck to vibrate as he drew his mouth nearer the groove beneath her ear.

Anne didn’t know what he was about to do, but just as she had when entangled in the memories of the spirits, she found herself wanting to slip into dangerous places where not knowing what would happen next made the tips of her fingers tingle.

She heard his lips part then and felt the words brush against the soft skin of her ear before they came together in her thoughts.

“Perhaps. But I’m not the only one keeping secrets, am I?”