Page 35 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)
A Lamp
Suggests that hidden truths will come to light.
In the evening hours, when the fires had been flickering so long in the grate that the walls were warmed to their rafters, the Crescent Moon always nodded off to sleep.
Though made from brick and mortar, the house was a place of magic, and so it needed time to dream.
After it felt that restless breaths had grown steady, it slipped into an easy slumber, where it could thread together fantasies of its own design and imagine what could be crafted beyond the bounds of reality.
And as its thoughts drew inward, a stillness settled across the creaking floorboards.
When the Quigleys were just girls, they’d sometimes wake in the night and tiptoe as quietly as they could out of their bedrooms. Like sleepwalkers, they’d shift in the darkness, awed by the strange sense of calm that seemed tangible enough to touch.
And if the weight of the day kept them from being able to slip into their own dreams, they would sink to the floor of the hallway, lean against the wainscoting, and let the familiar silence lull them away from troubles left in the daylight.
When they listened carefully enough, the rumble of the house’s flights of fancy could be heard beneath the quiet, the barest echoes of its imagination causing the baseboards to vibrate beneath their touch.
Though it had been decades since Violet had last sunk to the floor to better sense the house’s fantasies, she found herself doing just that now.
As she’d slipped between the sheets of her bed, Violet had tried to think more about the name that was etched into the woodwork of the apartment.
Her thoughts had drifted to different possibilities, but her magic depended on instinct to lead her in the proper direction.
And just as it tried to tug her toward a potential insight, Violet would hesitate and lose her grip on the fragile thread of an idea.
The more she’d wondered who May could have been, the more tangible Violet’s sense of loss became, drawing her toward dreams that smelled of firecrackers and sawdust.
And just as the smoky fragrance had grown more potent and Violet feared she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from drifting back toward mistakes that couldn’t be forgotten, the sharp scent of rosemary had snapped her awake again.
She’d only been aware of the strange aroma for a second, but it was enough to steer her away from the worst of her past and toward fantasies tinged with the texture of fresh choices.
But rather than close her eyes again and see what she’d find there, Violet had stayed awake wondering which was worse: the certainty of a mistake that she’d already made or the possibility of taking another wrong turn in the future.
Violet hadn’t wanted to fall back asleep then, and so she’d slipped from her room and snuck downstairs, trying her best to avoid the squeakiest boards so that she wouldn’t wake her sisters.
And when she’d made her way to the kitchen, where the soft outline of cinnamon buns rising beneath sheets of white linen instantly eased the tension in her shoulders, Violet sank to the floorboards and listened to the even rhythm of the house as she did her best to avoid drifting into slumber.
Her eyes were just beginning to fall again when she heard a door creak open and saw a shadowy figure reach toward the lantern sitting atop the table.
“Anne?” Violet whispered as the light of the flame came to life and she saw the familiar outline of her sister’s face. “I thought you were already asleep upstairs.”
She’d heard Beatrix tiptoe by her open door hours ago and had assumed that Anne had slipped in shortly after.
But as Violet rose from the floor and stepped closer, she noticed that Anne’s cloak was still draped around her shoulders, the blue wool littered with fresh snowflakes that glimmered in the lantern light.
“Have you only just returned?” Violet asked in surprise.
“I needed to clear my head,” Anne replied as she warmed her fingers against the glass of the lantern. “So I took the long way home.”
Violet settled into the chair beside her, lifting the legs so that they wouldn’t screech against the floor.
“I feel like we’re girls again,” Anne said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Whispering so that the house won’t catch us trying to sneak biscuits from the tin after bedtime.”
“Those are happy times to return to, aren’t they?” Violet replied, letting her thoughts stray back to when just a few steps in the darkness had felt like a true journey indeed.
Anne grew quiet then, and Violet knew that her sister hadn’t been able to drift as easily into the past as she had, not when so much rested on her shoulders in the here and now.
“Has something happened, Anne?” Violet asked softly as she tried to read between the worry lines that were stretched across her sister’s brow.
For a moment, Anne pinched her lips a bit tighter, and Violet thought she was tucking a bit deeper into herself, afraid to share the burden of her secrets.
But then, her face softened, and Violet was relieved to hear the soft exhalation of a sigh that suggested she had decided to share more.
“Things didn’t go quite according to plan this evening,” Anne said, folding her hands atop the table so that the gold ring glimmered in the lantern light.
“Were you not able to let go?” Violet asked.
“Just the opposite,” Anne replied. “I let go so much that the memories of the ghosts nearly swept me away.”
“Oh, Anne,” Violet sighed, nearly buckling forward at the realization that her sister could have been lost. “But you promised.”
“I know,” Anne said, turning her gaze downward. “I just couldn’t let him anchor me in the end.”
“But why?” Violet asked. “I know you don’t trust him entirely, but do you really think he would let the spirits hurt you?”
“I just couldn’t,” Anne said, the words breaking into tiny pieces as they left her tongue. “He would keep me safe, but I can’t afford to let anyone that close. I’m the Diviner. I shouldn’t need anyone else’s help. I have to be strong enough to stand on my own and keep everything tethered together.”
Violet watched as Anne’s features tightened, a sure sign that she was battling against a need to give way to her vulnerability and let the tears of frustration building within her spring free.
“I’m so afraid,” Anne said, her voice shaking now. “So afraid that I’ll make a mistake, and it won’t be just me who suffers this time.”
Instantly, Violet thought of her own mistakes, the ones so horrible that she hadn’t even been able to tell her sisters. But, again, that subtle scent of rosemary drifted into her awareness, just enough to make her temples tingle, and before Violet could even think of hesitating, she spoke.
“But doesn’t that show you’re on the right path?” Violet asked as she laced her fingers through Anne’s. “After all, we only fear losing the things that are worth keeping.”
As Violet’s words lingered in the silence of the kitchen, the truth of what she’d said grew stronger and stronger, just like the jars of vanilla bean essence that rested on the shelves next to the tea tins.
It was obvious to every witch who walked through the threshold of the Crescent Moon that Anne did care, not just about her sisters or the shop any longer but the entire city.
Like the map that Violet sometimes saw out of the corner of her eye in the hallway mirrors and guessed rested in the Council’s meeting room, the boundaries of the Quigleys’ home had gradually extended, encompassing people and places that were now tied to Anne’s very being.
Violet knew that her sister’s uncertainty hadn’t grown from a fear of weakness but the possibility that she’d lose what she’d grown to love.
As she gazed at the worry lines around Anne’s eyes, though, Violet couldn’t help but wish that her sister could lean on someone just as powerful as she was so that the weight of all she held dear didn’t seem so heavy.
“Let Vincent anchor you,” Violet said, the words growing from a place deep within herself that insisted the witch could be trusted to keep Anne safe. “So that you’ll remember to stay rooted to the home within yourself.”
“When did you become so wise?” Anne asked as she wiped away the tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.
“I believe it was somewhere between New Orleans and Tallahassee,” Violet laughed, happy to see that glint of amusement spark in her sister’s eyes once more. Just looking at it made her hopeful that the light within her own soul might flicker to life again one day.
“Well, while we’re here, we might as well have a cup of tea,” Anne said as she rose from the table and moved toward the stove, eager now to shift into familiar comforts that would ease away the strain of the day. “As long as we keep quiet.”
The house had already woken, though, pulled from its dreams by the tears that had laced Anne’s confession. Years of tending to the sisters when they woke from nightmares had made it impossible not to stir when the first notes of their distress brushed against the walls.
But, like the Quigleys, it was learning that sometimes the best thing you can do for those you love is simply remind them that they are not alone.
So it sent a gentle breath against the linen cloth dangling from a rung next to the stove, brushing it against Anne’s cheek in a way that would feel just like butterfly kisses.
And once it was certain that her tears had given way to laughter, the house withdrew a sigh of relief and drifted back to a place where all was possible.