Page 38 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

A Hand Mirror

Symbolizes the need for looking inward.

Just as the spicy notes of nutmeg and cinnamon were pulling Violet back into her warmest memory of winter, Anne was fighting through the icy gusts of wind that whipped through the streets.

Though she’d managed to fall asleep after she and Violet parted the evening before, ill omens had been creeping to the surface of her awareness since the moment she’d awoken to a flock of birds fluttering near the windowsill.

Threads so tangled that they hadn’t a hope of being undone slithered among the flames that flickered in the grate.

A teacup fell to the floor, cracking so that the handle broke away from the base.

And worst of all was the sensation that her sleeves were slipping down her forearms, though the buttons were clasped tightly around her wrists.

When she’d seen the first of these signs that morning, Anne’s thoughts instantly flew to her troubles with Vincent.

But as the hours slipped by and she’d brushed against the lines of Fate that each witch carried with them into the shop, Anne recognized the omens for what they were: warnings that the threads of destiny were continuing to untether.

She’d spent the rest of the afternoon locked in the divination room, struggling to find a means of uncovering a solution on her own before sunset, when she’d need to leave the Crescent Moon and return to Vincent.

But the shadows that flickered across the crystal ball refused to weave into a coherent impression, and all the leaves at the bottom of her cup washed away when she turned the rim atop the saucer, seemingly pushing Anne down a path she wasn’t certain she wanted to follow.

Even as she climbed the frosty steps of the marble manor, Anne was trying to map her way through the different directions she’d charted for herself, searching out a route that would help her avoid what she knew was the most obvious destination.

She intended to linger before the door and take just a few more minutes to search out a final sign, but as soon as her boot grazed the threshold, the lock clicked open, and the soft caress of warmth drifting from the foyer brushed against her cheek, inviting her to step inside.

“You’ve let me in again, have you?” Anne remarked as she took in the vivid glow of the candles that lined the hallway. They seemed stronger than they had before, chasing away some of the shadows that spilled from the corners and casting the dark marble of the floors in a more welcoming hue.

“It seems so,” Vincent’s voice echoed as he stepped into view and held the door wider in silent invitation.

Anne blushed, embarrassed to have been caught speaking to the house, but then she noticed the dark circles beneath Vincent’s eyes and her attention shifted from her worries to the ones so clearly impressed across his face.

As she began to slip out of her coat, she noticed that Vincent’s jacket and trousers were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them during the night before and hadn’t quite found the time to change into something fresh.

The white locks of his hair, normally so meticulously brushed into place, were tousled as well, softening the hard edges that always made him seem so severe.

She found herself wanting to reach a hand upward to push aside a strand that had fallen across Vincent’s brow, and before Anne was aware of it, her hand lifted to do just that.

But she caught herself at the very last moment, her fingers shooting toward her own face instead to brush away a curl that had sprung out of her bun and into her eyes.

“What room will you be showing me tonight?” Anne asked quickly, hoping to push her thoughts in another direction.

Instead of an answer, though, she was met with silence.

Gazing upward, Anne was surprised to find Vincent carefully reading her expression, his eyes lingering on the tired lines that she’d seen in her own reflection as she gazed in the looking glass that morning.

“I’m not certain that we’ll be going into any of them,” Vincent sighed, his gaze shifting slightly so that he was staring directly into the depths of Anne’s eyes.

“Whyever not?” Anne asked, knocked off course yet again.

“Because you won’t trust me to keep you grounded,” Vincent answered. “And I’m not willing to let you drift so far away that you might be lost entirely.”

The old instinct to shield herself against his accusations rose to the surface, causing a tightness in her chest that felt just like a plate of armor. But as she stared back at Vincent, she was surprised to find that instead of fire, his eyes were filled with nothing but resolve.

“You won’t call on the spirits if I don’t let you anchor me,” Anne murmured in understanding.

“I can’t help if you won’t let me,” Vincent replied. “You can drift into the past, and I can ground you in the present when the memories become too great a temptation. Our magic will create a balance that keeps you tethered to the here and now, but you refuse to lean on my powers.”

Anne remained quiet, uncertain of what to say.

“You think that I won’t keep you safe,” Vincent said.

“It isn’t that,” Anne insisted, more alarmed than she thought capable by the sliver of hurt that had crept into Vincent’s voice.

“Then what is it?” Vincent asked.

“I’ve never done that before,” Anne confessed quietly. “Let someone else anchor my magic.”

Vincent frowned in confusion.

“How is that possible?” he asked. “Didn’t your mother ground you when you were coming into your power?”

“She never needed to,” Anne murmured. “When I was a child, I was always the one who held myself back when it came to testing my magic. And then after my powers started to grow stronger and I became Diviner, I couldn’t afford to let anyone see what I was capable of.”

Realization dawned in Vincent’s expression.

“You’re worried that I’ll try to control your magic,” he said. “That anchoring you will give me some kind of power over it.”

“I know that’s not how it works,” she said. “That you’d only be reminding my magic of what I want when it reaches far enough to do me harm. But even still, I can’t bring myself to . . .”

Struggling to find the words that would explain what was holding her back, Anne sighed and ran a hand through her curls, causing a few more tendrils to fall from their pins.

How could she tell Vincent that it wasn’t just the worry of not knowing what would happen if she let him anchor her?

No, what made Anne’s heart race in alarm was the growing awareness that she wanted to show him facets of herself that she hadn’t shared with anyone else because he of all people might understand the desires and fears that lurked there.

Just as Anne was about to turn away, though, she felt the warmth of Vincent’s palm brush her cheek as he pushed a lock of her hair back into place.

“Let me help you,” Vincent murmured, his hand still laced through her curls, cradling her temple as if he hoped she would lean into his touch. “So that you can safely see how far you can go.”

It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to refuse, to say that if she couldn’t depend on her own will to keep her magic in check, then it shouldn’t be given free rein in any circumstance.

But then she looked upward and caught sight of the circles beneath Vincent’s eyes again, the stark halfmoons that told her he, too, was losing sleep over a potential future that was fast becoming a certainty.

She may not know all his secrets, but one thing, at least, was certain.

They both wanted the same thing in the end: to uncover the history of the ring and tuck away loose ends.

“I’ll let you,” Anne finally managed to say. “I’ll let you anchor me.”

A tension that had been hovering in the hallway eased then, so much so that Anne could hear the floorboards and wainscoting creak.

“Are you certain?” Vincent asked, the furrow between his brows growing deeper. “You won’t change your mind and slip away again?”

“Yes,” Anne said.

Vincent sighed, and some of the strain that Anne had noticed was pulling his shoulder blades together began to loosen.

“Then let’s begin,” he said, extending his free hand in invitation for Anne to follow him down the hall.

Anne didn’t know what she expected to find when Vincent stopped in front of a door that was a few steps away from the one where she could still hear the heartsong slipping through the cracks of the threshold.

But as he turned the knob and she saw what awaited her on the other side, her breath caught in surprise.

Instead of clocks, the walls of the room were covered in gilded mirrors, some clear as crystal and others tarnished along the corners or cracked so that the flames licking from the fireplace seemed to scatter across the surface.

Even the floor was littered with them, the quick flashes of light that twisted against the curves and cracks of the glass leaving only the barest of paths to step along.

Anne felt as if she’d fallen into a chandelier, catching only the barest fraction of her expression as her gaze flitted from one glimmer of glass to the next.

“What do we need to do?” Anne asked, startled by the strangely unfamiliar perspective that each shard managed to cast back.

“The spirits will be attracted by the feeling of catching yourself unexpectedly in a mirror,” Vincent explained as he led them toward the center of the room, his gaze fixed on the edge of Anne’s skirt train, as if he was worried she might need help keeping it from snagging on the frames.

“You’ll need to linger in that sensation to call them in,” Vincent continued. “Then think of the ring as you drift back, just as you did before.”

Anne remembered how compelled she’d been to go deeper and deeper into the past, the memories so visceral that they’d felt even more alive than the ones she was experiencing in the present.

“When you sense yourself drifting away, reach for my magic,” Vincent said, as if he could tell what direction Anne’s thoughts had turned. “And I will ground you.”