Page 4 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

A Train

Indicates that someone unexpected is about to arrive.

Beatrix Quigley had come to discover that being on a train did something strange to time.

As soon as her luggage was stowed away and the sound of the wheels grinding against the rails tangled with the scratches of her pen marking the paper, she shifted into a place where the moment seemed to stretch and shrink all at once.

One instant, she was entirely lost in a world of her own making, where her characters were more tangible than the details of her compartment, and the next, a sudden stillness would abruptly pull her from a paragraph, alerting her to the fact that they’d reached the end of the line.

It was a place that seemed to move beyond the steady clicking of a clock, where minutes took on the texture of molasses in the most satisfying ways and daydreams could be captured on the page.

At least, that’s how the everyday magic of the train car had felt before this particular trip.

Instead of staring down at her notebook, which was packed in the very bottom of her traveling case, Beatrix’s gaze was fixed out the window, where she saw a ghost of her pensive reflection blinking at her from the snowcovered fields that passed by in the background.

Her fingers, normally wrapped firmly around a pen, were touching a marigold pendant that rested just above her heart.

“I’ve found us a pot of tea,” a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the train car, its cheerful hue instantly easing the furrow that had taken root between Beatrix’s brows.

Turning away from the window, Beatrix smiled as she watched her publisher’s assistant try to carry a tray with a silver teapot and a pair of cups through the door of their private compartment, which kept sliding back and forth, making the task nearly impossible.

As Jennings took another step forward, Beatrix noticed a single carnation teetering in a crystal vase next to the tea spout, the sight of the cheerful red petals instantly turning up the corners of her lips.

She wondered, not for the first time, how he had known exactly what would bring a smile to her face just when she needed one the most.

“Don’t ask what I had to do to get it,” Jennings said with a chuckle, his own grin broadening as he glanced down at the flower and tried to get a firmer hold on the tray.

“Let me help you, Jennings,” Beatrix insisted as she moved to rise from her seat, only to be thrown backward by a sudden turn of the train.

Unfortunately, the movement also sent Beatrix’s companion tumbling forward, and he just barely managed to grasp the handle of the teapot before the rest of the tray’s contents spilled to the floor.

“Well, at least I’ve saved the tea,” Jennings laughed as he carefully reached down to collect the cups, which, by some stroke of luck, were no worse for wear. He even managed to return the carnation to its vase, though the petals were somewhat tattered about the edges now.

“Thank goodness for that,” Beatrix said with a grin as she reached for one of the saucers and let Jennings fill her cup, trying her best to keep it still as the train continued to rattle back and forth.

As much as her life had changed, the sense of steadiness that Beatrix felt whenever she took her first sip of tea hadn’t altered a bit.

“And I did manage to bring you these,” Jennings continued as he reached into his jacket pocket and dropped two sugar cubes into Beatrix’s cup.

Though she wouldn’t have dared complain, he knew that she preferred something to take the bite from the strong, bitter tea that they tended to serve in most dining cars.

Throughout the past year of her tour, Jennings had managed to slip effortlessly into the fabric of Beatrix’s life with gestures like these, ones that told her he was paying attention to details that even she had a habit of overlooking.

When Mr. Stuart first passed along a tumbling list of author engagements, Beatrix had grown weary by the sheer number of dates and particulars that she’d need to keep track of all on her own.

But her hesitation had quickly shifted to relief when Jennings appeared at the train station with the news that Mr. Stuart had sent him along to help ensure their bestselling writer had a smooth journey.

And after months of dizzying train connections and crowded lectures, Beatrix was more grateful than ever that he could be spared from his desk at Donohoe & Company.

Whether it be with just a few softspoken words or a gentle nudge that told her which platform to step onto, Jennings always managed to find a way to make her feel grounded, even when the two of them were rolling across the country.

“I’d say we both need a cup of something warm given how chilly it is in here,” Jennings said, shivering so that a few strands of his disheveled brown hair fell across his forehead. “It figures that Mr. Stuart would finally decide to let you go home when traveling by rail could lead to frostbite.”

Beatrix suspected that the sudden change in her schedule had less to do with her publisher than Jennings thought.

Though her ability to see the future had faded as her word weaving magic grew stronger, Beatrix still occasionally caught the barest whisper of what was to come.

These moments were few and far between these days, but sometimes, when she was glancing just so at the clouds above or washing out the remains of her cup, for the barest second, she’d catch a sign out of the corner of her eye.

And yesterday morning, as Jennings had raced into her hotel room with a telegram from Mr. Stuart, she’d seen a bow waiting patiently on the rim of her cup, so close to the handle that she nearly smudged it with her thumb.

Before Jennings could give her the news, she’d already realized that they were going home.

Home.

The word conjured the scent of honey cake and freshly risen cinnamon bread, ready to be torn apart while steam was still spilling in tendrils from the tin.

The warmth of the fire nipping at her toes and the murmur of chattering voices in the front parlor.

And strongest of all was the memory of her sisters’ arms wrapped tightly around her own in an embrace that always let her know where her heart remained.

Jennings caught sight of the grin that had caused the dimples in Beatrix’s cheeks to make an appearance and smiled himself.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the way they always did when Beatrix knew he was curious about what she would say next.

“The tea shop,” Beatrix replied as she leaned back into the cushions and released a deep breath, anticipating how it would feel when she finally stepped back over the threshold. “And my sisters.”

The past year had flown by in a rush of author events, train stations, and luggage.

Beatrix would sometimes wake in the middle of the night and need to glance at her calendar book to remember what city she was sleeping in.

Then there were the lines of readers who waited for hours just to get the chance to have her sign their copies and ask a question or two about her next project, their eyes gleaming in anticipation when she said, “Yes, I am working on another story.”

She’d loved every moment of it. Loved realizing that she could step beyond the confines of the tea shop and find pieces of herself waiting to be discovered in every new city, where the towering buildings reminded her just how far people were willing to climb to reach their dreams. Loved learning that she could stand in front of a crowd and find the sense of confidence that she needed to speak about her beloved characters when just a year before, she’d shuddered at the thought of stepping into the front parlor and talking with a handful of regular customers.

Loved realizing that she didn’t need to split a tarot deck to know the best was yet to come.

It hadn’t been until very recently that Beatrix had begun to long for the Crescent Moon in ways that were causing her to slip back into her former self, the quiet shadow that shifted in the corners of the shop hoping that no one would notice her.

“Well, I’m sure it will be the perfect place to work on your next book,” Jennings said, stretching his legs out as best he could. They were so long that he needed to bend his knees to get them to fit between the benches of the train compartment.

Beatrix suddenly shifted awkwardly in her seat, moving her hand to pull nervously at the chain attached to her spectacles and knocking her cup of tea off the saucer and onto the floor in the process.

“Oh dear!” she cried, just as Jennings shouted, “I’ll get it!”

They both jumped forward at the same moment the train decided to take another sharp turn, sending them tumbling onto the teastained carpet and into each other’s arms.

Beatrix was on top of Jennings now, so close that she could smell the aroma of black coffee and freshly pressed paper that somehow always clung to his clothes, no matter how long he’d been away from the halls of Donohoe & Company.

A blush quickly spread across Beatrix’s fair skin as she tried to pull herself away before Jennings could realize that she’d leaned into his lapel when she first caught his familiar scent.

But the chain of her spectacles was tangled in the buttons of his vest, snapping her back so that her face was so close to his that one of her copper curls touched his cheek.

Jennings gently wrapped a finger around the strand and carefully put it back in place behind her ear. His lips pressed together and then parted, as if he’d decided to say something important.

“Next stop’s Chicago!” a harsh voice cried.

Beatrix glanced up as a man in an official blue uniform poked his head into their compartment, his eyebrows twisting together in confusion when he didn’t see anyone on the seats and then rising to his forehead as he looked down and saw them tangled together on the floor.

“We fell!” Jennings exclaimed as he freed Beatrix’s spectacles from his vest and helped her sit upright.

“Then you’d better get up again,” the train attendant said calmly, as if he’d seen stranger things in his time on the rails. “Chicago’s the end of the line, and you’ll need to stay there unless you’re planning to turn right around and head back to Boston.”

“I don’t think I’d mind at all,” Beatrix heard Jennings murmur to himself, so softly that she nearly didn’t catch the words.

After they’d settled back onto their seats—the teapot and cups stacked on the tray as neatly as they could be, given the circumstances—Beatrix let a few moments pass as she worked up the courage to turn to Jennings and ask a question.

“I hope that you aren’t disappointed to be returning with me to Chicago,” she said in a rush, the words spilling out so quickly that she worried he’d ask her to repeat them.

“Not at all,” Jennings replied, his own voice rising in surprise. “I’m happy to be going back.”

“Are you sure?” Beatrix asked. “You seemed so pleased when we were traveling along the East Coast. I’d hate to think that Mr. Stuart calling me back has spoiled any of your plans.”

“Let me assure you,” Jennings said, his words nearly as fast as Beatrix’s had been. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Really?” Beatrix asked, still unconvinced.

“Yes,” Jennings replied. “It’s only that you’ll be entirely focused on writing the next book now.

Mr. Stuart’s given me my agenda, and it’s centered around getting the last manuscript ready for publication while you’re working on the new story.

I’ll miss hearing you speak to readers and exploring new cities together and—”

Jennings stopped himself there and nervously brushed at the front of his vest, though Beatrix had thought he’d managed to get all the dust from the carpet off already.

“And the excitement of it, you understand,” Jennings finally managed to continue. “It won’t be quite the same when we return to Chicago.”

“No,” Beatrix murmured, stiffening a bit as she thought of the notebook buried in the bottom of her suitcase. “I don’t suppose it will be.”

“But once you reach your next deadline, Mr. Stuart will be sending us out on the road again, I’m sure,” Jennings said cheerfully.

Beatrix felt her heartbeat begin to race at that, quicker than it had in the moments just before she’d stepped behind a podium to speak in front of a crowd of strangers for the first time.

An expression that Jennings must have mistaken for disappointment flashed across her face, because he suddenly looked alarmed.

“But there’ll be plenty of time for you to see your sisters, of course,” Jennings said. “I know you’ve missed them.”

“I have,” Beatrix replied, reaching for the marigold pendant, which somehow remained warm though frost crept along the sides of the compartment’s window.

Beatrix wanted to tell Jennings that she’d miss him, too, and was looking forward to when they’d be boarding the train together again after she met her deadline. But the final word of that thought made her throat so dry that she couldn’t manage to speak.

Instead, she simply picked up the carnation that had fallen into the corner of the seat and carefully placed it in the buttonhole of his jacket.

A blush as red as the flower began to spread across Jennings’ cheekbones as he clumsily opened the journal where he kept track of all the tasks that waited to be neatly checked off and started talking about production schedules and galley prints.

After a few minutes, Beatrix let herself relax into the easy rhythm of his voice and the train swaying against the tracks, her attention riveted on the feeling of the rails rumbling beneath her feet and the scent of sugar and spilled tea.

Drawing in a deep breath, she tried to bottle up all these sensations before they reached the station, where they would say their goodbyes.

Because if her sisters couldn’t help her sort through the mess that waited at the bottom of her suitcase, Beatrix very much doubted that she and Jennings would share a moment like this one ever again.