Page 44 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)
A Triangle
Appears just before an unexpected meeting.
Violet didn’t bother clutching her hood as she marched down the street, her eyes darting from the card clutched between her bare fingers and the numbers etched along the sides of the brick buildings, which were halfobscured by snow.
Though most would have drawn the velvet ribbons tighter to shield the delicate skin along their cheeks and nose, Violet was beyond caring about the cold and hadn’t even noticed that her curls had fallen from her bun and were now whipping furiously in the wind.
She was entirely focused on finding the address printed on the bottom of Brigit’s calling card, the determination that had been kindling within her warming the tips of her toes and melting away any remnants of winter’s chill.
By the time she found the matching number aside a charming red row house, Violet was practically vibrating from anticipation, her foot tapping relentlessly against the icy stoop as she lifted her hand to knock on the front door.
Her knuckles didn’t even have a chance to hit the wood, though, before the door creaked open, revealing the landlady, who was so bundled up that it was a wonder she was able to move at all.
“Dear me!” the poor woman cried as she glanced up and saw her unexpected visitor. “Miss Quigley, you must excuse me. I had no idea you were standing here in the cold!”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Violet assured her, trying to speak slowly though all she wanted to do was rush forward. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“All the same,” Brigit said in a fluster. “And here I am just about to step out to run an errand.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to have come at an inconvenient moment,” Violet replied, her foot already lifting to fall back on the step.
Perhaps her intuition hadn’t been something to follow without question after all.
“Actually,” the older woman said, a note of excitement sparking in her tone, “you’ve come at just the right time.”
A tingling sensation skittered from the base of Violet’s spine to the bottom of her neck then.
“You see, a family acquaintance stopped by unexpectedly this morning to pay her respects. She was a close friend of my husband’s late aunt and only just heard the news,” Brigit continued.
“A family acquaintance,” Violet echoed as the rhythm of her heart began to beat to a quicker pace.
“In fact, she might be the person you should speak with if you want to know more about the history of your building,” Brigit said as she looped her scarf around her neck.
“She just told me that she lived there as a young girl. That’s how she got to know my husband’s aunt, whose father rented out the apartment at the time. ”
It can’t be, Violet thought to herself.
“What’s her name?” Violet asked, her voice shaking as she spoke, though her teeth weren’t chattering from the cold.
“Mrs. Margaret Hall, but she was little May Schultz when she lived in the apartment,” Brigit answered. “I imagine she has all the answers you’ve been searching for.”
“I believe so,” Violet replied as the corners of her lips began to lift into the start of a smile.
“She’s sitting in the parlor if you’d like to speak with her yourself,” Brigit said, gesturing to a room down the hall. “I’m just going to pop out to the bakery so that I have something to offer her with tea. I’ll only be a minute.”
“If it’s not an imposition,” Violet murmured, trying to keep her wavering voice steady.
Brigit must have mistaken Violet’s anticipation for a shiver, though, because she quickly ushered her inside, mumbling about warming her bones next to the fire and helping herself to a cup of tea as she began to step down the stoop.
When the front door snapped closed, Violet could hear the crackling of logs in the hearth and the subtle rustling of stiff brocade skirts from the direction that Brigit had nudged her toward. And then she noticed a nowfamiliar scent drifting down the hallway: the aroma of freshly cut rosemary.
It beckoned her forward, tingling her temples as she took a step and then another until she was nearly turning the corner into the parlor. Something was waiting for her there that had been trying to weave its way into her dreams.
When Violet paused at the threshold, she felt just as she always did when hovering on the edge of the circus platform, lingering in a space where all was possible and wondering if she was going to find her courage in time to take a bold leap.
But as she drew in another breath laced with rosemary, Violet knew with certainty that she needed to step beyond the moment and act.
Turning the corner, she marched into the parlor, only to stop short when she saw an elderly woman sitting by the hearth, her gaze already fixed on Violet as if she’d been expecting her all along.
They continued to stare at each other, the scent of rosemary that Violet had noticed in the hallway intensifying, though she realized now that it wasn’t coming from the woman.
It seemed to be drifting from the empty seat beside her, as if someone else were sitting in the matching wingback chair that faced the fireplace, the heady notes of their perfume growing stronger from the warmth.
And then Violet caught the scent of chrysanthemums, more subtle than the rosemary, but present nonetheless. And she finally understood.
“They’re here,” she said before she could help herself, though the words were entangled in a gasp and should have been too rough for anyone to understand.
But the face of the woman sitting in front of her instantly pinched together before falling apart, like she’d been prepared to go on the defense only to let herself shatter.
“I had wondered if anyone would ever come,” May finally said, grasping her handkerchief in the way that Violet did when she needed something to cling to.
“Who have you been waiting for?” Violet asked, confused by her reaction.
“One of your kind,” May replied. “Just like Crowley.”
“You know what I am?” Violet asked, shocked.
“After you’ve seen magic, you always keep your eyes open for it,” May replied. “I used to catch Crowley casting spells for Philip when they thought I wasn’t looking. Just the barest wonders, but I could never turn away. I suppose I’ve been searching for a hint of enchantment ever since.”
Her eyes took on a misty hue then, as if she’d made a habit of falling back into the past, where memories built on sand felt truer than the ground beneath her feet.
“And you practically twinkle with it,” May finally continued, her gaze focusing on Violet once more.
Instinctively reaching for her cloak to pull it tighter, Violet was startled to find that the heavy cloth was missing.
Brigit must have taken it off to hang on one of the pegs near the door when she wasn’t paying attention, and with all the excitement, her magic was shining just a bit brighter than it should have been.
“Crowley was the same at first,” May said with a nod of recognition as she watched Violet’s hand shift toward her chest. “Reaching to see if his coat was hanging about his shoulders. Though, as the years passed, he became more forgetful. Or perhaps it was because he loved Philip, and you can’t love fully when you’re worried about clinging to a mask. ”
“You knew him?” Violet asked as she stepped closer.
“Of course,” May said with a smile. “How could I not when he was over so often? Though the older he and my brother became, the more they drew themselves into a world of their own making. Or maybe I was moving outward. Even after all this time, it’s difficult to know for certain.”
A sadness crept into May’s voice then, saturating the nostalgic softness that had been there only moments before and causing her shoulders to curve inward.
“Though it seems that they’re both with me now,” May said with a slight smile as she glanced at the chair next to her, but there was a weight to her words that made them sound more like a confession. “Just like they were before.”
The scent of rosemary and chrysanthemums grew so strong then that the air became thick and heady, causing moist rivulets to form on Violet’s brow. It suddenly seemed as if the room was fuller than it had been before, and she knew for certain then that they were not alone.
“You’re what’s keeping him here,” Violet said, noting the way May’s gaze always seemed to return to the wingback chair, like she was making sure that something was still there.
May paused, her shoulders tightening as if she was trying to find a way to protect her secrets, but then she shuddered, all the strength that remained in her body crumbling beneath stark truths.
“Please don’t think ill of me,” May pleaded, her grasp tightening around her handkerchief as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.
The sight of them made Violet remember all the sorrows that had poured from her cheeks and onto the pillow whenever her dreams pulled her toward memories of things that might be lost.
“How could I?” Violet answered. “When I’m a sister myself.”
There was a world of meaning in that word: “sister.” It be spoke ties of love and longing that were so entangled nothing could sever them, not even death.
“We never said goodbye,” May said with a deep sigh that suggested she was grateful to finally have someone who could listen to her story.
“The last time I saw my brother, we had a horrible argument. I was a young woman then, you see, and had accepted the proposal of a man who was developing quite the reputation in the mercantile business. Philip didn’t approve. ”
“Why not?” Violet asked.
“Because we weren’t in love,” May explained.
“He was everything else I thought I wanted, and I willed myself to believe that it would grow between us eventually, but Philip thought differently. How could he not when he already knew what it felt like to find someone who made waking up every morning worthwhile?”
She released another shaky breath then.