Page 47 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

A Table

Signifies that someone will soon give their support.

The following afternoon, a stillness settled over the Crescent Moon, so potent and calming that the customers noticed it as soon as their boots passed over the threshold.

It wasn’t a silence that caused their chests to tighten in expectation or their shoulder blades to draw back in alarm.

No, as the ladies began to slip out of their coats and unravel their scarves, they were reminded of what it felt like to wake before dawn and sit in the quiet of a place between night and day, when for a few strange moments, they were both intensely aware and at ease all at once, suspended beyond their regrets of the past or worries over the future.

And as they wrapped their icy fingers around warm porcelain cups and drew in the rich fragrance of their tea, the women in the shop didn’t feel the need to speak at all.

They were content to simply be and settle into the sensation of waiting, though it wasn’t clear to them what, exactly, this pause was building toward.

By the time Anne would have needed to begin reading the signs at the bottom of her customers’ cups by candlelight, no one seemed to want a glimpse of their fortune at all, content to merely close their eyes, lean a bit more deeply against the back of their chairs, and listen to the sound of tinkling porcelain and crackling logs.

Anne, too, was surprised to find that it felt like she’d loosened the strings of her corset and could finally take a deep breath.

Now, instead of reminding her that time was slipping away, the steady clicking of her clock seemed to reassure Anne that everything would fall into place at just the right moment.

It was a strange sensation, being unburdened of the selfdoubt that had weighed down each and every decision, but as Anne paused to take in the sight of the shop, she had to admit that it was a feeling she hoped would linger.

Drawing in a cinnamontinted breath, Anne leaned against the wainscoting and let her own eyes fall closed, taking note of the shapes that danced beneath her lids.

Rocking chairs, wheels, and violets shifted into view, reassuring her that a turn of fate was just around the corner.

All she needed to do was wait and trust her ability to read the signs.

Gradually, though, Anne became aware that the ring around her finger was getting warmer, as if she’d rested it for too long against the bar of the oven door.

And just when she opened her eyes to glance down at her hand, she heard the barest creaking of the garden gate.

The house had managed to wake itself just in time to announce that they had an unexpected visitor.

By the time a knock carried into the parlor from the back door, Anne was already stepping into the kitchen, the sudden aroma of myrrh hinting at who was waiting outside.

Vincent’s amber eyes met hers as she opened the door, and again, she felt the ring flash with a sudden jolt of recognition that seemed to sink into her veins and skitter up the flesh of her forearms.

For a moment, the pair stood at the threshold, not so much searching for the words they wanted to say as they were carefully reading each other’s faces.

“May I come inside?” Vincent finally asked.

Though his tone was firm and steady, Anne noticed that he clutched his hat just a fraction tighter while waiting for her answer, as if unsure of how she might respond.

Anne stood in silence for a moment and then slowly opened the door further.

The pots and pans rattled as Vincent stepped over the threshold and set down his hat, the house trying its best to clear the worst of the crumbs off its counters and primp itself up for this unexpected visitor who made Anne’s heart race.

“Would you like some tea?” Anne asked as she glanced about the room, making sure that they had the kitchen to themselves.

At first, Vincent remained silent, and Anne found her cheeks reddening in embarrassment for asking such a question. After the way their last conversation had ended, it seemed ridiculous somehow to be offering him refreshments.

But just as she opened her mouth to sigh and turn away from the kettle boiling on the stovetop, Vincent finally spoke.

“I would,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Anne glanced up in surprise before quickly turning away to face the wall of tea tins and jars stuffed to the brim with leaves.

“What kind would you prefer?” she asked slowly, wondering what he might say.

“Whichever you think suits me best,” Vincent replied. “You’re the expert, after all.”

Nodding, Anne gestured for him to sit at the table while she considered the rows of tins.

Eventually, her fingers grasped a plain black canister with gold edging along the trim. She carried it over to the boiling water before pulling a wellworn teapot off the countertop along with a pair of matching cups.

When she finally sat down at the table across from Vincent and placed the pot of tea between them, she could tell by the subtle furrow between his brows that he was curious.

“We need to wait for the tea to brew,” Anne warned him. “Only a few minutes, but the timing needs to be just right.”

“I see,” Vincent said with a nod, though from the way he was eyeing the handle of the pot, Anne could tell that he’d rather go ahead and fill his cup.

Again, a silence enveloped the room that was different from the pleasant stillness of the parlor. It was full of expectation and the sting of their last exchange, the words that they’d cast at one another so potent that it felt like they were being spoken aloud once more.

“Have you come to take it?” Anne asked as she tapped the gold band softly against the top of the table.

Vincent’s attention slid to her hand then, his eyes glinting in the way they always did when something caught his interest.

But then his gaze shifted from the band to Anne’s face, though the sharp intensity in his expression remained, as if he were still looking at something he wanted.

To Anne’s surprise, she didn’t feel the impulse to shift back in her seat. Instead, she found herself doing the opposite, leaning forward so that they were drawn closer together instead of farther apart.

“Do you truly believe that you can save everyone if we wait?” Vincent asked.

Anne considered him for a moment, taking note of the firm set of his jaw and the way he seemed to be reading her face, as if every flicker of her lashes and shift of her lips carried a wealth of meaning.

“More than ever,” Anne answered. “Everything is on the right course. We only need for the pieces to come together.”

The silence that filled the kitchen was saturated with the worst and best possibilities, and the house couldn’t help but wring its hands alongside Anne as they waited to see what would happen next.

“Then I will wait,” Vincent said, easing away the tension that rested between him and Anne and leaving behind only the scent of the brewing tea. “Until you decide to give me the ring yourself.”

“Why?” Anne asked, confused by his sudden change of heart. “When there’s so much at stake for you?”

Vincent glanced away from her then to stare at his own hands as he leaned back in his chair, but it wasn’t long before his eyes returned to hers.

“Our magic is different,” he said. “Mine is centered on drawing out the past to provide comfort in the present. Yours is linked to the future. In this case, it seems that you are the one who should know which path to take.”

He paused for a moment then, and to Anne, it seemed as if he was deciding whether to say something more.

“And my uncle deserves peace,” Vincent finally murmured. “I don’t want to be the reason he and Philip are separated in the end either.”

Anne wondered if he was trying to deceive her somehow, pretending that he had conceded with the intention of turning the cards in his favor.

But then she noticed the shadows and fine wrinkles around his eyes, telltale signs that he’d had too little sleep.

And in those lines, Anne read the signs of regret.

They were the same as the ones that she’d seen reflected in her mirror that morning when she thought of the harsh words they’d spoken the day before.

“You trust me, then?” Anne asked.

Though Anne tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter what Vincent said, she couldn’t help but notice that a knot seemed to be building beneath her breastbone as she waited for him to answer.

“I do,” Vincent said with a nod. “I’ve seen your selflessness, Anne. Even when it came to embracing your own power, you never lost sight of your purpose. If you say that everything will come together as it needs to, then I believe you.”

Anne felt the tension in her chest ease, replaced by a warm sensation she couldn’t quite place. It made the tips of her toes tingle, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside, hoping that she could snuff it out before a blush rose to her cheeks.

“Well, then,” she finally managed to murmur as she pretended to brush aside crumbs from the pristine tabletop.

“You concede to nothing, do you?” Vincent said as a ghost of a smile began to work its way into the corners of his mouth. “Even when it comes to a compliment.”

“Not often,” Anne admitted with a cautious grin. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have quite the stubborn streak.”

“The same has been said of me,” Vincent replied, his words instantly rekindling the notunpleasant prickling feeling in her toes.

“It’s ready now,” Anne said as she focused on pouring the tea into their cups, releasing a rich, smoky aroma that infused the kitchen as the steam spilled from the spout.

“What is it?” he asked, obviously drawn to the fragrance and curious about what it would taste like.

“It’s not a common blend,” Anne explained. “Dark oolong mixed with assam and puerh. It has a bold, smoky taste that can’t be balanced out, no matter how many spoonfuls of sugar you pour into the cup. The flavor is too strong for some.”

“Is it unpleasant for you as well?” Vincent asked.

In response, Anne lifted her own cup and took a sip.

“It took some time,” Anne replied. “But I’ve found that the flavor has grown on me.”

The house felt something shift between them then. It was a subtle change that reminded it of the way the nails in the wainscoting sometimes loosened during the height of summer, when the heat forced the boards to give way.

Vincent’s hand moved forward, and Anne expected him to reach for his tea so that he could taste the notes that she’d just described. But instead of grasping the handle and drawing it to his mouth, his fingers laced through Anne’s, pulling her closer until his lips were brushing against hers.

It felt just as if she’d fallen into a memory again, one filled with heat and life and longing, but this time, another kind of spell was threading its way between them.

And for once, Anne was more than willing to let go and see where the enchantment carried her.