Page 49 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

A Ring

Represents hope, unity, and completion.

Just as Anne and Vincent were reaching the bottoms of their cups in the kitchen of the Crescent Moon, the bells tethered to the door began to rattle, as if the house was shaking in anticipation.

“Is something wrong?” Vincent asked as his gaze darted around the room before settling on Anne.

“No,” Anne replied as she rose from her chair and rested her palms against the smooth oak of the table, listening to what the house was trying to tell them. “I think it’s just the opposite.”

“Someone’s coming!” Violet cried as she barreled into the kitchen with such force that the house had to cling to the decorative porcelain plates hanging on the walls to keep them from shattering. “The bells on the front door are jingling even though no one’s turned the handle.”

Violet took in another breath then to continue speaking, but the words on her tongue seemed to vanish when she turned and saw Vincent sitting at the table, his gaze still darting about the room, but always returning to Anne.

Before Anne had a chance to explain why Vincent Crowley of all people was sitting in the middle of their kitchen, though, the soft murmur of two voices drew everyone’s attention to the back door.

As the sound drew closer, the ticking of Anne’s watch became louder and louder until it could have been mistaken for the grandfather clock whose chimes had enough strength to echo through the whole house.

And then, just as the smaller hand hit twelve, the door opened, revealing Beatrix and May’s hooded figures in the threshold.

“I told you that everyone would be waiting,” Beatrix said to May as they turned back the hoods of their cloaks and brushed away the snowflakes that clung to their shoulders.

May’s stance was rigid at first, the bones of her spine and neck still stiff with cold and a lingering sense of indecision.

But as she tapped the heels of her boots against the wellworn rag rug and took in the sight of the teapots displayed across the shelves, each so colorful and distinct in its own way that she couldn’t help choosing her favorite, the stern set of her shoulders began to loosen.

“It feels just like coming home again,” May whispered as her eyes continued to catch on all the details of the room.

Eventually, though, her gaze left the comforting clutter stacked along the cabinets and settled on Violet.

“I’ve remembered something important,” May said as she took a careful step toward her.

“And what is that?” Violet asked.

“What it truly means to be a sister,” May replied as she reached for her shoulder, just as she had the day before when it looked like she was trying to grasp a hand that had settled there. “I’m here to save him. To let him go his own way so they can finally be at peace.”

The fragrance of warm cinnamon bread and citrus scones was overpowered then by the scent of rosemary and chrysanthemums, and the Quigley sisters knew that they had just welcomed two more guests.

“You don’t know how much this means,” Anne said as she stepped forward and grasped May’s free hand in her own. “For all of us.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand,” May replied with a nod as she gave Anne’s palm a gentle squeeze.

When her fingers brushed against the ring, though, May grew still, and her eyes shot downward.

“It can’t be,” May murmured as she lifted Anne’s hand and drew it closer to get a better view of the hourglass etching. “This is Philip’s ring.”

“You recognize it?” Anne asked, surprised.

“Of course,” May answered as she ran her thumb along the smooth surface, the familiarity of the gesture hinting that she’d done the same thing many times before.

“He wore it on a chain around his neck when we were children, but when he grew big enough, he never took it off his left hand. I’ve always wondered where it went after he passed. ”

The room felt thick with memories as May continued to gaze at the ring.

“Philip used to tell me a story that he’d made up about it when I was a young girl,” she continued. “After we’d read through the fairytale book so many times that the pages seemed like they were going to give way from the spine.”

“What kind of story?” Anne asked.

May paused then and closed her eyes, distancing herself from the current moment so that she could better draw out a tale that had been tucked in the very back of her mind, waiting for just the right moment to emerge again.

“I’m sure I won’t be able to tell it quite like him,” May said hesitantly.

“That’s the way it’s meant to be,” Beatrix reassured her. “Stories are living things, after all, just like people.”

The candles in the kitchen flickered strangely then as the house leaned in to listen alongside the others.

And as May’s memory of the tale grew stronger, so did the shadows cast along the walls, the light dimming when the Crescent Moon closed its eyes so it could better imagine the story that was about to unfold.

“Once upon a time,” May began, the familiar words carrying a kind of magic all of their own, “there was a family who had the power to speak to those who had passed on. They brought comfort to the living and the dead, tying up ends that still needed to be trimmed or tightened.”

Anne heard Vincent take a step closer then, drawn to May’s words like a moth to a flame. He was standing so close to her now that Anne was tempted to lean back so that her shoulders would graze his chest.

“One day, they were called upon by a witch who no one else would help,” May continued.

“She’d lost something close to her heart, and darkness had seeped into the gaps left behind.

Her grief had made her a bitter creature, and she was met only with fear and repulsion from those she stumbled across.

The family gave her peace so that she could find a new purpose: helping others recover the things that seemed to have slipped away.

And in return, the witch gifted them a ring. ”

May smiled then, as if speaking the story aloud again was helping her find something that she thought had been lost as well.

“It was no ordinary ring, of course,” May said, her voice taking on a more confident hue as she drifted deeper into the tale.

“The witch had enchanted it so that the family’s magic would grow stronger the longer her gift was in their possession.

But as it always is with fairy tales, there was an important instruction.

The ring would only work if passed down to the person who’d been born with the most power and the greatest willingness to share it.

They would be the ring’s keeper and ensure its history remained a secret.

For even the best of families will begin to bicker over an heirloom, and then the witch’s magic would destroy the very thing it wanted to reward.

The person who wore the ring would reveal the truth only when they passed it on to its next keeper. ”

The ring grew warm then, and May’s eyes widened as she seemed to notice the change.

Carefully, Anne removed it from her hand and gently placed it in May’s palm.

“Did Philip say how the ring’s keeper knew who to pass it on to?” Anne asked as May ran the tip of her finger along the gold.

“It would let them know by growing warmer beneath their touch,” she answered in wonder, confirming Anne’s suspicions.

May grew silent then, and the flames dancing atop the candlewicks became a bit brighter, signaling that her story had drawn to a close.

“What do I need to do now?” she asked. “To let him go?”

Everyone’s gaze settled on Anne then, waiting expectantly for her to guide them toward what needed to happen next.

But instead of stepping forward, Anne did something that she knew would surprise them all. She moved to the side so that May and Vincent were standing in full view of each other.

“Oh,” May murmured as she let her attention shift to Vincent for the first time since she stepped over the threshold. “You look so much like him.”

Vincent nodded, understanding that she was talking about his uncle.

“I think . . . ,” May began as she glanced from the ring to Vincent. “This belongs to you.”

She stretched out her hand then, the band resting in the center of her palm.

Vincent stared down at the gift that was being offered to him, but instead of taking it from May, he reached forward with both hands and wrapped her fingers around the ring.

“Let me help you first,” Vincent said. “So that they can both move on together.”

“Can you do that?” May asked, her voice wavering again. “So that I don’t have to let him go all on my own?”

“Yes,” Vincent replied softly. “I can help you.”

May released a shaky sigh and then put her free hand atop Vincent’s.

“I’m ready,” she said. “What do I need to do?”

“Tell him goodbye,” Vincent replied in a tone that suggested there was a wealth of meaning beneath that simple answer.

And as the scent of cypress and myrrh started to fill the room, wrapping May in a comforting hold that drew out the best memories of her brother, the Quigleys started to feel recollections coming to life that weren’t their own.

Laughter that echoed against the walls of a staircase.

The soft rumble of a young man’s voice as he read from a book.

Someone’s arms pulling them into an embrace that felt like home.

And though these echoes of the past didn’t belong to the Quigleys, they made the sisters feel just as they had when they’d held hands a year ago and tucked away all the memories that would tether them to one another when they were apart.

“Goodbye,” May finally whispered, and though tears were streaming down her cheeks, she was smiling.

As she spoke, May slipped the ring onto Vincent’s finger, and the scent of rosemary and chrysanthemums grew so strong that the neighbors sat up in their settees and wondered if spring had somehow made an early arrival.

But the fragrance soon began to slip from the kitchen and out of the house entirely, wrapping May in one last embrace before fading from the present.

“He’s gone now,” May said as she opened her eyes and gazed about the room, her expression finally settled into one of peace and acceptance.

“They both are,” Vincent added in answer to the Quigleys’ silent question. “They’ve moved on together.”

“Does that mean Mr. Crowley’s Task is finished?” Anne asked cautiously.

Vincent held up the ring then, and she noticed that for once, the grains of sand etched along the surface were sitting perfectly still, as if the hourglass had finally come to rest too.

The sight of it was all the answer the Quigleys needed.

“Are you all right?” Beatrix asked as she looped a hand through the crook of May’s elbow.

“I think so,” May replied with a nod as she pulled Beatrix a bit closer. “I don’t feel as alone as I thought I would.”

Anne watched as the shadows that May and Beatrix’s bodies cast against the wall shifted ever so slightly in the candlelight. Their silhouettes resembled two daffodils swaying in the wind, and they instantly made her think of longawaited dreams finally coming to fruition.

“You won’t feel alone again,” Anne said, her tone as firm as when she was reading a sign at the bottom of a cup.

May gazed up at her, skeptical at first, but the longer she stared into Anne’s eyes, the more her hesitation gave way to hope.

“You know,” May murmured as a smile returned to her face and she wiped away her tears, “I think I believe you.”