Page 5 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

A Buttonhook

Represents friendships slipping back into place.

As Violet Quigley’s hand stilled on the garden gate, she began to wonder what she was more afraid of: that everything had changed or nothing at all.

Over the past few months, she’d found herself slipping away from the regular rhythm of the day and into delicately crafted fantasies that took on the texture of tea biscuits and cinnamon scones.

Like the dough that she used to knead every evening, she’d folded memories of the shop into her daydreams and let them grow to the point where she suspected they’d begun to stretch beyond reasonable possibility.

What if she walked through the door and realized her recollections were too laced with nostalgia to have ever been real in the first place?

Worse yet, there was the chance that everything was just as Violet remembered, but she’d changed too much to fit back into the steady heartbeat of the shop.

The previous year, she’d stood on the other side of this very gate with her valise dangling in one hand and the iron handle grasped in the other.

She’d even been wearing the same woolen coat to ward off the harsh Chicago winds, the one that Emil had given her when they’d realized that autumn had shifted into winter while they were tucked away in his wagon.

Though the scene looked nearly identical to the one that had unfolded before, Violet’s chest tightened at just how different she felt from the woman who’d closed the garden gate behind her, ready to walk toward her dreams instead of away from them.

But that thought brought along a fragile daisy chain of other concerns that she’d done her best to stay one step ahead of during her journey back home, and so, instead of lingering in the alleyway and letting her worries catch up with her, Violet threw open the latch and stepped into the garden, where the scent of witch hazel and winter jasmine instantly melted away the troubles of the present and ushered her into the warmth of the past.

For a few moments, Violet stood on the pebbled pathway with her eyes closed and let herself pull back the decades until she was a little girl again, discovering how near she could step to the alleyway without anyone noticing.

As the scent of freshly turned earth grew stronger, so did the sounds of her childhood.

She could almost hear the pages of Beatrix’s book turning as the breeze caught the paper, and beyond that the murmur of Anne’s voice as she pointed to signs tethered to the comfort of safe havens.

And beyond that still, the rustling of the rough apron that her mother had always worn while working in the flower beds, her laughter faint but so familiar that, for a moment, Violet forgot to breathe.

By the time the sunlight had thawed Violet’s chilled cheeks, she was ready to open her eyes once more, and the noises that had somehow slipped beyond the careful confines of the past faded away, leaving her firmly in the present.

Drawing in a shaky lavenderlaced breath, Violet took a step toward the house, wondering what it would feel like to turn the knob of the back door and discover what awaited her.

But someone else got there first.

“Violet!” Anne cried, her voice carrying through the garden as she embraced her sister with such force that she nearly knocked them both to the ground.

Before they could topple into the nearest bed of primroses, Anne wrapped her arms around Violet’s waist and steadied her, her laughter so strong that Violet could feel it echoing against her own chest.

And in that instant, Violet knew that the most important parts of her past had remained exactly as she needed them to be.

Not one to be left out of a celebration, the house threw open all the shutters and began to snap them back and forth, as if it were clapping.

“Shh,” Anne hissed as she waved her arms up at the house. “You’ll frighten the customers!”

The house heard the smile that cut the edge off her warning, though, and started to bang all the pots and pans, which turned the heads of a few ladies in the front parlor, who wondered what kind of chaos was unfolding in the kitchen.

“Well, this certainly hasn’t changed a bit,” Violet laughed as she tightened her hold around Anne’s waist and grinned at the house.

“Come inside before it brings down the rafters,” Anne insisted as she led her sister toward the door. “Or decides to add another room to the third floor.”

But when they stepped through the threshold, Violet could already hear the boards groaning above and saw the herb bundles that hung along the wall shake ever so slightly, both telltale signs that the house was trying to stretch beyond its current limits.

No doubt, when she and Anne walked up the staircase, they’d find a room that hadn’t been there before, with a bouquet of sweet violets resting on a freshly laundered pillow.

Though the house’s sense of excitement hadn’t ebbed during her absence, as Violet finally started to take stock of her surroundings, she realized that not everything had stayed the same.

“What’s happened to my kitchen?!” Violet cried as she turned about the room, her eyes darting from one alteration to the next until they finally settled on a familiar sight, the oak dining table where she and her sisters had spent hours discussing the details of the day to come over steaming cups of English breakfast tea and plates towering with iced buns that smelled of browned butter and nutmeg when you tore them in two.

Evidentially, the house had taken one glance at the scratches carved into the wooden surface and realized that some imperfections were worth keeping just the way they were.

“I tried to stop it,” Anne sighed, throwing her hands in the air as if she were speaking about a rambunctious border collie who couldn’t be kept from jumping on the furniture.

“But the house grew overly confident after its work in the front parlor and started adding an inch or two here and there when I wasn’t paying attention. Before I knew it, we had this.”

Anne swept her hand around the kitchen, which looked like something that had spilled forth from the garden.

Wide windows had grown out of the plaster and were thrown open so that tendrils of the plants rooted outside snuck in and wove their way around the tea tins and cookbooks that rested along the shelves.

Sprigs of lavender and thyme now dangled just within reach of the stovetop, waiting to be plucked by hurried hands and filling the entire room with the scent of spring fading gracefully into summer.

The ceilings were also at least six inches higher, drawing in a sense of openness that shed light on the corners of the room that had once been shadowed and exposing the more practical touches the house had seen fit to make: a double oven that shone with a fresh layer of polish, cabinets that proudly displayed stacks of dishes with the same crescent moon that winked at passersby from the sign outside the shop, and a new basket with a few less scratch marks waiting next to the hearth for Tabitha’s arrival, though at the moment, the cat was nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t you like it?” Anne asked, a nervous note sneaking into her voice as she realized Violet might have hoped to step into the same home that she’d left behind.

“I do, actually,” Violet said, surprised to find that she truly meant it. “It’s only fair that the house has its chance to grow as well.”

At that, Violet felt the boards beneath her boots rattling with what she could only assume was agreement.

“But how did you know that I’d arrived?” Violet asked, turning to face her sister. “I went through the back just to surprise you.”

“While I was talking with a customer in the front parlor, I suddenly smelled honeysuckle with a hint of sandalwood, and I knew you’d come home,” Anne replied. “I excused myself and ran straight to the back door.”

“Your powers have gotten as strong as that, have they?” Violet asked with a grin. “I think that you’ve been holding back in your letters. What else have you been keeping to yourself?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Anne replied in a tone that reminded Violet of restless nights and shoulders strained from leaning too deeply into worries.

Violet opened her mouth to ask what the trouble was when something her sister had said finally clicked into place.

“Did you say you smelled sandalwood?” Violet murmured just before a chorus of greetings slipped under the door that led to the parlor and the pots and pans hanging from the pegs in the kitchen erupted once more.

“It can’t be,” Violet said, but she was already racing to the front parlor, tossing her valise to the floor as she and Anne tried to squeeze through the door at the exact same time.

When they finally managed to reach the parlor, a cluster of feathered hats and puffed satin sleeves was growing at the very center of the first floor, and sharp cries of surprise had caused more than one person walking by the front windows to peer inside, hoping to discover the source of the noise that spilled onto the street.

Among the commotion, Violet could see a headful of vibrant copper curls pop up now and again from the crowd of lively customers. It was like watching a nervous robin trying to peer over a flock of boisterous macaws.

“Miss Beatrix, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again!”

“Miss Beatrix, you simply won’t believe all the changes your sister’s made to the shop, and in such a short period of time.”

“Miss Beatrix, you must tell us all about the new book you’re working on. We won’t take no for an answer!”

Deciding it was time to rescue their sister, Violet and Anne pushed forward, gently slipping between satin sleeves and bustle skirts until they each managed to grab hold of Beatrix’s gloved hands.

“Is Miss Violet here as well?!” a voice cried out, followed by an echo of gleeful gasps.

A burst of excitement rippled through the parlor then, and it was clear that if someone didn’t act soon, the sisters would be well and truly lost among the eager embrace of their regular customers.

“Give me a moment to have them to myself, ladies!” Anne cried above the chorus of protests as she marched toward the entryway, which was now tucked out of view from the rest of the parlor, though that didn’t stop more than one curious gaze from following them until their skirt trains disappeared around the corner.

Once they were surrounded by nothing more than a rack full of colorful cloaks and knit wraps, the Quigleys collapsed into one another, laughing as they pressed their foreheads together and reassured themselves that they hadn’t slipped into the past or future but were indeed firmly planted in the present.

Unspoken sentences filled the empty space between them: “I’ve missed you,” “It’s been too long,” “How good it feels to be back.”

But, like many of the moments that make life worth living, their reunion couldn’t be expressed in words.

So, instead of saying anything at all, Anne, Beatrix, and Violet took a few minutes to let the beat of their hearts fall into the same easy rhythm and relish the sensation of hearing their laughter tangle together again.

The house chuckled alongside them, shaking the chandelier that now hung in the entryway, as it did whenever a soft breeze slipped from the street and tinkled the delicate crystal drops.

“It’s not often these days that I get the pleasure of being surprised,” Anne finally murmured.

“A good surprise, I hope,” Beatrix said with a grin as she pushed back a curl that had escaped Anne’s chignon.

“It’s the one that I’ve been eagerly waiting for,” Anne replied, tightening her hold around her sisters’ waists.

“I don’t think we’ve completely thrown her off guard, Bee,” Violet interjected. “It seems she knew we were coming.”

“Is that true, Anne?” Beatrix asked, her eyes widening in amazement. “Did you know that we were on our way back?”

“There might have been a few signs,” Anne murmured, her gaze dropping shyly toward her boots.

“She’s been keeping secrets,” Violet chided. “After we’ve spent so much time writing all those details in our letters, she didn’t think to share this one with us!”

But the way Anne’s smile faltered as her attention lingered on Violet’s face hinted that she didn’t need tea leaves or tarot cards to know something more than homesickness had drawn her sister away from the circus and back to the Crescent Moon.

Those worry lines and dark circles were waiting to be read as clearly as clouds on the rim of a porcelain cup.

“I’d say we have quite a lot to catch up about,” Anne replied before turning toward the busy front parlor and frowning. “If only it were nearer to closing time. Why don’t you two let the house settle you in, and once the customers leave for the day, I’ll join you upstairs?”

“And leave you to fend for yourself down here? With these ladies and all their questions about our unexpected arrival?” Violet asked, her copper brows flying toward her fringe. “How cruel do you think we’ve become?”

“Let us help,” Beatrix insisted as she slid a hand through the crook of Anne’s elbow.

“But you’ve only just walked through the door!” Anne sputtered. “You must be tired.”

“Not too tired to help our sister,” Beatrix said with a grin. “You’ve forgotten we have a bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

Anne opened her mouth again to protest, but before she could say anything at all, Violet threaded an arm through her other elbow and marched them into the front room of the shop, where they were instantly met by the cries of their customers, who were eager to lure them to their tables.

The Quigley sisters, it seemed, had finally returned home.