Page 53 of The Witching Moon Manor (The Spellbound Sisters #2)

Flowers

Symbolize new beginnings.

The Quigley sisters knew it was the first true day of spring the morning they awoke to the scent of beeswax and found their best lace tablecloth missing from the linen closet.

The house always shooed them out into the garden when it decided that the change in the seasons was here to stay, expecting them to enjoy their tea and scones out in the sunshine while it threw open the windows and shook away the dust that had gathered in the corners during the winter.

By suppertime, the floors would glisten as brightly as a looking glass, and all the cinnamon sticks and cedar in the front parlor would have disappeared, replaced by vases brimming over with lilac.

And the day after, when the first customer stepped over the threshold, they would draw in the fresh scent of new beginnings and stand a bit straighter, the weight of long winter evenings quickly fading as daydreams about warm summer afternoons started to take shape.

But before then, the sisters were expected to stay out of the way and simply enjoy the sensation of watching the world wake once again.

“Some things never change, do they?” Violet murmured to Anne as she stepped out of the kitchen and took in the sight of the garden, which was so bursting with daffodils, tulips, and azaleas of the richest pinks and purples that it seemed she’d never be able to look through anything but a pair of rosecolored glasses.

“The most important things never do,” Anne replied as she joined Violet in the doorway and wrapped a hand around her waist, giving her a soft tug as they breathed in the singular scent of spring.

Violet turned toward Anne and smiled, her eyes as bright as they had been when Anne first saw her flying across the circus tent.

She and Emil had returned to the ring only a week ago, but Anne could already tell that Violet’s heart was beating to that familiar tempo again.

The doubt that had so weighed on her sister no longer had any hope of keeping her grounded.

On the opening night of the circus’s run in Chicago, she’d flown from one bar to the next as if she’d been born with a set of wings and had made a home in the sky.

“Where do we want these?” Emil asked, his voice laced with excitement as he walked into the garden with a croquet set, the wooden sticks worn about the handles from so many years of lively competition in the summer sunshine.

“Anywhere will do,” Anne replied as she walked toward the lacecovered table, where Vincent was waiting to hand her a steaming cup that smelled of green tea and elderflowers. “I’m sure it won’t be long before we start to play.”

His clothes were still a striking shade of black, but all the hard edges that had once marked Vincent’s face seemed to have melted along with the snow.

When Emil and Violet turned their backs, trying to determine where to place the posts for their game, he pulled Anne close and whispered something that carried the texture of a shared secret, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke.

“You’ll have to keep an eye on her,” Beatrix chimed from where she was standing near the gate, her eyes locked on the alleyway that turned onto the street. “Anne’s not beneath kicking someone else’s ball an inch or two out of the way when no one is looking.”

“I most certainly would do nothing of the kind,” Anne huffed, trying her best to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What are you doing standing over there, anyway?”

“I’ve invited a guest,” Beatrix said, her cheeks growing just pink enough for Anne to guess who might make an appearance.

Though Beatrix had been shy about bringing Jennings around at first, thinking that it would be best to introduce him to a world where magic beat at its core in small steps, once the house learned that he’d been told the truth, it wouldn’t let the man out of its sight.

Violet might be marked for a life of movement, but the Crescent Moon was still hopeful that Beatrix could be drawn closer again.

It believed that dazzling Jennings with the magical comforts of home and hearth could be the key to convincing Beatrix to stay, and every time he came to visit, he’d end up lingering hours longer than he’d intended, transfixed by dancing teacups and rooms that seemed to appear from the depths of someone’s daydreams.

“Here he comes now!” Violet cried as she leaned forward to better hear the footsteps echoing against the cobblestones. “And it sounds like he’s brought someone with him.”

A moment later, Jennings appeared at the gate, his hand tucked politely in the crook of May’s arm.

She’d abandoned her heavy, dark satin for a lavender linen blouse and straw hat lined with fresh peonies, and the change reminded Anne just how much lighter she looked since that evening in the kitchen months before.

“Isn’t this lovely?” she said, her voice as wonderstruck as a child’s as she let Jennings help her through the gate and into the splendor of the garden. “Like something from a fairy tale.”

“I’m so glad you could come,” Beatrix said as she stepped forward and squeezed one of May’s hands.

The two of them had become fast friends, drawn together by their shared love of stories and a strong cup of tea.

“Have you finished it?” May asked, a glimmer of anticipation flitting across her eyes as she waited to hear what Beatrix might say.

Beatrix had thrown herself into the new book project, writing from the early hours of the morning until she fell asleep, oftentimes in the worn wingback chair with her hands still gripping the pen.

It seemed like the story’s characters were pushing her to introduce them to the world as quickly as possible, and she’d lost herself in all the best ways while helping them do just that.

May had been the one to stop by the bookshop every day to ensure that Beatrix was taking a moment to drink a cup of tea and stretch her weary back.

And more often than not, she would find herself losing track of time as she sat in another chair that had appeared in the front of the shop, quickly falling into the even rhythm of a story that she’d never read before.

The two would sit in companionable silence, the noise that Beatrix’s pen made as it scratched into the paper entangling with the sound of turning pages as May moved from one chapter to the next.

And before they knew it, the bells of the front door were chiming as Jennings came to pay a visit after the doors of Donohoe & Company had closed for the day.

Of course, it had been too much of a temptation for May to not peek at Beatrix’s new novel, and now it was all she could think about.

The characters had even started to slip into her dreams, their story unfolding in vivid detail while she slept, only to disappear when the sun started to emerge between the cracks in the curtains and she’d failed to reach the end.

“I have,” Beatrix answered with a grin. “I finished the final chapter just last night and can’t wait for you to read it.”

“It’s absolutely wonderful,” Jennings chimed in, full of enthusiasm. “The best she’s written yet.”

“You’ve read it already, have you?” Violet asked coyly, seemingly unsurprised that Jennings had been by Beatrix’s side when she finished the novel in the early hours of the morning.

A blush as red as the begonias flashed across Beatrix’s cheeks, and Jennings shifted nervously from one foot to the other, though they couldn’t quite keep the smiles from their eyes.

“I have something to share as well,” May said as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to Beatrix.

“I don’t understand,” Beatrix murmured as she read what was printed there. “It’s the deed to the bookshop.”

May waited in silent expectation as Beatrix’s eyes came to rest on the final line of the document, where her own name was printed.

“It’s mine?” Beatrix whispered.

“It’s yours,” May said. “If you’ll have it. Brigit and her husband were only too willing to sell the building when I made my offer. They are both quite eager to move to warmer climates, it seems.”

“But why?” Beatrix asked.

“Because it’s what Philip would have wanted,” May answered. “To bring the shop and its readers to life again.”

“You want me to reopen it,” Beatrix said, a note of understanding drifting into her tone.

“I know it’s a lot for me to ask,” May replied, a trace of hesitation creeping into her voice. “Running the shop might seem like too much to balance with your writing.”

“I’ll be there to help,” Jennings chimed in as he took a step forward before turning to face Beatrix. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

They all caught the underlying meaning of Jennings’ words, even the house, which stilled the pleasant breeze that had been playing at the edge of the lace tablecloth so that it wouldn’t miss a single moment of what would come next.

“I’d like that, John,” Beatrix finally said as she took his hand in her own. “I’d like that very much indeed.”

The house, which was thrilled to its very rafters that Beatrix would have something more solid than childhood memories to root her to the city, had to resist the urge to fling open its shutters and bang all the pots and pans in the kitchen.

But it couldn’t keep from loosening some of the flower petals so that they caught in Beatrix’s curls and the brim of Jennings’ hat.

“Cheers to the happy couple!” Violet exclaimed as she lifted her teacup in the air.

But before she could lower it and take another sip, Anne pulled away from Vincent to grasp the handle, peering over the rim.

“What is it?” Violet asked as she let Anne take the cup, clearly frightened by her surprised expression.

Anne’s gaze flitted from the rim to Violet and back as she tried to piece everything together, but then a wide smile settled across her face.

“My birthday vision,” Anne said. “It wasn’t of the past at all.”

“You mean the girl’s laughter?” Violet asked. “But if it wasn’t a memory, what could it be? And how do my tea leaves fit into it?”

“Look here,” Anne said as she pointed to a sign at the top of the cup, not so close that it would happen in an instant but far enough away from the bottom to hint that something important was waiting in the nottoodistant future. “Four magpies perched just beneath the handle.”

Anne waited for Violet to remember what the sign meant.

One magpie warned of bad luck.

Two hinted at good fortune.

Three flew to the rim just before a wedding.

And four . . .

“A birth,” Violet whispered as her eyes widened in realization.

She caught Emil’s gaze over the rim of the cup, clearly wondering whether he understood the significance of what she’d said. But he was already grinning from ear to ear, as if he’d just been told a wish was about to come true.

“It seems that the world’s about to meet another Quigley witch,” Anne said as she and Beatrix drew closer to Violet.

When they pressed their heads together, the sound of childish laughter rang through their thoughts, an echo of all the best of the past carrying on into the future.