Anne’s eyes snapped open then, and as soon as her gaze met the looking glass, the entire surface cracked, as if it had been suddenly cast into the freezing winter’s night.
The sisters gasped, but something kept them rooted in their spots before the mantle, and after taking a moment to catch their breaths, they gazed up at the mirror and realized that the breaks formed a pattern.
Hundreds upon hundreds of delicate miniature keys were now imprinted across the looking glass, radiating outward from the Quigleys’ shocked reflections. Their mother had taught them that whenever a key appeared on the rim of their teacup, they should look to one another for help.
Beatrix could feel Anne’s knees begin to buckle, but she and Violet tightened their hold just in time to keep her standing. Anne may have fallen into the habit of taking on every burden before her sisters had left to pursue their own paths, but they’d returned, ready to lend a hand if Anne was strong enough to ask.
Glancing toward the mirror again, Beatrix watched as something shifted in Anne’s expression, a softness settling where there had been only hard lines before.
Still facing the looking glass, Anne gazed at her sisters’ reflections and whispered, “I’m going to share something with you that I shouldn’t.”
She said the words in the same tone that their mother had whenever she tucked the girls into their quilts for the night and was about to tell them a new story, one that promised to keep them from fidgeting or asking if they could stay awake beyond their bedtime.
“But what about the rest of the Council?” Beatrix whispered, the fear that they had all felt every time one of their calling cards arrived still fresh in her mind.
“The others won’t know I’ve told you until after everything’s been resolved,” Anne said with determination. “You both are meant to help. I can sense it in the depth of my bones.”
The strength in her voice reminded Beatrix that Anne was no longer under the watchful eye of the Council but a part of it herself, with all the power and responsibility a witch of that sort possessed. It was still taking some getting used to, the idea that Anne, who’d seemed so rooted to the Crescent Moon, had moved beyond the boundaries of the shop as well, her magic and knowledge of the city growing in ways that were difficult to imagine. But as Beatrix glanced back at the keys etched into the looking glass and noticed the assured set of Anne’s shoulders, she understood that her sister’s intuition could be trusted.
“Tell us,” Beatrix said, ready to help in any way she could.
“There are strange things happening in the city,” Anne began to explain as they shifted to the settee. “Beyond what we typically expect to see. Objects going missing when they should be staying put. Time speeding up or slowing down and leaving gaps that people are starting to notice.”
“Do you know what’s causing it?” Beatrix asked as she turned toward Anne.
“Yes,” Anne said, pausing as if considering how to deliver the news. “Someone has failed to complete their Task. A very powerful witch who hid his abilities.”
An icy chill filled the room that had nothing to do with the harsh wind rattling the windowpanes. Violet and Beatrix didn’t know where this sudden sense of unease had come from at first, but as they grasped the gingham cloth of their quilts and pulled the edges closer, the underlying meaning of Anne’s words began to take shape. And they realized the unsettling sensation was coming from suspicions that had been waiting to be drawn out from the past once more.
“You can’t mean Mr. Crowley!” Violet cried when she managed to fit the pieces together.
“I’m afraid so,” Anne sighed as she reached forward to grasp her sister’s hand. “I need to complete his Task to keep the threads of destiny where they’re meant to be.”
“But you can’t,” Violet insisted, her thoughts obviously flying to that night in the train station when Mr. Crowley had uttered the name of the one person who’d ever made him feel whole. “It’s not what he wanted. If you complete Mr. Crowley’s Task, he and Philip will be separated again, this time for good.”
The floorboards groaned beneath their feet at that, a clear sign that the house was just as unsettled by this possibility as the Quigley sisters. For though Mr. Crowley could still pass on if another witch was able to complete his Task before everything unraveled, Philip’s chances of moving forward were more uncertain. Something was keeping him here, and if that lingering sense of restlessness remained, he would be tethered in between this life and the next forever.
“The longer Mr. Crowley’s Task is left undone, the worse these instances are going to become,” Anne replied. “And the more likely it is that other witches won’t be able to meet their Fate.”
Violet fell quiet, apparently silenced by the sheer weight of the situation.
“But what if there’s a way to help Mr. Crowley get what he wants while ensuring that everything else remains where it needs to be?” Beatrix murmured, her thoughts slipping away from her sisters and toward an alternative end to their friend’s story.
“What do you mean, Bee?” Anne asked while Beatrix continued to sort through all the different possibilities, just as she did when trying to knit together the delicate plotlines that carried her characters in the proper direction.
“Mr. Crowley wanted most of all to be with Philip,” Beatrix explained. “It wasn’t so much about where he ended up as it was who he was with.”
“Yes,” Violet agreed hesitantly, her tone indicating that she was unsure where Beatrix’s train of thought would lead them. “It wasn’t as if he was looking forward to becoming a ghost. All he wanted was to be with Philip.”
“That’s it!” Anne declared, clearly understanding now what Beatrix was proposing.
“What’s it?” Violet asked, but as her gaze flitted from Anne to Beatrix, she appeared to see the path that was slowly unfolding before them.
“We need to figure out what’s keeping Philip here so that he’ll be free to move forward into the afterlife,” Beatrix said with a note of finality, as if she were reading the final card of a tarot spread. “And when we do that, we’ll finish Mr. Crowley’s Task so they can go together.”
The sisters’ hearts began to race then, pulled forward by a newfound sense of hope. The shift in their spirits was so strong that the parlor began to feel warmer and more welcoming, drawing them deeper into the corners of the cushions so that they could begin to plan in earnest.
“Everything would have to come together at just the right moment,” Beatrix said as she considered all the pieces that needed to fall into place.
