“I’ll return tomorrow,” Anne said simply before striding away from Vincent and out the door, determined to leave the house before she lost any more of her will or wits.
As she neared the front door, Anne thought she heard her name echoing down the hallway and the sound of footsteps trailing behind her, but she didn’t turn around.
Instead, she slammed the door closed on her way over the threshold, determined to forget all the revelations that had managed to spring to light in a house that seemed filled with nothing but shadows.
CHAPTER 20
A Teacup
Represents the subconscious rising to the surface.
When the very last teacup had been left to dry on the linen cloth spread across the countertop, Violet decided that it was time to rest.
She’d insisted on running the shop that day so that Anne could focus on her meeting with Vincent, but by midafternoon, the front parlor had been bursting at the seams with customers who’d had enough of staying tucked away at home and braved the sleet for a plate of scones and some muchneeded company.
The cloaks hanging in the entryway had been so soaked that the house shuddered at the sight of the water pooling along the baseboards, but once it noticed the laughter that seemed to touch every corner of the shop, it merely sighed and got to work cleaning up the mess when it was certain no one was looking.
Violet, too, had warmed at the sense of cheer that filled the parlor, the laughter and hums of approval so loud she could hardly hear the ice tapping against the windows. She’d been so pleased listening to the steady rhythm of the shop that a bit ofher magic slipped into the honey apple cake she was baking, saturating each slice with a hint of enchantment that made everyone who took a bite feel like the chill of the streets had finally thawed from their toes.
Now that everyone had gone for the evening, though, and she was left with nothing but the ache in her feet, Violet’s worries were starting to creep in, as sharply as a winter breeze slipping through a crack in the pane.
If it had been any other time of the year, she would have burst through the door, walking so quickly that her fears wouldn’t be able to keep pace with her. But winter had a habit of keeping you indoors, where recollections grew so strong that they became impossible to avoid. Perhaps that was why most shied away from the coldest season, not due to the snow and sleet that fell along the sidewalks but because they feared being driven inward.
Shaking her head to untether the thoughts that were beginning to take root, Violet decided to wait for her sisters upstairs, where she could distract herself by untangling skeins of yarn or rearranging Beatrix’s books, anything to hold her attention now that the shop was starting to drift into a silent slumber.
After untying her apron and slipping a leftover ginger snap into a cloth napkin, Violet made her way up the steps and opened the door to the family parlor, where the house had already lit a fire in the grate and the snowflakes were falling delicately on the other side of the windowpane. Instantly, the warmth of the scene caused her muscles to loosen, and instead of reaching for the basket of yarn on the floor, Violet was stretching along the cushions of the settee, promising that she’d get to work with the chores she’d given herself after letting her feet rest for just a moment.
But then Tabitha jumped onto her chest, twisting her body in a way that made it clear to Violet she was about to settle in for anap. Wondering if there was a way to move the cat, Violet started to shift, but before she could so much as twitch, Tabitha was peering at her with those vivid green eyes, warning her to remain still.
Reconciling herself to the fact that she was well and truly trapped, Violet sighed and slipped into the feeling of Tabitha’s purrs. The soft vibrations sank into Violet’s skin, and before she realized what was happening, her own eyes had drifted closed, lulled by the familiar hum and comforting weight of the cat.
In what could have been hours or the barest blink of an eye, Violet had faded into another scene entirely as the sound of the logs popping in the hearth gradually shifted into the sharper hiss of firecrackers. And when she stretched her toes, it wasn’t the worn velvet of the settee that she felt beneath her feet but the rough wooden boards of the platform that sat alongside the circus ring.
Fearing she’d fallen into the same dream once more, Violet braced herself for the worst. But then the song ringing through the tent touched her ears, and her racing heart began to still. It was much slower than it had been before, the hectic high notes replaced now with something more similar to the pitch of a lullaby that had ushered her into soothing fantasies as a child. Her costume, too, was different, the gold spangles replaced with blue satin that made Violet wonder if she would look like a moonbeam when she slipped from one bar to the next.
At the thought of having to jump from the platform, Violet’s pulse quickened again, and she took a step back, hoping to distance herself from the edge and the choice that would need to be made there.
Instead of feeling the familiar boards beneath her, though, Violet’s foot met open air, and the sensation of her stomach shifting upward just before an unexpected fall caused a scream to build in her throat. But before it could make its way to her lips,a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the scent of midnight smoke.
“Are you ready, Wildfire?” she heard Emil’s voice rumble against her back, the sound of it laced with excitement.
Violet stared once more at the edge of the platform and instinctively tucked herself deeper into Emil’s embrace, where she knew they’d both be safe as long as she stopped moving forward. They would be fine if she just remained still, coating the moment in bronze so that neither of them could be hurt again.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, her words nearly lost among the sound of the murmuring crowd, which seemed to be shifting in expectation.
She wrapped her hands around his shoulders then and pulled him close, burrowing her nose in the crook of his neck and expecting to draw in the aroma that reminded her of watching the logs of a fire burn bright. Violet parted her lips so that when she told Emil she couldn’t take another leap of faith, the words would taste more familiar.
But as she breathed inward, an unexpected fragrance came to the surface of her awareness: rosemary, so fresh that it caused her temples to tingle.
It cleansed the refusal from her tongue and made her think of forgiveness and new beginnings. And for one brief moment, Violet wondered what would happen if she loosened her grip on the fears that shackled her to a single defining moment.
Then the scent grew so strong that Violet realized it was coming from somewhere beyond her dream, her eyes snapping open in such a rush that the shapes of sparklers and tent stripes left shadowy impressions against the walls of the parlor when she blinked.
Worried that she may have disturbed Tabitha, Violet glanced down, only to see that the cat was already awake, her own gazefixed on the door, as if she were watching someone who had just stepped into the room.
Again, Violet drew in a breath and was met by the distinct fragrance of freshly cut rosemary.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
