When Violet paused at the threshold, she felt just as she always did when hovering on the edge of the circus platform, lingering in a space where all was possible and wondering if she was going to find her courage in time to take a bold leap.
But as she drew in another breath laced with rosemary, Violet knew with certainty that she needed to step beyond the moment and act.
Turning the corner, she marched into the parlor, only to stop short when she saw an elderly woman sitting by the hearth, her gaze already fixed on Violet as if she’d been expecting her all along.
They continued to stare at each other, the scent of rosemary that Violet had noticed in the hallway intensifying, though she realized now that it wasn’t coming from the woman. It seemed to be drifting from the empty seat beside her, as if someone else were sitting in the matching wingback chair that faced the fireplace, the heady notes of their perfume growing stronger from the warmth.
And then Violet caught the scent of chrysanthemums, more subtle than the rosemary, but present nonetheless. And she finally understood.
“They’re here,” she said before she could help herself, though the words were entangled in a gasp and should have been too rough for anyone to understand.
But the face of the woman sitting in front of her instantly pinched together before falling apart, like she’d been prepared to go on the defense only to let herself shatter.
“I had wondered if anyone would ever come,” May finally said, grasping her handkerchief in the way that Violet did when she needed something to cling to.
“Who have you been waiting for?” Violet asked, confused by her reaction.
“One of your kind,” May replied. “Just like Crowley.”
“You know what I am?” Violet asked, shocked.
“After you’ve seen magic, you always keep your eyes open for it,” May replied. “I used to catch Crowley casting spells for Philip when they thought I wasn’t looking. Just the barest wonders, but I could never turn away. I suppose I’ve been searching for a hint of enchantment ever since.”
Her eyes took on a misty hue then, as if she’d made a habit of falling back into the past, where memories built on sand felt truer than the ground beneath her feet.
“And you practically twinkle with it,” May finally continued, her gaze focusing on Violet once more.
Instinctively reaching for her cloak to pull it tighter, Violet was startled to find that the heavy cloth was missing. Brigit must have taken it off to hang on one of the pegs near the door when she wasn’t paying attention, and with all the excitement, her magic was shining just a bit brighter than it should have been.
“Crowley was the same at first,” May said with a nod of recognition as she watched Violet’s hand shift toward her chest. “Reaching to see if his coat was hanging about his shoulders. Though, as the years passed, he became more forgetful. Or perhaps it was because he loved Philip, and you can’t love fully when you’re worried about clinging to a mask.”
“You knew him?” Violet asked as she stepped closer.
“Of course,” May said with a smile. “How could I not when he was over so often? Though the older he and my brother became, the more they drew themselves into a world of their own making. Or maybe I was moving outward. Even after all this time, it’s difficult to know for certain.”
A sadness crept into May’s voice then, saturating the nostalgic softness that had been there only moments before and causing her shoulders to curve inward.
“Though it seems that they’re both with me now,” May said with a slight smile as she glanced at the chair next to her, but there was a weight to her words that made them sound more like a confession. “Just like they were before.”
The scent of rosemary and chrysanthemums grew so strong then that the air became thick and heady, causing moist rivulets to form on Violet’s brow. It suddenly seemed as if the room wasfuller than it had been before, and she knew for certain then that they were not alone.
“You’re what’s keeping him here,” Violet said, noting the way May’s gaze always seemed to return to the wingback chair, like she was making sure that something was still there.
May paused, her shoulders tightening as if she was trying to find a way to protect her secrets, but then she shuddered, all the strength that remained in her body crumbling beneath stark truths.
“Please don’t think ill of me,” May pleaded, her grasp tightening around her handkerchief as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.
The sight of them made Violet remember all the sorrows that had poured from her cheeks and onto the pillow whenever her dreams pulled her toward memories of things that might be lost.
“How could I?” Violet answered. “When I’m a sister myself.”
There was a world of meaning in that word: “sister.” It be spoke ties of love and longing that were so entangled nothing could sever them, not even death.
“We never said goodbye,” May said with a deep sigh that suggested she was grateful to finally have someone who could listen to her story. “The last time I saw my brother, we had a horrible argument. I was a young woman then, you see, and had accepted the proposal of a man who was developing quite the reputation in the mercantile business. Philip didn’t approve.”
“Why not?” Violet asked.
“Because we weren’t in love,” May explained. “He was everything else I thought I wanted, and I willed myself to believe that it would grow between us eventually, but Philip thought differently. How could he not when he already knew what it felt like to find someone who made waking up every morning worthwhile?”
