But as she stepped over the threshold of the parlor, she felt something strange: the sensation of two pairs of hands coming to rest on her own shoulders. It wasn’t a firm grip that would have caused her to jump back in alarm, but rather the barest pressure, not unlike what May must have felt when Violet placed her own hand on her shoulder. And then she smelled it again: the aroma of chrysanthemums and fresh rosemary.
“I won’t give up,” Violet said, though her words weren’t meant for May or even herself. “I promise.”
And with that, she slipped out of the house and onto the street, where the air wasn’t so thick with memories that had been kept from the sunshine for fear of fading.
CHAPTER 32
A Kettle
Indicates a need for healing and the search for inner peace.
Though the thick layers of their woolen coats should have kept them warm enough, the Quigley sisters couldn’t stop shivering as they wandered back to the Crescent Moon. They’d gathered in front of the bookshop just before sunset and linked their arms together to ground themselves against the brutal push of the wind. But though they’d managed to fight against the snow and sleet to return home, more than ever, they felt frozen in place, having been given all the pieces they needed to complete the puzzle but unable to draw the picture together.
“It’s an impossible position,” Anne murmured as the three of them settled into the warmth of the parlor, desperate to find some sense of familiarity among all the revelations that had come to light that day. “To give up the comfort of her brother’s presence after all this time could break her.”
“Yes,” Violet sighed. “I could tell from the way she spoke that he’s helped soothe the worst of her disappointments. If left to face them on her own, I fear she’ll crumble.”
“But if she refuses to help, the world will fall apart around her anyway,” Beatrix said from her side of the settee.
Anne leaned forward then and clutched her head between her palms, hoping that the pressure of her hands would push her thoughts in the direction they needed to go to save everyone in time.
“You know I can’t let that happen, Bee,” she finally murmured, tears starting to press into the corners of her eyes as her thoughts turned to the inevitable conclusion. “I have to protect the city, even if that means finishing Mr. Crowley’s Task before Philip can move on. The threads of Fate must be tethered before it’s too late.”
The house could see that Anne was shaking now and tried to tuck her tighter in an embrace of calico quilts, but she was too lost to notice.
“But we’re getting so close,” Violet insisted as she and Beatrix shifted so they were each perched on either side of her chair. “Everything’s bound to come together in the end. I can feel it.”
“You can’t know that,” Anne replied, her voice so rough and full of despair that it didn’t sound like it belonged to her. “It feels as if I can’t see past the next second, let alone what might unfold in the coming weeks. I keep reaching for what rests ahead in the hopes of finding another sign, but nothing comes.”
“We believe in you,” Beatrix said, placing her hand atop Anne’s knee. “You are our sister and the city’s Diviner.”
But Anne’s worries had pulled her so far from the comfort of the parlor that she didn’t even hear what Beatrix had said.
“He was right,” Anne whispered.
“Who was right?” Violet asked, her brow creasing at the sudden shift in conversation.
“I don’t trust myself,” Anne finally confessed, the words unfurling a bitter flavor on her tongue. “It’s as if I’m frozen in place, afraid that each step I take could lead toward disaster.”
Violet sat up straighter then and clutched Beatrix and Anne’s hands in her own.
“Do you remember what she used to tell us?” Violet asked, not even needing to say Clara’s name for her sisters to understand who was on her mind. “When the snow and sleet had fallen for so many weeks that we were begging her to tell us when spring would return?”
Anne shook her head, as if she were about to tell Violet that they didn’t have time to return to the past when the future was so uncertain.
“Do you remember?” Violet asked again, her hold growing even tighter.
“Winter serves a purpose,” Anne said, the words bringing back a rush of memories.
“It slows us down enough to take stock of ourselves,” Beatrix continued. “And remember all the things from our past that we should carry forward.”
“The season of waiting and realization,” Violet murmured. “That’s what she always called it. When we felt trapped and thought the answer was something to be found outside ourselves, she told us to pause and search for the power within that would bring us rest.”
“I feel like I’ve used all my power already,” Anne said with a shake of her head. “That there’s nothing left to find.”
“There’s always something left to find,” Beatrix said as she lifted her hands and let the light of the fire flicker against the curves and consonants that looked as if they would soon emerge from beneath the grooves between her knuckles. “If you remember to listen for it.”
“You just need to trust yourself again,” Violet added. “As you’ve told us before, magic knows the difference between love and duty. Let it show you the way instead of stifling it with selfdoubt, and all will be well again.”
