“The stakes are so much higher than they were before,” Anne whispered.
“They are,” Violet said, leaning forward so that she could stare Anne straight in the eye. “But you’ve grown stronger too.”
Anne was still holding on to her breath, uncertain if she could believe what she’d just heard: that she was powerful enough to make the right choice.
“Trust yourself,” Violet whispered. “That’s all you need to do.”
Anne closed her eyes then, using the darkness to draw deeper into her awareness, where her magic was stirring. Focusing on the warmth of her sisters’ hands, she allowed her attention to drift away from all the worries that had stifled her and let other sensations drift inward, the firm grasp of Violet’s fingers a reminder of all the love anchoring her to home.
The nowfamiliar scent of rosemary and the rich aroma of aged paper grew so strong that she could taste it, and beyond that she could hear the ticking of her own clock. The metallic strikes grew so loud that Anne couldn’t even hear her own breath any longer, and for a moment, she wondered if they’d all slipped away from the house entirely and into another place where everything could be depended on to unfold at just the right time.
And then Anne’s eyes snapped open, so suddenly that the house whipped back the curtains, revealing the snow falling outside the windows.
“What is it?” Violet asked hurriedly.
“You were right,” Anne said, the words nearly lost in a sigh of utter relief. “Everything is already set on its course. We just need to wait for the final piece to fall into place on its own.”
“What’s the final piece?” Beatrix asked.
“I’m not sure,” Anne said. “But my magic is telling me that we’ve done all we can to ensure it happens, and just when it needs to.”
“Are you certain?” Violet asked.
“I am,” Anne answered with a nod. “More certain than I’ve been in quite a long time.”
The sense of assurance that laced her words sank into the shadowy corners of the house, warming the places that had grown colder the longer the Quigleys had let their doubts fester.
“Then we will wait,” Violet said as she let her head fall against Anne’s shoulder, shifting slightly so that Beatrix could do the same from her side of the wingback chair.
The three of them remained like that as the logs continued to snap in the grate. And while they listened to the crackles in the hearth and their own steady breaths, they did just as Clara Quigley had told them: rest and rediscover the home within themselves.
CHAPTER 33
A Table
Signifies that someone will soon give their support.
The following afternoon, a stillness settled over the Crescent Moon, so potent and calming that the customers noticed it as soon as their boots passed over the threshold.
It wasn’t a silence that caused their chests to tighten in expectation or their shoulder blades to draw back in alarm.
No, as the ladies began to slip out of their coats and unravel their scarves, they were reminded of what it felt like to wake before dawn and sit in the quiet of a place between night and day, when for a few strange moments, they were both intensely aware and at ease all at once, suspended beyond their regrets of the past or worries over the future.
And as they wrapped their icy fingers around warm porcelain cups and drew in the rich fragrance of their tea, the women in the shop didn’t feel the need to speak at all. They were content to simply be and settle into the sensation of waiting, thoughit wasn’t clear to them what, exactly, this pause was building toward.
By the time Anne would have needed to begin reading the signs at the bottom of her customers’ cups by candlelight, no one seemed to want a glimpse of their fortune at all, content to merely close their eyes, lean a bit more deeply against the back of their chairs, and listen to the sound of tinkling porcelain and crackling logs.
Anne, too, was surprised to find that it felt like she’d loosened the strings of her corset and could finally take a deep breath. Now, instead of reminding her that time was slipping away, the steady clicking of her clock seemed to reassure Anne that everything would fall into place at just the right moment. It was a strange sensation, being unburdened of the selfdoubt that had weighed down each and every decision, but as Anne paused to take in the sight of the shop, she had to admit that it was a feeling she hoped would linger.
Drawing in a cinnamontinted breath, Anne leaned against the wainscoting and let her own eyes fall closed, taking note of the shapes that danced beneath her lids. Rocking chairs, wheels, and violets shifted into view, reassuring her that a turn of fate was just around the corner. All she needed to do was wait and trust her ability to read the signs.
Gradually, though, Anne became aware that the ring around her finger was getting warmer, as if she’d rested it for too long against the bar of the oven door. And just when she opened her eyes to glance down at her hand, she heard the barest creaking of the garden gate. The house had managed to wake itself just in time to announce that they had an unexpected visitor.
By the time a knock carried into the parlor from the back door, Anne was already stepping into the kitchen, the sudden aroma of myrrh hinting at who was waiting outside.
Vincent’s amber eyes met hers as she opened the door, and again, she felt the ring flash with a sudden jolt of recognition that seemed to sink into her veins and skitter up the flesh of her forearms.
For a moment, the pair stood at the threshold, not so much searching for the words they wanted to say as they were carefully reading each other’s faces.
