Though the Crescent Moon had let out its seams to give itself more room to breathe, the shop was practically bursting the next afternoon. News of the Quigley sisters’ reunion had traveled faster than the cable car that carried their customers up Michigan Avenue, and when Anne unlocked the front door to turn around the open sign, she’d been greeted by a line of colorful skirts and thick coats that stretched so far down the sidewalk she hadn’t been able to determine where it ended.
Despite the brutal winds that made them grasp at their hats and hoods, the ladies of Chicago had cleared their calendars for the day as soon as they’d heard of Violet and Beatrix’s return. The rapidly falling snow might cause them to grit their teeth as they waited on the street for a table to clear, but the excited chatter and scent of cinnamon that slipped onto the sidewalk whenever someone opened the door kept them from turning away.
And once the ladies were ushered inside the shop and their frozen fingers began to melt against the side of a hot teacup, a sense of satisfaction sank deep into their bones, making it impossible not to linger in the chaos of cloves and cardamon that enveloped them.
Luckily, Beatrix and Violet had once again risen to the occasion, tying crisp white aprons around their waists as they ignored Anne’s demands that they use the day to rest and recover from their journeys.
Which was quite fortunate indeed because she’d found very little rest after slipping away from the family parlor and into the warmth of her own bed the night before.
Though the soft patchwork quilts and the sound of snow pattering gently against the windowpane had lulled her to sleep quickly enough, as soon as she drifted into a dream, Anne had awoken, pulled away from her slumber by the same scent that Violet had described while talking about her birthday vision. When she’d sat up in the bed, Anne could smell the lingering aroma of rosemary hanging about the room, carrying with it the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite fitting into place the way it should.
Anne had been so distracted by the thought of it that she’d put her boots on the wrong feet and hadn’t noticed until Beatrix pointed out her mistake when they met in the hall on their way down to breakfast.
The trouble was that she couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly, was wrong, and the sensation of having overlooked something important had continued to nag at her as the day unfolded, slowing her down as she tried to shift from one table to the next. Even the smiles of her sisters, who’d slipped into the busy rhythm of the shop as effortlessly as dancers falling into a familiar waltz, couldn’t distract her from the feeling of icy fingers tapping along her spine.
“What could it be?” Anne murmured as she surveyed the empty parlor, which had finally been cleared of its very last customer, and turned to watch the snow that was starting to fall beyond the smooth panes of the window.
Anne stepped forward and leaned her forehead gently against the icy glass, hoping that the shock of it would give her the sense of clarity she needed to finally understand what was troubling her. But when she released a sigh that had been building within her all day, a flash of white even more startling than the snow piling up along the sidewalks caught her attention.
Anne’s eyes snapped upward, just in time to catch the stark black of a man’s coat sleeve shifting out of view, as if he’d been standing beside the door all along and abruptly turned the corner when he realized that the shop was closed for the day.
But Anne hadn’t so much as heard the brass knob rattle.
If it were any other afternoon, Anne would have brushed aside the odd occurrence, but as her eyes drifted from the door back to where her cheek had touched the pane, she saw something quite unexpected: the distinct silhouette of two frosty snakes, their tails tangled in a knot just where Anne had rested her temple.
There was no pushing it aside any longer; something was amiss that would continue to unfurl the longer she tried to ignore it.
With that thought, Anne stepped away from the window and marched toward the kitchen, taking care to avoid rattling the towering mountains of soiled cups and saucers that Beatrix and Violet were helping Peggy load onto a train of tea carts.
The kitchen, of course, had fared no better than the front parlor with its heaps of batterstained bowls and overflowing baskets of linen stained with streaks of caramel icing, but Anne paid the mess no heed as she moved with purpose toward the hand mirror hanging from a nail just next to the stovetop.
Only a year before, Violet had used the looking glass to wipe away the worst of the flour that always seemed to make its way to her cheeks and nose, but since Anne had become Diviner, it served an entirely different purpose.
Reaching a finger toward the glass, Anne traced the outline of a balance against the surface, the invisible silhouette darkening the longer her skin touched the mirror.
It wasn’t long before the entire surface of the glass shifted and started taking the shape of a face that was much older and worn than Anne’s.
“Anne?”
The question was just the barest whisper against the rows of porcelain pots and copper kettles, but Anne already knew with certainty which member of the Council had appeared on the other side of the mirror. That crackling voice could only belong to Hester.
“We need to meet,” Anne said, anxious to get to the heart of the matter.
When she’d first become Diviner, Anne had been harried with doubts about how to interact with the other members of the Council, but it hadn’t taken long to learn that they expected her to jump quickly into the task of keeping the threads of the city intact. There simply hadn’t been time to worry that she was overstepping or failing to follow the proper protocol. The only rule, she’d come to realize, was being responsible for the welfare of her fellow witches, and that meant speaking up as soon as she felt something might be going awry. Anne had waited long enough now to tell them about her worries, and the sooner they could gather to discuss the matter, the better chance she had of figuring out exactly what was wrong.
“What’s happened?” Hester asked, her wrinkled eyes fixed intently on Anne’s face.
“Something’s slipping out of place,” Anne tried to explain. “I’m not sure exactly what it is, but I know that it’s significant.”
Anne expected to see surprise crease the corners of Hester’s eyes, but instead, the witch’s mouth pinched together in a way that looked more like resolve, as if Anne’s concerns merely confirmed a suspicion that she had been considering herself.
But before Anne could press Hester on the matter, the witch’s voice filled the kitchen again.
“When would suit you best?” Hester asked.
“As soon as possible,” Anne replied, the sense of foreboding that had crept into her chest tightening with every passing moment.
“I’ll tell Nathanial and Isaac,” Hester murmured, the rough edges of her voice drifting further and further away as she spoke of the other Council members. “We’ll be there within the hour.”
