The shape of another boy, this one about the same size as young Crowley, appeared on the street, and as he moved, Anne caught the barely perceptible glint of something gold hanging about his neck. The newcomer seemed to be asking young Crowley to go with him somewhere, gesturing excitedly toward the house that Anne was peering out from. A look of hope and then reluctance crossed over Crowley’s small features as he spoke with the boy, telling Anne all that she couldn’t hear. It was as clear as ivy stretching toward the rim of a cup that he wanted to go with his friend but had to return home.
Anne realized that she was watching Philip asking him to come and play. Hadn’t Mr. Crowley said that they’d lived across the street from one another as children?
She was beginning to lose sight of the boys now, though, the scene beyond the window obscured by unnaturally large flurries that made her feel as if she was trying to gaze into a snow globe. Perhaps if she lifted the latch on the window and pulled it open, she might be able to hear what they were saying and find a clue that could save them both.
But as soon as Anne clicked the lock at the top of the pane, she heard someone ask, “Who are you?”
The words were spoken in a soft hush that carried the texture of secrets slipping through keyholes. Anne thought the hue of the voice belonged to a woman, but she’d need to look behind her shoulder to be certain. As she tried to move her head to see who was standing behind her, though, Anne discovered thatshe couldn’t turn her neck. Her face was locked forward, as if someone had put their hands on either side of her cheeks and refused to let her go.
Anne’s heart began to beat faster as she tried to loosen the invisible hold and turn around, but the more she resisted, the fainter the vision became, until it looked just like a room consumed by the sharp rays of sunrise.
By the time Anne managed to free herself and began to turn around, she could already start to feel the rocking chair beneath her palm and the weight of Tabitha sitting on her lap.
“Who are you?” the voice asked again just before Anne’s eyes flew open and she found herself back in the divination room, all traces of the vision gone except the barest echo of that final question.
Anne drew in a deep, steadying breath, releasing it so slowly that Tabitha mistook it for a hiss and nearly jumped off her lap.
“I think the correct question is,” Anne finally said once she was certain that her mind and body had returned to the familiar confines of the Crescent Moon. “Who areyou?”
CHAPTER 10
A Closed Box
Suggests that something lost might be found.
While Anne was trying her best to hold on to her vision of the past, Violet’s attention was focused on staying in the present. Though chasing Beatrix through the house and serving the ladies who lined up at the front of the parlor in the hopes of securing an open table had kept her occupied during the rush of the early afternoon, the crowd in the Crescent Moon was starting to thin as the clock ticked nearer to closing.
It was beginning to feel like the shop was lulling into a lateafternoon nap as the voices of their customers lowered from a vibrant pulse to a steady murmur and the shadows in the corners grew dim enough to consider turning on the gas lamps. It was a moment of the day that Violet would have savored had the memories of her restless night not been waiting to nip as soon as her mind wandered away from the fortunes that peeked out of swirls of ginger, cloves, and citrus.
As long as she was distracted in the shop, the fear that had gripped Violet’s heart remained at bay, only flashing forward when she wasn’t speaking with a customer or racing from the front parlor to the kitchen, where the scent of vanilla and nutmeg was so strong that it chased away any lingering memories from the night before.
But even Violet couldn’t manage to always be moving, and whenever the rhythm of the shop slowed just enough for her feet to stay in the same place for more than a few seconds, she became aware of the guilt that was now always simmering just under the surface, like a pot of caramel that was a second away from burning.
Violet could feel her heart beginning to quicken the longer she stood there, the grooves between her fingers growing clammy as she started to fall into the memories she’d carried with her, slipping away from the comfort of the Crescent Moon though she was still perched behind the hostess stand.
“You seem preoccupied,” a familiar voice murmured, snapping Violet’s attention away from thoughts tinged with the scent of cold sweat and heartache.
Grateful for the distraction, Violet lifted her gaze and saw Celeste standing before her, wrapped in several layers of woolen garments that were covered in snowflakes from the lateafternoon storm sweeping through the streets.
“I’m sorry, Celeste,” Violet replied as she stepped forward and began to help their guest slip out of her coat and scarves. “I’m afraid I found my thoughts wandering.”
“Yes,” Celeste said slowly, drawing out the word as her gaze came to rest on the lines that fluttered outward from Violet’s eyes, betraying her lack of sleep. “I can see that.”
“Are you waiting for Katherine?” Violet asked, knowing from the reservation book that this was the time the two of them usually came to the shop together.
“Unfortunately, I’ve just run into her on the street and learned that she won’t be able to join me this afternoon,” Celeste sighed. “Something about a new year’s blessing that needs to be taken care of as soon as possible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Violet said, disappointed that she wouldn’t get to see her friend’s warm smile on a day when it would have been most welcomed. “Shall I sit you in one of the wingback chairs by the hearth, then?”
Celeste’s gaze drifted slightly downward, and Violet had to lace her fingers together to keep from shielding the dark halfmoons beneath her eyes.
“Why don’t you join me instead?” Celeste finally asked, taking Violet by surprise.
Though Anne had written about Celeste in her letters, Violet still felt that she didn’t quite know the witch who’d helped the Quigleys accept their diverging paths.
“That sounds delightful,” Violet replied. “But I’ve promised to look over the shop until closing.”
“The girls seem to have everything in hand,” Celeste said as she gestured toward Franny and Peggy, who were moving confidently between the tables with carts of fresh tea and scones. “And no one seems to need a reading at the moment.”
