Though the Quigleys had helped uncover Mr. Crowley’s Task, his family no doubt associated the sisters with his decision to ignore destiny and pursue his own path. The Crowleys came from a long and distinguished line of necromancers, witches gifted with the ability to speak to the dead, and it had been beyond embarrassing that one of their own had neglected such a significant errand.
“I imagine any resentment they hold will be overshadowed by the prospect of Mr. Crowley’s Task tearing a hole in the fabric of Fate,” Anne said, lowering her voice so that there was no chance of it slipping between the cracks of the door and into the shop. “I know that they run their business out of their home, and I’m certain that the key to saving Mr. Crowley can only be uncovered if I go there and see what we can learn about his past. There’s something waiting in that house, I can sense it. Something that feels lost and lonely.”
The word “lost” caused another tingle of recognition to skitter across the back of Violet’s neck. It was so strong that she reached a hand up to cover her skin, as if she’d stepped too close to a sparkler and was trying to brush away the heat.
“I’m coming with you, then,” Violet said, surprising both herself and Anne, if her sister’s raised eyebrows were any indication.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Anne replied hesitantly. “I don’t want the other members of the Council to learn that I’ve told you the truth of what’s happening until we’ve tied everything together again.”
If this conversation had unfolded the day before, Violet would have merely grown quiet, accepting that her initial impulses couldn’t be trusted.
But now she felt the oddest flash of determination. It wasn’t strong enough to make her feel like she could dive in headfirst without a second thought like she would have done in the past, but a nearly forgotten flicker of curiosity was starting to spark to life, tempting her to step beyond the threshold of the shop and see what she might find.
“I want to go,” she said, her voice firm.
Only a year ago, Violet would have expected Anne to stand her ground and insist that she was being too rash. But something in her sister’s expression shifted, the hard set of her jaw loosening the longer she stared at Violet.
“Fine,” Anne relented. “But only because there’s something I need you to do for me while I’m speaking with the Crowleys.”
“Let’s go now,” Violet insisted, eager to leave before Anne had the chance to change her mind. “Most of the customers have left for the afternoon, and Franny and Peggy can close the shop.”
“Very well,” Anne replied, though Violet was already walking away from her.
“And be sure to get Bee from her study!” Violet called out as she reached the other end of the hall. “She’s coming with us.”
“Do you really think—” Anne began, but the hard smack of the door shaking on its hinges as Violet marched into the front parlor snapped off the end of her sentence.
Had she paused for a breath and turned back, though, Violet would have been surprised by what she saw. For Anne wasn’t muttering in frustration or rubbing the side of her temple as she always did whenever a new problem arose. No, instead, she was smiling, two dimples appearing on her cheeks as she released a sigh of unexpected relief.
Because for the very first time since Violet had returned to the Crescent Moon, Anne had seen that spark start to light up her eyes again, ever so faint but with enough flicker to suggest that something of her old self was waiting to catch an ember once more.
CHAPTER 11
A Curtain
Indicates that something important is being hidden.
As the Quigley sisters stood in the center of the street and gazed up at the building towering before them, Anne felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the brutal winter wind raking down her spine.
“It’s rather imposing, isn’t it?” Beatrix remarked, the words garbled by the sound of her teeth clicking together. They’d managed to catch a cable car that dropped them only a block away from the Crowley family home, but the sun had already started to set for the day, giving way to crisp night air that made the tips of their toes and fingers tingle.
“That’s one way to describe it,” Violet scoffed as she wrapped her arms around her rib cage and stomped her feet against the ground to keep them from going numb.
After growing up in a home that always felt as if it was pulling them into a warm embrace, the Quigleys couldn’t help but wince at the cold austerity of the Crowley manor.
Though the white marble must have cost a fortune to bring to Chicago, the house’s stark exterior made those walking along the sidewalk pick up their pace, as if they feared a force beyond their control might reach through the dark curtains that covered all the windows and grab them by the coattails.
In fact, the only artistic flair that could be found along the smooth marble surface was the Roman numeral XIII, which was etched just to the right of the door, where the street number should have been.
“A bit too direct, don’t you think?” Violet asked as she gestured toward the inscription, which was the same that rested at the bottom of the death card in the tarot deck.
“Well, they are necromancers, after all,” Anne replied, trying to turn the situation in a more promising direction. “And the death card is not always an ill omen, as you know.”
In fact, whenever the Quigleys flipped over that particular card, it was usually an indication that one chapter was about to close so that another could be embraced.
But even Anne acknowledged that something about seeing the numbers printed on the stark surface of the white marble made it feel more like a warning than a sign of new beginnings.
“Are you sure that you don’t want us to come inside?” Beatrix asked, placing her hand along the crook of Anne’s elbow, as if the thought of letting her sister wander through the threshold by herself was too much to bear.
