As soon as Celeste spoke the words, Anne was pulled back into memories of her old friend.
The first time that she met Mr. Crowley, Anne had known he was dangerously close to passing on without completing his Task.
All witches carried a purpose, a reason for their existence that contributed in some essential way to the wider web of destiny. If someone failed to finish their Task before they passed on, they were doomed to become a ghost stuck aimlessly between this life and the next. And the delicate balance of magic in the world they’d left behind would be disrupted, the severity of the consequences dependent on how much power a witch possessed.
At the request of the Council, she’d spent months trying to help Mr. Crowley discover his Task, only to realize that he’d known what he needed to do all along. It had taken some time, but Mr. Crowley eventually revealed why he intended to leave such an important errand undone: he wanted to be reunited with the person he’d loved the most, a man named Philip who was still lingering on as a spirit.
Anne of all people knew what it felt like to try and gain control of destiny and had decided to let the matter rest, welcoming Mr. Crowley into the warmth of the tearoom so that he could enjoy the comforts of this life in the time he had left. The other members of the Council chose to leave Mr. Crowley to his fate as well, assured that his unfinished Task would cause onlythe barest ripple of disruption since he’d displayed middling magical abilities.
And he had remained with them longer than anyone had predicted, nearly a year beyond what the Council initially expected. Every Sunday since the first snowfall, Mr. Crowley had joined Katherine and Celeste at the same table in the Crescent Moon, filling the shop with a chorus of laughter until Anne had to remind them that the house was about to lock the door for the evening and settle in for the night.
But though Death had been patient, she hadn’t forgotten.
Before another frost settled on the sidewalks, Mr. Crowley had said his goodbyes, grateful for the friendships he hadn’t expected to find but welcoming of a new chapter, one that he’d been waiting to turn to for quite some time.
And Anne had been caught up in the current of her own fresh beginning ever since, the gentle rhythm of the shop quickening to a faster pace even as her new responsibilities continued to pull her beyond the threshold.
“It seems that the new year hasn’t brought you much rest,” Katherine murmured as her gaze swept across the parlor, taking in the colorful array of hats that were bouncing atop the excited heads of the customers.
Anne nodded as her attention shifted beyond the table and outward, the tendrils of her magic catching against the strands of all the other witches who now filled the shop.
When the news that Anne had replaced Celeste on the Council had gotten out, they’d arrived at the door quicker than a wick catching flame. At first, they merely seemed curious about why she had been chosen, but it didn’t take more than a brush with Anne to know that she possessed a rare power. Anne heard them murmuring whenever she passed by and knew that they’d never encountered a Diviner who could so clearly touch the threads of destiny, and alongside their amazementcame something much more potent: hope. Where they would have once let whispers of their troubles drift to the ears of the Council, the witches of Chicago were now coming to Anne directly, emboldened by the certainty that someone who could see the future with such precision would be able to bring things to a happy end.
As Anne followed Katherine’s gaze about the shop and caught more than one pair of cheerful eyes peering at her over the rims of porcelain teacups, she felt a sense of comfort knowing that she’d finally found her place among her mother’s people.
But her gentle smile wasn’t enough to distract the house from the shadows that were starting to pool beneath those blue eyes. Even if Anne didn’t seem to mind, the walls were growing troubled by the list of concerns that the other witches were always bringing her, most of which had turned out to be nothing beyond what was to be expected for a community where magic beat at its heart.
“Don’t be afraid to share the burden,” Celeste said, reaching forward to place one of her delicate hands across Anne’s shoulder. “Being on the Council can feel isolating, like you’re afraid to speak for fear that the secrets you carry might come tumbling out. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Anne returned Celeste’s grasp and nodded, thankful that the former Diviner had stepped into her life at just the right moment. She’d made all the transitions of the past year much smoother, and it had been a welcoming experience to have someone to reach out to for advice once more. Though the lessons that Celeste passed along weren’t coated in the same sugar and spice that her mother’s wisdom had carried, Anne was at a point in her life when she was beginning to appreciate more subtle flavors. And as she delved deeper into the intricate social networks of the Chicago coven, Anne had been especially grateful for Celeste’s stark yet sage guidance.
Even as Anne nodded her head in agreement, though, an unwelcomed thought twisted its way into her mind.
Something strange had been lurking at the corners of her dreams lately, a shadowy presence that carried the texture of the past. And a familiar scent that made her temples tingle always lingered in the room whenever she slipped from sleep to reality, vanishing just before Anne could place the fragrant notes.
But she hadn’t been getting enough rest to step deeper into her visions and see what might be hiding beneath her conscious thoughts. There seemed to be quite enough to focus on during her waking hours, and so, Anne had been forced to push these odd occurrences to the side.
Anne was tempted to mention them to Celeste now, but it seemed silly to bring up something that she couldn’t even find the words to describe, not when she’d already confronted much more tangible dangers as the city’s Diviner.
So, instead of keeping her hand atop Celeste’s and turning their conversation toward the odd sensations that had started to slip into her awareness, Anne pulled away and took a sip from her tea instead.
“I appreciate the reminder,” Anne said with a smile. “But the shop keeps me from lingering too long in my worries.”
The fire in the grate crackled then, as if the house was trying to chase away the chill that caught on the edges of her thoughts by stoking the logs. It was persistent about getting Anne to slip into a slower rhythm, but no amount of lavender tucked between her pillows seemed to be able to taper her pace.
“Yes, let’s focus on other matters,” Katherine murmured, leaning forward on her elbows in anticipation. “What news do you have to share with us about Beatrix and Violet?”
Anne’s smile finally managed to reach her eyes at the sound of her sisters’ names. They were three parts of a matching set, triplets so identical that the only way most people were able totell them apart was by taking note of the different shades of their eyes: light blue for Anne, deep brown for Beatrix, and a shocking shade of purple for Violet.
Though inseparable since birth, the sisters had recently been pulled down diverging paths. They’d said their goodbyes shortly after Anne accepted the position of Diviner, with Beatrix taking the train toward the East Coast to pursue a promising career as a novelist and Violet waving farewell from the back of a wagon as she followed the circus and her husband, Emil, to places where the sharp whip of the wind softened beneath warm sunshine.
“They’re caught up in their own adventures,” Anne replied, her hand moving toward a pair of letters that rested in the pocket of her dress. She always kept the most recent news there, where it remained within easy reach whenever she thought of them and her chest grew just a bit tighter.
“Last time, you told us that Beatrix was in New York finalizing the edits for her second book,” Celeste said. “Is she still there?”
“She’s in Boston now, actually,” Anne replied. “Another lecture opportunity that her publisher said was too important to overlook.”
“But she was supposed to be back in Chicago months ago,” Celeste said, clearly disappointed. “And Violet too for your birthday.”
