“We’re on the right path,” Violet insisted, her voice stronger now. “We just need more time to see what secrets might be lingering in the shop.”
As she spoke the words, Violet felt some of the haziness that had clouded her thoughts these past several months start to clear away, lending her a sense of focus that felt as fresh as poking her head into the frosty morning air.
“But how do you plan to get back in?” Beatrix asked. “By the sound of it, the Müllers are determined to let the place as soon as possible, and once someone moves into the building, I doubt we’ll be able to return.”
Violet grinned then, feeling the same coy smile start to spread across her face that had always appeared when they were children, just before she was about to pull her sisters into a plan that would end with the house in shambles.
“We’ll have plenty of time to search through the building,” Violet replied. “Because you’re going to be the one who rents it.” “Me?!” Beatrix cried, startling the house so much that the kettle in the kitchen shrieked.
“Of course,” Violet continued. “Don’t you see it solves two of our problems? We need more time in the shop and the apartment upstairs to better understand what might be keepingPhilip from moving into the afterlife, and you need somewhere to work.”
“I have my study here,” Beatrix insisted, panicked now at the thought of being displaced from the familiarity of her old desk, no matter how cramped it had become.
“You can barely sneeze without hitting your head against the wall and cracking the plaster,” Violet scoffed. “And you’re getting distracted by all the commotion in the tearoom. Or did you think we hadn’t noticed?”
Beatrix opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut again when she couldn’t conjure a proper defense.
“It’s decided, then,” Anne said with a nod as she lifted her cup to take another sip of tea. “Write the Müllers first thing in the morning, Violet, and tell them that we want to rent the shop.”
“I certainly will,” Violet replied, letting herself fall against the welcoming embrace of the settee now that they seemed one step closer to ensuring Mr. Crowley and Philip remained together.
As Beatrix and Anne continued to discuss the details of their day, Violet let herself sink into the soft murmur of their voices and the sound of the sleet hitting the window.
And for the first time in months, it felt like her dreams were carrying her toward an unexpected twist of Fate that she didn’t want to turn away from, one that made her consider what it would be like to stretch beyond the shadows of the past and seek out a brighter future.
CHAPTER 14
A Chair
Appears before the arrival of an unexpected visitor.
When Anne opened the front door the next morning to turn the open sign toward the street, she was surprised to find that the entire storefront was covered in a spectacular sheet of ice. She’d met a bit of resistance when her hand had grasped the knob, but the house stepped in and helped her shove the door open, revealing the strange scene that awaited outside.
Though Chicago certainly saw its fair share of storms, something about the way the ice had settled against the bricks seemed odd. Taking a few steps closer to the Crescent Moon, Anne gazed at the storefront and tried to put her finger on exactly what seemed out of place. And then it struck her, the realization sending a shot of alarm down her spine that made her toes tingle.
Each building along the street looked like it had been covered in buttercream icing and dipped in sugar glaze. Even the icicles, which hung in such profusion from the eaves that it was awonder their weight hadn’t pulled down the entire structure, appeared as if they’d been piped by a careful hand. The frozen coating was much stronger than a gingerbread house, though, and Anne’s neighbors were busy trying to break through enough of it to open their own front doors. As they chipped away at the glistening surface with hammers and shovels, their children slid down the road wielding icy shards the size of sabers, laughing at the frozen wonderland that they’d awoken to.
Everything was perfectly straight, molded to the frames like chocolate that had been sprung from a tin. The wind should have whipped the ice to one side, but instead, the buildings looked as pristine as the biscuit villages displayed behind the glass of bakery windows during the holiday season.
Stranger still, Anne hadn’t heard the telltale pitterpatter of ice hitting the pane the night before. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep, visions of ticking clocks and hourglasses that never seemed to run out of sand keeping her awake until the house tugged at the corner of her blankets to let her know it was time to embrace the day. She would have certainly heard a storm as fierce as this one, but instead, it seemed like the ice had simply appeared out of thin air . . . as if by magic.
Before Anne could give the problem more thought, however, a pair of women bundled in woolen cloaks and thick knit scarves appeared at her side, asking if the shop had opened yet. When they spoke, perfectly formed impressions of snowflakes appeared in the icy windows of the shop, and Anne knew that they were winter witches who’d been eager to explore the strange sight but now wished to thaw out over a steaming pot of tea.
It wasn’t long before more customers stepped over the threshold of the shop, mostly other winter witches who enjoyed sliding across the slick sidewalks and were drawn to the freshlyfallen snow, but there were a handful of humans who ventured in as well in search of something sweet to chase away the chill.
Though the Crescent Moon certainly wasn’t stretched at the seams, there were just enough visitors to breathe a sense of life into the shop and fill the parlor with the scent of crisp apple turnovers and a blend of velvet oolong that carried the same texture as a warm quilt waiting to be slipped into at the end of a long day. Their laughter, along with the fire crackling in the hearth, warmed the shop to its rafters and melted away the ice that clung to the streetfacing window.
By the time Violet and Beatrix stepped into the kitchen, Anne had already realized it would be a slow day and insisted that they use the afternoon to visit the bookshop. If the ice storm was any indication, the effects of Mr. Crowley’s unfinished Task were continuing to ripple outward, and the sooner they could piece together what needed to be done, the better.
After helping her sisters into their heavy woolen cloaks in the entryway and warning them to be careful, Anne began to turn back toward her customers, but the sound of bells tinkling against the front door kept her from stepping forward.
For a moment, she thought that Violet or Beatrix had come back to retrieve a missing glove, but then the faint scent of myrrh tickled her nose, instantly snapping her gaze back to the threshold.
“Miss Quigley,” Vincent said coolly as he stepped inside and reached toward his hat.
When he removed it, Anne was surprised, once again, by the whiteness of his hair and the way it drew attention to the striking quality of his eyes. Now that they weren’t peering at one another through shadows, Anne realized his irises were an unusual shade of amber, almost as rich as the bottle of cognac that she kept because she loved the way it looked beneath the cut glass. Instead of letting her attention linger there, though, Anneturned her gaze away, deciding to focus on the hard lines around Vincent’s mouth that reminded her of the way he’d scowled during their last conversation.
“Mr. Crowley,” she replied, trying to keep the surprise from her voice.
