Though Anne had told him that he would change his mind and seek her out, she hadn’t expected her premonition to come to pass so quickly. Now that her days seemed marked by moments she knew would fold neatly into her visions of the future, Anne rarely encountered anything that truly took her off guard.
But the man standing before her had managed to do just that, and Anne wasn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that she couldn’t predict his each and every move.
It was strange to see him there, dressed head to toe in a perfectly tailored black suit that showed nary a wrinkle, against the cheerful floral wallpaper and the profusion of joyfully patterned coats and shawls that hung along the wall. Though Vincent certainly didn’t seem as intimidating as he had in the shadows of the Crowley manor, Anne could feel a subtle tension start to unwind between them while his gaze darted around the room, as if he expected to find a monster tucked somewhere beneath the doilies and embroidered tablecloths.
“I’ve come to speak with you,” Vincent said as he dropped his voice to just above a whisper, the rough timbre of his tone causing the hairs on Anne’s arms to rise. “About the matter you brought up after I caught you in my home yesterday.”
Instantly, Anne’s heart began to beat just a bit faster, and she very nearly lost control of the sharp retort that threatened to whip off the tip of her tongue. But she caught the barb just in time, managing to hold it in by pinching her lips together.
Flustered by the effect that the witch seemed to be having on her but not wanting to show it, Anne returned his nod and clenched her hands, which were hidden in the folds of her skirts.
“If you wouldn’t mind following me . . . ,” Anne replied stiffly, letting the end of her sentence fade away as she turned and started walking toward the spiral staircase.
She didn’t look back but could hear his steady footsteps trailing behind her as she climbed the steps, the firm tread of his shoes entangling with the happy chatter of the customers, who were murmuring in delight as Peggy served them one of Violet’s favorite recipes, a ginger molasses cake that would remind anyone who ate it of the first time they’d heard snow crunching beneath their boots.
The Crescent Moon, which had been watching Vincent with curiosity, was confused by the odd tangle of emotions that were radiating from Anne. One glance at the stern set of Anne’s mouth was all it took for the house to know that their guest’s presence had unsettled her. But the lively tempo of her pulse also reminded it of the moments just before she mastered a particularly challenging spell.
It didn’t know whether to prim up the poinsettias to make a strong first impression or pull the cushion away from the chair that Vincent was moving toward so that he’d be inclined to leave earlier than planned.
In the end, though, the house merely twisted the ribbons that dangled from the banister as if wringing its hands together.
“I see that you’ve changed your mind,” Anne said after they settled into their seats at the furthest end of the room, where their voices wouldn’t drift down and interrupt the pleasant hum of the parlor.
She’d meant her words to take on the same hue that they did whenever a trying customer came into the shop and she needed to stifle her irritation beneath the strongest sheen of control. Butinstead of sounding inviting, her voice lost all its smooth edges, replaced by clipped tones that made it clear she hadn’t forgotten their unfortunate first encounter.
“You come to the point rather quickly, don’t you?” Vincent replied, the restraint that had laced his voice when he’d stepped through the threshold fading faster than a handprint on a foggy windowpane.
Instead of shifting farther away, though, Vincent clasped his hands together and leaned onto his forearms. If the idea weren’t so absurd, Anne would say he seemed relieved they were both pulling away the veneer of propriety that had kept them in check downstairs.
“I don’t see that we have any time to waste, given the circumstances,” Anne remarked sternly as she gestured toward the stainedglass windows, which were so encrusted with ice that hardly any light could filter through them.
“That’s one of the reasons I’ve come,” Vincent said, his eyes remaining fixed on Anne’s face instead of shifting to where she pointed out the pane. “It’s not just State Street. It seems that the ice has reached nearly every corner of Chicago, if my family is to be believed.”
“You’ve spoken with them?” she asked, hoping they’d had a change of heart now that it was clear what the consequences would be if they continued to ignore the trouble that was brewing.
Anne thought he would answer straightaway, but Vincent drew out the pause, playing with the silence in the same way she sometimes pulled at a skein that was nearly at its end to see how far the yarn might stretch. The brief pause should have given her a chance to breathe, but it somehow seemed to make the unanswered questions that rested between them more tangible, thickening the air and causing some of the frost to melt down the glass of the nearest window.
“Yes,” he answered. “But you won’t be pleased with their reaction.”
“You still don’t intend to help, then,” she said, her frustration returning so fiercely that the fire in the grate on the first floor flickered out entirely, to the dismay of the winter witches, who’d been drying their boots along its hearthstones.
Surprised by the intensity in her tone, Anne nearly considered apologizing so that Vincent wouldn’t rise from his chair and walk out of the shop before she could convince him to change his mind. But when she glanced upward, she saw that he’d remained perfectly still, his amber eyes flashing in the same way Tabitha’s did whenever something interesting caught her attention.
“I didn’t say that,” Vincent murmured carefully, as one does when they’re used to weighing the cost of each and every word.
“Then what are your intentions?” Anne inquired, tapping her fingers in a slow and deliberate tempo against the top of the table in the hopes that it would remind her to stay composed.
“After giving the matter more thought, I believe it’s in my family’s best interest to see that my uncle’s Task is completed as soon as possible,” he replied. “It won’t be long before the rest of the coven realizes that the Crowleys are at the root of the problem. There is our reputation to consider, after all.”
“It’s strange you didn’t come to this conclusion yesterday, when I expressed exactly that,” Anne said before she had the chance to keep the clipped words contained.
She expected Vincent’s eyes to widen in annoyance at her lack of tact, but instead, his mouth ticked upward into the barest hint of a smile, as if he knew that Anne had lost just a bit of her control and wanted to see how much more of it he could chip away.
“In any case, I’m offering my help now,” Vincent said as he leaned forward, seeming to test whether Anne would push her chair back to keep the distance between them.
She managed to stay just where she was, though, mulling over his words while resisting the impulse to pull away.
Though Vincent seemed sincere, the oddest flavor saturated Anne’s senses as what he’d said lingered in the silence between them. It reminded her of a caramel apple that looked perfectly sweet on the outside but was rotten once you bit into the core. The taste always unfurled alongside truths that concealed darker revelations, and once again, Anne wondered what he was hiding.
