“I understand that the type of magic you perform is of a private nature,” Anne said as she straightened her spine. “But I would prefer to be there.”
Vincent remained still, his forearms resting lazily against the table without the barest hint of concern, but out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw the shadows that had started to creep forward whip their tails in agitation. She should have been alarmed by the sight, but something about it made her want to see just how far they would reach if she continued to stand her ground.
“If time is truly of the essence, Miss Quigley,” Vincent murmured, the barest sliver of tightness seeping into his tone, “then it would be best to simply give me the ring. As I’ve already mentioned, my magic requires a great deal of focus, and I can’t afford any distractions if we need to bring this matter to a close as soon as possible.”
“I’m surprised to hear that, Mr. Crowley,” Anne replied, her words as slow and deliberate as a knife being sharpened against stone. “I would have thought you had enough control over your power not to be bothered by the presence of another witch. But if you don’t believe you’re strong enough for the task . . .”
She let the tail end of her sentence fade away as a tense silence fell between them, thick enough that the house wondered if it should crack open a window to let out some of the heat. Their magic was so close to the surface now that thecustomers downstairs started to wonder where the odd aroma of peppermint and cypress was coming from.
Anne watched as the shadows that had been slowly shifting forward abruptly unfurled, covering the windows as if a cloud had suddenly shifted to block the sun. It might have been a trick of the light, but she thought his eyes deepened, too, that striking amber hue melting into something more akin to coals burning at the bottom of a hearth.
But before she could be certain, Vincent turned over his open palm so that it rested against the table, and whatever spell had been coming together instantly faded away, snapping the shadows back into the corners of the parlor.
“Very well,” he said in the same detached tone that one might use when asked if they’d prefer a dash of cream in their morning coffee. “Would you be able to stop by the house tomorrow evening? After sunset would be best since the spirits are more attracted to the light of a witching moon.”
She nodded, understanding that they’d need to work during the time of night when everything was so still that it felt like magic could be touched beneath the silence. It was a moment brimming over with the promise of the impossible, and though the thought of leaving the warmth of the Crescent Moon after the shop had nestled in for the day made her bones ache, Anne knew she didn’t have a choice, not when so much hung in the balance.
“I can see myself out,” Vincent announced as he rose from his chair.
Anne couldn’t tell if he was trying to save her the trouble of showing him to the door or simply didn’t want to be in her presence any longer. Before she could decide, he paused and turned to her.
“There is one last thing,” Vincent said just as his boot was about to land on the top step of the spiral staircase.
“Yes?” Anne asked, her breath catching as she waited to hear what he would say next.
“You should call me Vincent,” he replied, turning so that his amber eyes met hers. “Since Mr. Crowley already has a certain meaning for you.”
He was right, of course. Among their kind, names possessed a distinct texture that carried into conversations. Whenever Anne said “Mr. Crowley,” memories of her old friend always managed to seep through, throwing the whole encounter offbalance. The name already belonged to someone else, so much so that she couldn’t bring herself to change the inflection to make it better fit the man standing before her.
Anne wasn’t sure she wanted to call Vincent by his first name, though. Not when it was becoming abundantly clear that it was best to keep as much distance between them as possible. But she certainly wasn’t going to let him know that she was unnerved by this show of familiarity.
“Very well,” she relented in the same reserved tone that he had used only moments ago.
Again, a flash of interest flickered in Vincent’s amber eyes, but before Anne could think anything of it, he had already turned away.
The house sensed Anne’s unease and rekindled the fire in the hearth so that the scent of nutmeg and citrus might chase away her worries.
Releasing a deep sigh once Vincent was out of sight, Anne felt some of the tension melt away from her shoulders as she let her posture loosen for the first time since he stepped into the shop. But the withdrawn breath scattered a pile of sugar that a customer had spilled from her spoon, the grains shifting across the tablecloth as they swirled into a new shape.
The house watched with curiosity as Anne’s brows pinched together and she lifted her hand to brush away the sugar, asif destroying the sign might erase the memory of what she’d glimpsed there. But just before her palm touched the grains, the Crescent Moon saw it: the silhouette of a hawk, its talons outstretched and ready to grasp whatever was waiting below.
After so many years of looking over the sisters’ shoulders during readings, the house had learned enough to know what it meant when a hawk appeared on the horizon. In some situations, it suggested that a person had just entered your life who would use their calculating nature to help you reach a muchdesired end. But in others, it warned that an enemy was near.
As the bells chimed against the front door and Vincent stepped onto the street, the Crescent Moon wondered which interpretation would prove true.
CHAPTER 15
A Coffeepot
Represents a desire to settle into simple pleasures.
As Beatrix’s hand rested on the doorknob, she wondered if the bookshop would feel different under the light of day than it had at night, when the shadows that crept beyond the reach of the gas lamps made it seem like the shelves were teeming with secrets.
She should have been eager to step over the threshold and prove that the strange sense of loneliness she’d felt when walking over the piles of abandoned books had come from somewhere within the depths of her own imagination. But in the moments before she pushed open the door, Beatrix found herself lingering again in the possibility that she’d found a kindred spirit, something else that had once shone bright but now felt lost and bent around the corners.
“Why don’t you go inside and get settled?” Beatrix heard Violet say, snapping her away from thoughts tinged with dust and disarray.
Glancing up, Beatrix saw that her sister was standing farther down the alleyway, her fingers flipping through a ring of keys. They flashed against the light as she tried to discern which would unlock another door, the one that led to the abandoned apartment upstairs. Though Brigit had looked surprised when she learned that the Quigleys wanted to rent the rooms above the shop as well, she didn’t seem like the type to question a good turn of luck and had happily handed over the keys with instructions to be careful on the rickety staircase.
