She hit her hand against the doorframe then, hoping to release some of the anger and disappointment that were starting to return. But when the flesh of her palm hit the wood, she felt something unexpected, a divot where there should have been nothing but smooth oak.
Violet turned toward the frame and then slowly lifted her hand to see what rested beneath it. As she pulled her fingers away, she noticed a name embedded in the wood.
May.
Leaning closer, Violet continued to brush the grime away, studying the scrawl to see if it matched the names she’d stumbled across in the shop below.
But there were subtle differences in the letters that told her they’d been etched by another hand. The ones downstairs had been so neat and even, while whoever printed the name here hadelongated the “M” so that it towered over the rest of the lines and curves.
It could have belonged to any of the tenants who’d filtered through the apartment over the decades. People always seemed eager to leave their mark on what had felt like home, tucking their initials in grooves and corners in the hopes that the walls, at least, would remember even if those who came after them never learned of the stories that had unfolded on the floors beneath their very feet.
But something that Violet had done her best to push to the side was starting to make its way to the surface of her awareness, impatient to be heard.
It was her intuition telling her that there was more to be uncovered beneath the dust of forgotten dreams.
As of late, Violet had done her best to avoid any flicker of interest that might pull her onto an unexpected path. She worried that her misstep had created a snag in the delicate fabric of her reality and believed the key to keeping everything from unraveling was remaining perfectly still. But as her gaze roamed over the remnants of someone else’s past, Violet felt her foot tapping against the boards of its own accord while her mind drifted toward new possibilities that felt as fresh as breathing in the brisk winter air.
There was an answer waiting here, as quiet and unassuming as the cobwebs tucked in the corners, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Violet was eager to take a step forward and see what she could discover.
CHAPTER 17
A Fireplace
Symbolizes the need for family, recovery, and rest.
In the winter months, when the sun never quite seemed to reach through the clouds and touch the sidewalk, the Crescent Moon liked to remind the Quigleys that comfort could still be found in the darkness.
When it noticed the last customer settle back into her chair in a way that hinted she would soon leave to catch the next cable car home, the house let its attention wander to the family parlor. It began to kindle flames in the hearth, tucking sprigs of sage around the logs that would chase away memories of icy toes and fingers. And then, when it could smell the faintest scent of herbs and rich wood, the house went about the task of lighting the wicks of beeswax candles. Every day that the night drew longer, it added another stub to the growing collection until it lost count of how many flames flickered against their brass holders. Then it would pull the curtains back on just one of the windows, revealing the softly falling snow that reminded whoever wassitting in the warmth of the parlor that they could enjoy the simple beauty of winter’s touch.
That evening, the Quigley sisters savored the sense of slipping away from their worries as they grasped warm cups between their hands and allowed themselves to remember what it had felt like to draw each and every day to a close in this way—the nights when time itself only seemed to stretch as far as the furthest flicker of the fire’s light.
But as pleasant as it was to revisit the past, they knew it wouldn’t do to linger there too long. And so, after their cider had cooled just enough to take a first sip, they drew in one last sagescented breath and went about the task of moving forward.
“We need to make more progress,” Anne said as she leaned forward in her chair, feeling her pulse quicken though the house was trying its best to get her to rest into familiar comforts. “The effects of Mr. Crowley’s Task are growing stronger with every passing day. It’s only a matter of time before everyone starts to notice that things are not as they should be.”
Anne remembered the chill that had skittered across the back of her neck when she stepped out of the shop that morning and saw the ice coating the street. It was a wonder that the other witches hadn’t realized something had gone horribly wrong.
“I might have uncovered something in the apartment above the bookshop,” Violet said as her foot tapped excitedly against the carpet.
“What is it?” Anne pressed, pleased to hear some of the familiar fire in her sister’s voice sparking to life.
“Do you remember what we used to do on the first day of spring?” Violet asked. “When we’d run our fingers along the dusty mantle and remind ourselves of the memories we’d made during the winter?”
“Of course,” Anne replied, her thoughts already slipping back to what it had felt like to see the dust dancing in the bright light pouring through the open windows.
“Well, I tried my hand at reading the past in the dust of the apartment, and do you know where it led me?” Violet continued. “Straight to a mark on the doorframe, like the ones in the shop below, but the name printed alongside it was May.”
Suddenly, Anne remembered the voice that had echoed through her vision as she’d shifted back and forth on the rocking chair, the one that felt like it had crept to the very edge of her consciousness.
“I know it isn’t much, but I feel like there’s something important about her,” Violet insisted. “The memories that led me to the threshold were so joyful and then filled with absolute loss, the same sensation that’s slipped through the floorboards and into the bookshop.”
“You think she’s linked to Philip in some way?” Beatrix asked.
“Yes,” Violet replied, her tone steady and certain. “When I blew the soot across the room, I tried to focus my attention on Philip, and the magic led me straight to May.”
“I think you’re right, Vi,” Anne agreed, relieved that they might have found a clue.
“I’ll do my best to learn more about how she fits into all this,” Violet replied with a nod.
