“Perhaps. But I’m not the only one keeping secrets, am I?” she said, using the exact words he’d uttered the evening before, when the space between them had been thick with suspicion.
It was clear that their uneasy truce had shattered and they’d already settled back into their familiar stern grooves, as unmoving as the script etched in tombstone.
The echo of a memory drifted forth from the past then, this one from Anne’s own recollections instead of the careful crafting of the spirits.
I don’t trust you.
And as quickly as Anne could have snapped her fingers, she felt the weight of her responsibility settling across her shoulders. A burden so precious that it had to be carried alone for fear of being stolen.
Before she could let her words or silence reveal anything more, Anne turned away and ran from the room, not bothering to follow the thin trail that would have led her safely to the door and shattering one of the gilded mirrors in her haste.
The last thing she heard before she flew onto the street was Vincent calling her name and the sound of glass cracking beneath her boots.
CHAPTER 28
A Mouse
Suggests that someone is keeping an object that doesn’t belong to them.
By the time Anne, Violet, and Beatrix wandered up the steps to the third floor of the Crescent Moon in the hopes of easing the tension of the day, the house still hadn’t lit the candles in the family parlor.
When the Quigleys stepped through the threshold of the room, they nearly spilled their mugs of hot chocolate across the carpet as they stumbled about in the haze of the hearth’s embers. And it wasn’t until Violet found a spare box of matches hidden in the depths of the end table that they were able to recover their footing.
“Something has the poor house rattled,” Beatrix murmured after they managed to strike enough candles aflame to settle into their spots around the hearth.
As Violet sank down beside her, she patted the arm of the settee, as one might a dog frightened by the rumble of thunder.She soon realized that the house wasn’t the only one in need of consolation, though.
Anne sighed and set her cup on the end table with a soft thud in the way she always did whenever she needed to let go of whatever weight she could.
“Secrets,” Anne finally said after Violet turned a questioning glance in her direction. “The house sensed secrets slipping back into the cracks and is worried what might come of them.”
“Whose secrets?” Beatrix asked, leaning forward so quickly that her own cup nearly toppled to the floor before she could catch it.
“My own, I’m afraid,” Anne confessed, turning away to gaze at the flames that were just starting to flicker to life in the grate.
“You discovered something, then,” Violet said, the lick of excitement in her voice fading as she noticed the strained set of Anne’s mouth.
“I did,” Anne sighed. “When I let him anchor me, I was able to slip back into the past. I caught a clear vision of the ring, and then that link snapped me toward the future.”
Violet noticed that Anne hadn’t said Vincent’s name, as if the sound of it was too difficult to utter aloud.
“And what did you see?” Violet pressed, shifting forward so that she wouldn’t miss a single word.
“The ring is an heirloom,” Anne said as one does when they’ve finally clicked the last piece of a puzzle into its proper place. “I saw it being passed to a woman with the same white hair as all the Crowleys, and then as I drifted further back, I realized that it’s been in their family for generations. Perhaps even centuries.”
“But how is that possible?” Violet gasped. “Philip was the one who wore the ring. And if it belongs to the Crowleys, why haven’t any of them laid claim to it?”
Objects passed down through a line of witches were protected with fierce devotion because they often carried enchantments,giving them a type of power that grew even stronger with time. It seemed impossible that Mr. Crowley’s family wouldn’t have seized on it the instant he died if it was in fact an heirloom instead of letting it be given to Anne as he had instructed.
“You said that you caught a glimpse of the ring’s future,” Beatrix murmured. “Did you see who the rightful owner is?”
“Yes,” Anne said, drawing out the word so that it sounded like the hushed clip of a whisper. “It’s Vincent.”
The sisters became so still that they could hear the snowflakes hitting the glass pane of the window and the whip of the wind rattling the sign on the street.
“Are you certain?” Violet asked as she reached forward and grabbed one of Anne’s hands in her own. They felt icier than the sidewalks along the road, except for the finger that held the ring, which was warm to the touch.
“It belongs to him,” Anne said with a shaky nod. “I saw him as clear as crystal in the vision.”
