Prologue: A Bell PROLOGUE A Bell Appears just before something is about to awaken.
It was a well-known secret that something was not quite right about the house tucked at the very center of the street.

For one, strange silhouettes always stretched across the vast marble facade whenever the sun began to set and the gas lamps flickered to life. Anyone who lingered on the sidewalk and turned their face toward the darkened windows would see shadows twisting there that sometimes took the shape of people, though there wasn’t another soul to be found along the road.

For another, whenever the windows were left open, whispers drifted into the neighbors’ homes, carrying with them notes of longing and a desire to be heard. They snuck through the cracks in the plaster and sank into silences, causing gooseflesh to rise along the necks of those who came across the sound. And on nights when the light of a full moon flickered against the manor, the murmurs grew louder, the soft hushes sharpening into something that sounded like secrets slipping through a keyhole.

But because these oddities were too fantastical to put into words, no one spoke of them aloud. After catching sight of the dancing shadows in the corners of their eyes, the neighbors simply shifted their gaze to the more practical-looking brick homes on the other side of the street. And when those hushed whispers emerged between the regular rhythm of chores, whoever heard them turned their focus to the clicking of their knitting needles, muttering to themselves that nothing good ever came from giving way to flights of fancy.

For it is easier to brush aside the mere possibility of magic than to consider that it might be resting beneath the familiar comfort of the everyday.

In fact, the only outward sign that the neighbors suspected something was amiss was the way they let their pace quicken as they shuffled past the house. It was an arrangement that suited everyone perfectly well, and so these peculiarities remained an open secret to the mutual contentment of all.

The problem now, though, was that the house had gone entirely silent.

Though shadows could still be seen on the other side of the windows, they didn’t reach beneath the panes and trickle onto the sidewalks. And even when the neighbors grew still and strained to hear the raspy voices that had always been waiting for a chance to speak before, they couldn’t hear anything but the creaking of their floorboards.

It was one thing to have known about these oddities and brushed them aside, but to recognize that they were gone now meant acknowledging that they’d existed in the first place. And so, everyone grew warier, peeking between the gaps in their curtains to see if anything else was changing about the marble manor.

And one night, they did manage to catch a glimpse of something curious.

It happened just after the sun had well and truly set, when the man who lit the gas lamps had turned the corner and everyone was beginning to let the fires flickering in the grate ease the tensions of a busy day.

As a stillness settled along the street, they heard it: the barest of whispers creeping into the silent pause.

More than one inquisitive neighbor had risen from their chair then and gone to the window, where they parted the curtains just an inch so that they could peer outside.

At first, they couldn’t find anything to be remarked upon about the house. Things were just as they had been when they’d passed by it on their way home only an hour or two before. After a moment, they wondered if they’d only imagined the sound and considered abandoning their posts by the glass panes.

But something kept them from moving back toward the familiar comfort of their hearths, and soon, their patience was rewarded.

A figure suddenly emerged at the bottom of the stoop, and everyone looking on gasped in surprise, wondering how the stranger had managed to slip out of thin air.

But after a moment, they realized that the visitor was merely wearing black, giving the illusion that he’d suddenly risen from the shadows of the sidewalk. When he pulled away his hat, though, they could see him easily enough, for his hair was shockingly white, nearly the same shade as the marble that all but glimmered in the light of the gas lamps.

The stranger stared up at the house then, and as his foot landed on the first step, the pulse of those gazing on from the other side of the windowpanes began to beat faster and faster, though they didn’t understand why.

As the man came closer to the front door, the shadows started to slip beneath the sills, trailing toward him like they were trying to curl around his coattails and usher him inside.

When he came to rest at the threshold and reached toward the handle, the neighbors realized that they were all holding their breath, not daring to make a single sound as they waited to see what happened next.

For some reason, they half expected him to find the door locked, that he would turn around in disappointment and slip back into the darkness once more.

But something else happened that felt ordinary and spectacular all at once.

The door opened, and all the whispers that had faded from the silence of the everyday returned, quieter now but still noticeable to anyone who had heard them before.

As the neighbors listened to the soft murmurs creep through the floorboards, they saw the stranger hesitate before the threshold, as if he was just as surprised that the door had clicked open when his fingers touched the handle. And though his hand remained still, he took the barest step backward, the stiff rise of his shoulders hinting that a new burden had come to rest there.

But when he turned his face upward to peer at the shadows dancing through the panes, everyone pressed their cheeks a bit closer to their own windows and watched as the worry lines that marked his brow gave way to an unmistakable expression of determination.

Before they could guess what had brought about this sudden change, the man slipped into the house, snapping the door shut behind him.

And though the neighbors let out a sigh of relief as they returned to the warm chairs before their hearths, they couldn’t help but think that the silence of the street had been replaced by something much more troublesome: questions so extraordinary that they might slip beyond the safe confines of their imagination.


Chapter 1: Rosemary CHAPTER 1 Rosemary Symbolizes remembrance.
As the bells dangling from the front door chimed on the first day of the new year, the Crescent Moon was busy filling the shop with reminders instead of resolutions.

Though it knew that the customers who crossed the threshold were thinking of changes to come, the shop also understood that now wasn’t the time to turn away from the past. Spring was the season for sweeping aside cobwebs and sorting through what should be packed away, not the height of winter, when the days were dark and the bitter bite of the wind made you want to cling to the things that were worth keeping.

And so, when most people were pulling down their wreaths and shaking their heads at the shadows left behind, the house was doing its best to infuse the tearoom with warm recollections, ones that made you sink deeper into homespun quilts and shift through the afternoon at a slower pace.

Like a man twirling his mustache, it spun fresh garland around all the banisters, tucking sticks of cedar and spools of oranges that had dried alongside nutmeg and cardamon among the greenery. Snippets of holly with bright red berries were scattered across the surface of burgundy tablecloths embroidered with miniature rows of shops similar to the ones that rested on either side of the Crescent Moon, their brick fronts covered in tiny snowflake stitches. And the sunlight spilling in from the frosted windows was softened so that the flames flickering atop the candlesticks took on the hue of stars waiting to be wished upon.

This particular mix of cloves and velvet brought the house back to years when little hands had grasped on to its window ledges in the hopes of peering at the street outside, still unconvinced that what awaited them beyond the cold glass was in any way more magical than the world within the shop.

The house had welcomed most of the changes of the last year, especially the ones that involved a bit of redecoration. It had drawn in a deep breath, stretched its beams and rafters, and settled into the enjoyable task of rearranging the front parlor and, if it was being honest, a few other nooks and crannies when its sole remaining occupant turned her head away. But that was long before Chicago’s chill had set into its bones, and now it was determined to sit back and spend a bit of time burrowing into the warm memories that had been tucked to the side during the rush that always consumed the shop toward the end of each year.

If only its keeper could be convinced to feel the same way….

“Don’t worry, I’m going to find you a table,” Anne Quigley insisted as she tried to usher her companions, Katherine and Celeste, through the quickly growing crowd. Long ago, the two women had been friends of Anne’s mother, Clara, but if the way they beamed at their young hostess as she pulled them through the chaotic parlor was any indication, they’d grown equally close with her.

Though most businesses remained closed for the new year, it had seemed cruel to Anne to shut the front door on a day when so many were searching for the barest glimpse of the future. They needed a shred of certainty to steady themselves while flipping through the blank expanse of their calendars and wondering what those days might hold.

But now that the shop was overflowing with skirt trains and thick woolen cloaks, Anne was beginning to question her choice.

“I’m starting to think that adding a second floor wasn’t enough,” she heard Katherine murmur, her voice nearly lost among the sound of tinkling porcelain as she linked her arm through Anne’s to avoid being trampled by a tea cart that seemed to be moving at the pace of a racehorse.

Anne felt the floorboards vibrate under her boots in anticipation and sighed.

“Don’t give it any ideas,” Anne whispered as she grasped Celeste with her other hand and pulled them both toward the spiral staircase tucked in the back of the room. “I caught it trying to build a solarium the other day.”

As the three women twirled up the steps, Anne wished, not for the first time, that the house had chosen a more practical structure to lead up to the new addition. Though their customers seemed enchanted by it, the circular movement always left Anne feeling a bit disoriented whenever she reached the top, which she suspected was a strategic move on the part of the house, though it was going to take more than a dash of dizziness to distract Anne from the sweeping alterations it had made to the front parlor.

Last year, after Celeste lost her powers and Anne took over her place on the Council of Witches, it had been clear as crystal that the shop would need to change. Each of the Council members had different magical abilities and played an important part in keeping the coven safe by ensuring the threads of destiny remained intact, but Anne’s role carried a special weight. As the city’s Diviner, she looked toward the future, discovering problems and finding solutions before any trouble could snag the delicate fabric of their existence. Her new position would no doubt draw in an even greater crowd of witches eager to ensure they met a fortunate Fate, and that meant the Crescent Moon, like many other parts of Anne’s life, needed to grow.

But even she hadn’t predicted just how quickly the house would take matters into its own hands.

When Anne had sat down in the kitchen to calmly explain that they needed to make some improvements to the shop, she did her best to convince the house that the alterations should be as simple as possible. As soon as the words left her lips, though, all the walls had flashed a bright daisy yellow before the house cracked open the very center of the foundation, where it quickly got to work making so much noise that Anne’s warnings were lost among bits of falling plaster.

The result was an additional floor with vaulted ceilings, towering stained-glass windows depicting the different phases of the moon, and a hearth large enough to hold a boiling copper cauldron that infused the entire room with notes of cloves and cardamon, which always grew richer as morning passed into the afternoon. The grandness of the ceiling was offset somewhat by the soft textures of the velvet armchairs that wrapped around each of the oaken tables and the warm burgundy hues of the rugs. Altogether, the scene made you want to slip away from the worries that waited outside the front door and lose yourself in a second or third pot of tea. The only problem was that the windows within the shop didn’t match the ones you saw from the street, though the customers who wandered up to the second floor always seemed to forget that fact by the time their feet left the bottom step of the spiral staircase.

“Here we are,” Anne said, a note of victory lacing her tone as she led her guests to a table nearest the cauldron, where the fragrance of cinnamon sticks and citrus was the strongest.

“Won’t you join us?” Katherine asked as she settled into her seat and let her knit shawl fall from her shoulder, the movement unveiling some of her hex magic. It looked like dust that had struck the light at just the right angle, casting a shimmering glow against her skin and clothes for the barest instant before being tucked away again beneath the wool cloth. She’d been kept quite busy over the winter social season, when the plethora of balls and holiday events put blessings and curses in high demand. But, judging by the new laugh lines around her eyes, Katherine had enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know that there’s time…,” Anne began, only to be interrupted by the metallic click of a tea cart’s wheels.

“She has a few minutes,” Peggy said with a smile as she placed a pot of steeping tea on the table alongside a tray brimming over with spicy ginger biscuits that begged to be snapped in two.

When Anne opened her mouth to protest, Peggy merely gave her a wink and quickly pushed the cart away.

“I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve visited since the expansion,” Katherine remarked as her eyes continued to wander across the room, stopping here and there when they seemed to be caught by the details of a nightscape painting or the way the light of the flames looked as they danced against curved gas lamps.

“Well, becoming the Diviner kept me occupied in the spring,” Anne replied as she poured them each a cup of tea that smelled of refuge on a cold and snowy night. “Then I had to make the house wait until autumn to unveil the changes so that the customers weren’t wondering how a second floor sprang up overnight. And by the winter, there was the matter of…”

Anne fell silent, the words waiting to be shared too heavy to carry into the conversation. Instead, she looked down at the signet ring that wrapped around her thumb and tapped the hourglass etching ever so carefully against the side of her teacup so that the small grains of sand floated from one end to the other.

“Yes,” Celeste said with a sigh. “There was the matter of our Mr. Crowley.”

As soon as Celeste spoke the words, Anne was pulled back into memories of her old friend.

The first time that she met Mr. Crowley, Anne had known he was dangerously close to passing on without completing his Task.

All witches carried a purpose, a reason for their existence that contributed in some essential way to the wider web of destiny. If someone failed to finish their Task before they passed on, they were doomed to become a ghost stuck aimlessly between this life and the next. And the delicate balance of magic in the world they’d left behind would be disrupted, the severity of the consequences dependent on how much power a witch possessed.

At the request of the Council, she’d spent months trying to help Mr. Crowley discover his Task, only to realize that he’d known what he needed to do all along. It had taken some time, but Mr. Crowley eventually revealed why he intended to leave such an important errand undone: he wanted to be reunited with the person he’d loved the most, a man named Philip who was still lingering on as a spirit.

Anne of all people knew what it felt like to try and gain control of destiny and had decided to let the matter rest, welcoming Mr. Crowley into the warmth of the tearoom so that he could enjoy the comforts of this life in the time he had left. The other members of the Council chose to leave Mr. Crowley to his fate as well, assured that his unfinished Task would cause only the barest ripple of disruption since he’d displayed middling magical abilities.

And he had remained with them longer than anyone had predicted, nearly a year beyond what the Council initially expected. Every Sunday since the first snowfall, Mr. Crowley had joined Katherine and Celeste at the same table in the Crescent Moon, filling the shop with a chorus of laughter until Anne had to remind them that the house was about to lock the door for the evening and settle in for the night.

But though Death had been patient, she hadn’t forgotten.

Before another frost settled on the sidewalks, Mr. Crowley had said his goodbyes, grateful for the friendships he hadn’t expected to find but welcoming of a new chapter, one that he’d been waiting to turn to for quite some time.

And Anne had been caught up in the current of her own fresh beginning ever since, the gentle rhythm of the shop quickening to a faster pace even as her new responsibilities continued to pull her beyond the threshold.

“It seems that the new year hasn’t brought you much rest,” Katherine murmured as her gaze swept across the parlor, taking in the colorful array of hats that were bouncing atop the excited heads of the customers.

Anne nodded as her attention shifted beyond the table and outward, the tendrils of her magic catching against the strands of all the other witches who now filled the shop.

When the news that Anne had replaced Celeste on the Council had gotten out, they’d arrived at the door quicker than a wick catching flame. At first, they merely seemed curious about why she had been chosen, but it didn’t take more than a brush with Anne to know that she possessed a rare power. Anne heard them murmuring whenever she passed by and knew that they’d never encountered a Diviner who could so clearly touch the threads of destiny, and alongside their amazement came something much more potent: hope. Where they would have once let whispers of their troubles drift to the ears of the Council, the witches of Chicago were now coming to Anne directly, emboldened by the certainty that someone who could see the future with such precision would be able to bring things to a happy end.

As Anne followed Katherine’s gaze about the shop and caught more than one pair of cheerful eyes peering at her over the rims of porcelain teacups, she felt a sense of comfort knowing that she’d finally found her place among her mother’s people.

But her gentle smile wasn’t enough to distract the house from the shadows that were starting to pool beneath those blue eyes. Even if Anne didn’t seem to mind, the walls were growing troubled by the list of concerns that the other witches were always bringing her, most of which had turned out to be nothing beyond what was to be expected for a community where magic beat at its heart.

“Don’t be afraid to share the burden,” Celeste said, reaching forward to place one of her delicate hands across Anne’s shoulder. “Being on the Council can feel isolating, like you’re afraid to speak for fear that the secrets you carry might come tumbling out. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Anne returned Celeste’s grasp and nodded, thankful that the former Diviner had stepped into her life at just the right moment. She’d made all the transitions of the past year much smoother, and it had been a welcoming experience to have someone to reach out to for advice once more. Though the lessons that Celeste passed along weren’t coated in the same sugar and spice that her mother’s wisdom had carried, Anne was at a point in her life when she was beginning to appreciate more subtle flavors. And as she delved deeper into the intricate social networks of the Chicago coven, Anne had been especially grateful for Celeste’s stark yet sage guidance.

Even as Anne nodded her head in agreement, though, an unwelcomed thought twisted its way into her mind.

Something strange had been lurking at the corners of her dreams lately, a shadowy presence that carried the texture of the past. And a familiar scent that made her temples tingle always lingered in the room whenever she slipped from sleep to reality, vanishing just before Anne could place the fragrant notes.

But she hadn’t been getting enough rest to step deeper into her visions and see what might be hiding beneath her conscious thoughts. There seemed to be quite enough to focus on during her waking hours, and so, Anne had been forced to push these odd occurrences to the side.

Anne was tempted to mention them to Celeste now, but it seemed silly to bring up something that she couldn’t even find the words to describe, not when she’d already confronted much more tangible dangers as the city’s Diviner.

So, instead of keeping her hand atop Celeste’s and turning their conversation toward the odd sensations that had started to slip into her awareness, Anne pulled away and took a sip from her tea instead.

“I appreciate the reminder,” Anne said with a smile. “But the shop keeps me from lingering too long in my worries.”

The fire in the grate crackled then, as if the house was trying to chase away the chill that caught on the edges of her thoughts by stoking the logs. It was persistent about getting Anne to slip into a slower rhythm, but no amount of lavender tucked between her pillows seemed to be able to taper her pace.

“Yes, let’s focus on other matters,” Katherine murmured, leaning forward on her elbows in anticipation. “What news do you have to share with us about Beatrix and Violet?”

Anne’s smile finally managed to reach her eyes at the sound of her sisters’ names. They were three parts of a matching set, triplets so identical that the only way most people were able to tell them apart was by taking note of the different shades of their eyes: light blue for Anne, deep brown for Beatrix, and a shocking shade of purple for Violet.

Though inseparable since birth, the sisters had recently been pulled down diverging paths. They’d said their goodbyes shortly after Anne accepted the position of Diviner, with Beatrix taking the train toward the East Coast to pursue a promising career as a novelist and Violet waving farewell from the back of a wagon as she followed the circus and her husband, Emil, to places where the sharp whip of the wind softened beneath warm sunshine.

“They’re caught up in their own adventures,” Anne replied, her hand moving toward a pair of letters that rested in the pocket of her dress. She always kept the most recent news there, where it remained within easy reach whenever she thought of them and her chest grew just a bit tighter.

“Last time, you told us that Beatrix was in New York finalizing the edits for her second book,” Celeste said. “Is she still there?”

“She’s in Boston now, actually,” Anne replied. “Another lecture opportunity that her publisher said was too important to overlook.”

“But she was supposed to be back in Chicago months ago,” Celeste said, clearly disappointed. “And Violet too for your birthday.”

Anne sighed and leaned a bit deeper into her chair.

The realization that, for the very first time in their lives, the three sisters wouldn’t be together for their birthday had been difficult to accept. But the week before the first snow hit the sidewalk, Anne had glanced into her cup and seen a full moon rising on the rim, a sign that their plans would be disrupted. And sure enough, the day that her sisters were set to travel, an unexpected storm had kept them back.

As Anne had predicted, when the first snowflake fluttered down and touched her upturned cheeks, she’d been standing on the sidewalk alone instead of within the warm embrace of her sisters.

Once again, it seemed that Fate had other plans in mind for the Quigley sisters.

“Yes, but the time wasn’t right,” Anne said.

Since her ability to peer into the future had grown stronger, Anne had become more patient about allowing a thread of destiny to reveal where it might lead her. Where she once would have wrapped her wrist around the barest hint of a suggestion and tugged, Anne now let her fingers rest against the strings and allowed them to pull her along the path of fortune.

But that certainly didn’t mean she had to be exuberant about the unexpected turn of events.

Knowing that she and her sisters would come together again didn’t quite ease the sense of loneliness that crept up on her whenever she sat in the family parlor and the sight of the empty settee, still indented from years of Violet and Beatrix’s steady presence, caught her by surprise.

“Well, I commend your patience,” Katherine replied with a laugh. “But I’d like to see them both here sooner rather than later.”

Anne grinned then and met her friend’s gaze over her teacup, considering whether or not to share a secret.

“Whenever I pour cream into my morning tea, I see a bow coming together on the surface,” Anne finally said. “It grows stronger by the day.”

Katherine and Celeste’s smiles broadened as the underlying meaning of Anne’s words took shape: a reunion to come.

“Then we do have something to look forward to after all!” Katherine cried as she took a bite of the sugarplum scone that Peggy had placed closest to her on the tray.

“And you don’t think that there’s just the slightest chance Beatrix might be able to give us an advance copy of her new book?” Celeste whispered. “We promise we wouldn’t share it with anyone, of course.”

Anne knew that, like everyone else who’d encountered her sister’s writing, Celeste was waiting with bated breath for the moment her latest story hit the shelves. After all, Beatrix was a word weaver, a witch who’s magic rested in spinning stories that ensnared the heart of readers and refused to let them go until the final page.

“If only,” Anne replied with a laugh. “Her publisher has all the copies under lock and key after someone tried to break in and take one. As you know, her writing is rather… compelling.”

Celeste nodded in agreement, though a look of disappointment still settled between her brows.

“It will be a consolation if Violet decides to bring that handsome husband of hers along,” Katherine said, beaming from ear to ear.

Celeste playfully batted Katherine on the shoulder, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to reprimand her friend for a thought that had passed through her mind a time or two as well.

“I’ll leave you both to consider Emil’s finer qualities alone,” Anne said as she rose from the table and brushed the crumbs off her skirt. “I need to start my next set of rounds with the customers.”

A few of the witches sitting nearest to their table straightened in their seats. They tried to hide the fact that they’d overheard Anne’s last remark, but the way they played with the corners of their cloth napkins gave away their excitement.

“Promise us that you’ll take a moment for yourself later this evening,” Katherine said as she grasped Anne’s hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You may have an iron will, but even metal will bend under enough pressure.”

“I promise,” Anne said as she gave her friend a kiss on the cheek before slipping into the quick and chaotic rhythm of the shop.

But in the swirl of carnations and caravans that rested at the bottom of her customers’ cups, Anne forgot to glance up from the future and take stock of what was beginning to emerge in the present.

Which was a shame, because if she had, Anne might have noticed the sensation of icy fingers tapping ever so gently along the base of her back, warning about troubles that were on the cusp of taking shape.