Sisters of Misery Read Online Free PDF Page B

Maddie.
    Maddie nodded solemnly, but she couldn’t help feeling left out. For all this talk of “gifts,” she didn’t seem to share this gift that everyone in her family possessed but her and her mother. Unlike her grandmother, Maddie never had visions or premonitions. She looked over at her cousin, whose eyes were brimming with tears. What does she see? Maddie wondered.
    Tess and Cordelia stared at each other for a long time. It was like they were sharing a silent conversation. Then Tess started talking about the dreams she’d been having recently. They were mostly typical laid-back summertime dreams: swimming in the ocean, boating to the local islands, dancing around bonfires, sand, and stones—her attempt at easing the tension. Then Tess squeezed each of their hands and said, “All right, that’s enough of this for one night. You’d better get to bed before Abigail has a fit.”
    The girls kissed their grandmother on the cheek and headed for the door. As Cordelia reached for the handle, Tess spoke again, her voice soft but firm. “You two need to stick together. No matter what. No matter what .”
    Later that night, Maddie rested in the darkness, replaying the conversation in Tess’s room. In the moments before the deep, heavy folds of sleep slipped over her, Maddie jerked wide awake, inexplicably unnerved by Tess’s dreams of bonfires and swimming, of islands and stones. If her dreams were, in fact, prophetic, what could they possibly mean? Could they have something to do with her own dreams? And why did Maddie have the sinking feeling that something ominous was just around the corner?
     
     
    As soon as Rebecca’s Closet was open and ready for business, customers began to pour in. Most were just curious about the newcomers to town. Everyone who wandered into the shop was welcomed by a burst of exotic fragrances and vivid colors. Glass apothecary jars containing dried herbs and spices lined the wooden shelves and bottles of flower tinctures were nestled away from the sun in the heavy oak bookcases.
    Cordelia and Rebecca hung jewelry, handmade from dried roses and silk ribbons, on an antique coat rack and draped dried bouquets and wreaths from the wooden rafters that crisscrossed the high ceiling. They pressed flowers between pages of antique books and lined shelves with a jumble of decorative items: antique watering cans, handmade soaps, fat candles, thick stationary, sealing wax and ribbons, calligraphy pens and ink, and porcelain jars. Rebecca made sure to prominently display a wide selection of New Age books, crystals, incense, and various tools of divination—rune stones, tarot, and oracles—in order to capitalize on the store’s proximity to Salem, the Witch City.
    And the flowers! Brilliant sparks of color shot out from every angle. They filled jars and buckets with blue and lavender hydrangeas entwined with ivy; dewy roses stretched out alongside sprigs of lavender and bright shades of phlox. Demure calla lilies rested against the haughty foxglove. Red salvia and pink petunias were alive with fire. Orange-scented pomanders hung from doorknobs and chair rails, efficiently strung by satin cords. The flowers filled every crevice so that once inside the tiny shop, Maddie felt like she was smack dab in the middle of the Garden of Eden.
    Both Rebecca and Cordelia were skilled at making perfume from essential oils and floral extracts. They even claimed that certain aromas could heal almost anything—from the common cold to getting over a broken heart. Although most people came in regularly for the flowers, they were also tempted to try the herbal remedies available.
    When elderly Mrs. Elliott complained about not being able to sleep well at night, Rebecca whipped up an ounce of Night Whispers, a mixture of crushed yarrow, dried lilac, essential oils of rose and jasmine, and dashes of foreign spices. When gossipy Hattie McGregor came into the store complaining of migraines, Cordelia made up a lavender,