House of Spells and Secrets Quotes

“I’m Rowan,” she said. “These are my sisters, Caraline and Saoirse.”
“Irish names,” the woman said, and then she muttered to herself just loud enough for them to hear, “The shamrock, the triskele, and the Triple Goddess. Powerful Celtic symbols.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“I named you after my favorite tree. The rowan tree. It has white flowers in the spring, red berries in the fall, and the leaves turn yellow in autumn. It’s so delicate looking, but really it’s hardy and strong.” She smiled, bumping Rowan again. “It’s a tree of power, where magic will flower. That’s you.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“True to being the firstborn, Caraline's magic was louder and warmer. It thrived in her cooking, when she folded it into dough and steeped it in broth. Rowan didn't know how hibiscus rolls could soften an argument, or why rosemary bread helped someone remember things that had long ago started to fade, but somehow they did. Caraline called it comfort, but Rowan knew it was enchantment.
Saoirse could coax flowers to bloom out of season and lure herbs to grow even in the heaviest clay soil. Her teas did more than soothe. Rowan had seen them ease fevers, quiet grief, and silence nightmares. Saoirse didn't call it magic, but Rowan had always felt it in the way a room calmed when she entered. She carried stillness like a cloak.
And then there was Rowan. She didn't brew curative tinctures or bake healing breads. Her magic, such as it was, served no purpose. It didn't look like theirs.
In fact, it didn't look like anything.
Her eyes, green like clover and threaded with gold, drew stares she couldn't explain. And her hair, with a single streak of impossible red, practically glowed in the moonlight. She tried to hide it, oh, how she tried. She used to bleach to turn it Marilyn Monroe blonde, but it didn't work. She dyed it every shade of brown, then black, thinking she could bury the flame. But it never lasted. The ruby streak always returned, a mark she couldn't shake.
People always looked at her a second too long, as if they could sense something inexplicable about her. Sometimes she even felt it too. But most of the time she felt like the odd one out with her sisters.
Saoirse had a head of red hair and her eyes were dark like pine needles. Unlike Rowan, she didn't long for friends. All she needed were her plants, herbs, and whatever flower she held at any given moment, plus the apothecary she always created wherever they lived. And, of course, the swallows, which she could make behave.
Caraline's hair was the color of midnight, which set off the flecks of amber in her eyes. She was the opposite of both Rowan and Saoirse. Friendships with women she could do without, but the attention she got from men? That practically fed her soul. At every new place they went, Caraline had herself a new beau within days.
And Rowan had her red streak.
But it wasn't just her hair. It wasn't just her eyes. Worse were the unexpected tastes that bloomed on her tongue whenever she was around people. Her magic stirred, and it was as if she could taste their emotions and who they were, deep down inside.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“From the pantry, Caraline emerged with an armful of jars-- dried yarrow, bay, thyme, cedar tips, and bloodroot. At the table next to the book, she arranged them by purpose--- protection, clarity, warding, binding.
Saoirse pulled a cluster of blooms from her small satchel--- honeysuckle and lemon verbena, then added the single petal she'd kept from the Black Dracula orchid she'd been gripping in her fist. Her fingers moved quickly, weaving them into a loose braid. "For clarity," she murmured. "For truth."
Rowan joined her, brushing her fingers along the stem of a rosemary sprig until it warmed in her hand. "We'll do this together.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“All flowers have meanings,” she continued. “Like the little white flowers on the rowan tree. They protect. They mean strength and power and psychic intuition. The magnolia represents wisdom. The amaryllis is about beauty and pride.”
Rowan’s stomach tightened. She could already feel where this was going. She nodded at the Dracula flower. “What about that one?”
“It smells amazing. Vanilla and spicy chocolate, but not like the normal kind.” Saoirse looked at Rowan, their eyes locking for a split second before Saoirse’s gaze slipped past. “It’s distinct. Almost… off. But the meaning…” Her voice dropped lower. “Absolute authority. Submission. Control.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“Greenmother: She who heals, who binds earth to body and soul to soil.

Saoirse stepped closer, drawn to the page like a moth. “Greenmother,” she breathed. “It knows me.”
Another name materialized.

Brightwill: She who burns bright enough to reveal the truth.

Caraline’s eyes shimmered with something unreadable. She didn’t speak the word aloud, but Rowan saw the way her spine straightened, the firelight dancing across her hair. Brightwill.
The third name appeared, and Rowan froze.

Silverborn: She who remembers, who hears the memory of what was lost.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“One of Bloom, whose hands stir life from root and ash.
One of Flame, whose fire guards the way.
One of Moonlight, who bears the memory of the dark.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“Saoirse nodded. "By bloom."
"By flame," Caraline said.
They swung their gazes to Rowan. It started as a childhood promise they shared only with each other. But as they grew--- and the magic in them deepened--- it became something more. A vow. A bond. A spell spoken not with power but with love.
Now, in the gathering room of Swallow Hall, Rowan whispered her part of the chant, feeling the words settle into her bones like truth. "By moonlight."
Together, they spoke the last line. "We are one.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“She stood up and started to walk, patting the side of her leg so the dog would follow. She trotted alongside as if she’d always been glued to Rowan’s side. Rowan looked down at her. At the green-brown speckles in her blue eyes— unusual for a dog, weren’t they? “Your eyes are hazel,” she said, and just like that, the dog had a name. Hazel.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“She held up the book so Everly could see it. “It says it belongs to Erin Early.”
Everly’s eyes softened. “Erin Early was my grandmother. Those are all her recipes.”
Rowan felt a buzz filter through her, felt the electric charge shooting through her sister. Caraline flipped through the first few loose pages. “Potato soup. Soda bread. Hand pies. Dublin Coddle—"
“What’s Dublin Coddle?” Rowan asked.
Caraline skimmed the recipe, her brow furrowing. “It’s sort of like a stew, I think? Potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, and beer slow-cooked together.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“She hadn’t realized the outbuilding— like a sunroom— was connected to the house, and it was a piece of heaven for Saoirse. This was the apothecary to end all apothecaries— a glass-walled sanctuary most definitely infused with magic. The dappled morning light poured through the deceptively tall glass walls and ceiling. Every branch and leaf seemed to stretch toward the light, searching for its warmth and light.
The space itself was an airy rectangle, bursting with greenery. On the two shorter, angled walls were multitiered potting tables, each layer crowded with voluminous herbs, delicate blossoms, and trailing vines that cascaded over the edges.
The longer glass wall had a counter-height table that ran its full length. Clay pots, glass beakers, and neatly labeled tins cluttered the top. Even the outside seemed to want in, with the leaves still clinging to the trees outside brushing against the glass.
On the opposite side was a brick wall lined with open shelves from floor to ceiling. Rowan tracked jars of every shape and size on the shelves. They were filled with dried herbs, amber and emerald oils, crushed petals, powdered roots, and mystery mixtures just waiting for Saoirse to use them.
Possibility. It was the only word that came to mind. This apothecary held a world of possibilities for Saoirse. With everything at her fingertips, her sister could spend a lifetime crafting healing potions, infusing them into soaps, lotions, and balms.
Saoirse stood in the center of the room, arms wide. She whirled around. “Isn’t it perfect?” she squealed, pushing her glasses up. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was just wandering around and it’s like a magnet pulled me to this room. My room.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“Saoirse brushed her fingers over the faded floral fabric of the quilt on the bed. Instantly, it seemed to brighten, the pattern gaining depth and color. At the window, a small table cradled an assortment of flowers and houseplants in terra-cotta pots. Each one was different. Slightly wild, with leaves reaching and tangling together. Rowan saw Saoirse's shoulders relax, her fingers trailing over a fern's fronds, over the leaves of the melissa balm, just like the one Bridget had always loved. Everly hadn't known they were coming, so she hadn't decorated this room for Saoirse. Deep down, Rowan knew it was the house itself responding to the three of them being here. It knew exactly what Saoirse needed, what made her feel settled.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“The closer Rowan got to the woman and the house, the stronger the taste of blackberries became. She thought of what she knew about blackberries. Saoirse had once told her they were part of the rose family. Was this woman before them complicated in the same way? Was that why Rowan’s mouth filled with a strange mixture of sweet, tart, and tang?”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets