The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic #2)(11)

April was such a know-it-all Franny couldn’t stand her. “Speak for yourself,” she said with a scowl.

“We’ve had a grand time here,” Jet offered in an effort to change the subject. “We’ve been swimming at the lake almost every day.”

“Swimming!” April rolled her eyes. “No curses? No spells? Have you even looked in the greenhouse?” When they stared at her, she was exasperated. “This is pathetic. You’re wasting your time. There’s so much you could learn from Isabelle and you’re blowing it by being children.”

“We are not children.” Franny stood up. The lamp beside her bed rattled and came perilously close to the edge of the table. At six feet, with her blood-red hair curling with anger, she was enough of a presence so that even April took heed.

“No offense,” April backtracked. “I’m just telling it like it is.” She lit a fragrant sage candle and began tossing her belongings onto a chair in a jumble of socks and bras and teeny Mary Quant outfits she’d bought on a trip to London. Jet picked up one of the lovely shirts and examined it as if it were a treasure.

“I imagine you’ve heard about the Owens family curse,” April said. She sat on the bed and made herself comfortable, with the ferret immediately falling asleep in her lap.

“Curse? That sounds dreadful,” Jet said.

“Oh, Jet, you can’t believe anything she says,” Franny warned. She’d kept Maria’s writings to herself so as not to upset her sensitive sister.

“Well you should,” April responded. “We have to be careful or we can ruin ourselves and the other person. The other person will fare far worse. It’s always been this way, so take my advice and don’t bother falling in love.”

April continued to pat her ferret, which she referred to as her familiar, implying he was more of a soul mate than a pet. Such things occurred when creatures of different species were drawn to one another and were so intimate in their relationship they could read each other’s minds.

“He knows what you’re thinking,” she assured her wide-eyed cousins.

“Unlikely,” Franny responded. There was no scientific proof to suggest such a thing was possible.

“Well, he just let me know you pretend to have no feelings but you really care much more than you let on. I agree with him.”

“You’re both wrong.” Franny sulked, though she worried that she had somehow revealed her innermost self to a member of the weasel family.

“Well, wrong or right, my parents plan to kill Henry,” April said matter-of-factly. The ferret was surprisingly docile with bright, unblinking eyes, reminiscent of April’s. “They think we have an unhealthy relationship. If they ever dare to do so, I plan to get back at them any way I can. I suggest you do the same when the need arises. Our parents want to keep us locked up. Remember, it’s us against them. In fact, don’t trust anyone.”

“Not anyone?” Jet said, distraught.

April studied her cousins, shaking her head. They clearly knew nothing.

“There are people in this world who wish us harm. Especially in this town. It’s been that way since the 1600s.” April sprawled back and made herself comfortable. “I’ll need to have one of the beds. Bad back. Ballet accident. Who gets to sleep on the floor?” she said with the authority of one who had been a guest the summer before. “And I get all of the down pillows.”

The sisters exchanged a fleeting look. If they didn’t watch out their cousin would take over. They excused themselves and went directly to Aunt Isabelle to ask if April could sleep downstairs in the extra guest room. It was so much larger, they explained, plus April had informed them that she snored, so it would be far better for the sisters to have the attic to themselves. Also, it was possible that they were allergic to the ferret.

When they told April that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the attic, she had the nerve to thank them. “Reverse psychology,” she said with a grin. “I wanted the downstairs bedroom. More privacy.”

Franny narrowed her eyes. “We’re not susceptible to reverse psychology. We know all about it. Our father is a psychiatrist.”

“I’ve been to more headshrinkers than you’ll ever meet,” April informed them. “Tell them you can’t sleep and your parents don’t understand you and you can pretty much get any drug that you want.”

Vincent heard voices and came to the topmost stair.

“Well, well,” April said when he appeared on the attic landing. “Aren’t you gorgeous.”

It was not a question, and so there was no need to answer. Vincent shrugged, but he didn’t disagree.

“An Owens man is bound to have more power than the seventh son of a seventh son. I suspect you’re a wizard.”

“Well, thank you,” Vincent responded, pleased by her attentions.

“He’s hardly a man,” Franny said dismissively. “He’s fourteen. And learning magic out of a book does not make him a wizard.”

April gave Franny the once-over. Perhaps she had met her match, but she doubted it. Franny had a hard exterior, but she was also quite innocent.

By now, Jet and Vincent were drawn in by their cousin’s brash glamour as April held forth, enlightening her younger cousins. She told them how to slip out the window and climb down the drainpipe if they wished to sneak out, and warned that there were mice hiding in the bureau drawers and beneath the beds.