The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic #2)(36)

Vincent, bleary-eyed and ravaged, had on a black suit he hadn’t bothered to press. When he came out of his room barefoot, Isabelle insisted he go back for his boots. That was the way in which their family members were buried and it was disconcerting to see Vincent without shoes. At the funeral home on Madison Avenue the coffins were closed. The mortician had been instructed that both their mother and father must wear black and be barefoot. Franny had chosen a Chanel dress for their mother and handed over her favorite red lipstick and Maybelline mascara, for she never went without her makeup and Franny was not about to have that change. For their father, Vincent had taken a Brooks Brothers suit from the closet, along with one of the white shirts he had had tailored in London. Franny had straightened her own unruly hair with an iron and dabbed on pale lipstick so that she might look presentable. There was no way to hide the wound on Jet’s face, though Franny tried with some powder from one of their mother’s gold compacts. It looked as though blue flowers had been stamped on Jet’s skin. Even when it healed, a jagged line would run down one side of her face.

Not that Jet cared. Nothing would be punishment enough for having lived through the accident. She kept seeing Levi put his arm out and step in front of her, and then she saw stars, and he called her name, or maybe it was only a sigh, the last of his life and breath rising up.

“You know he was related to us,” Vincent told Franny.

“No.” She looked at her brother. “How so?”

He shrugged. “Isabelle wouldn’t tell me.”

“Jet has lost the gift,” Franny said sadly. “I didn’t know that could happen.”

Their sister was still sitting in the chair, though the car had come for them. She barely seemed to breathe.

“She’ll get it back,” Vincent said. “It’s in her blood.”



At the chapel in Manhattan vases of orange and red gladiolus were set onto the polished tables. Aunt Isabelle sat with them in the front row. No one in the family cried. Although they were crushed, crying in public was unacceptable. Several of Dr. Burke-Owens’s patients who were in attendance were inconsolable. After the service, Franny and Vincent shook the hands of those who had come to pay their respects, while Isabelle sat in the parlor with Jet. Hay was there, along with his parents, who were polite and distant and quick to suggest that Haylin hurry along. But he wasn’t about to desert Franny, even though a limo was waiting to take the Owens siblings to the cemetery in Massachusetts for the interment.

“She has to leave,” Mr. Walker muttered. “Their car is here.”

“Fuck the car. I want to go with you,” Hay told Franny. “I should be there.”

Aunt Isabelle had come up behind them. “I like him. He should come with us.”

“Impossible,” Franny said. She wanted to keep Haylin away from her family’s troubles. It was bad enough that she must now introduce her aunt to the Walkers.

“You’re quite rich,” Isabelle said to Mr. Walker. “And yet you seem to have so little.” Haylin grinned when he overheard her remark.

“You’re quite rude,” Mr. Walker said.

“My niece and her husband are about to be buried. Who’s the rude one?”

“I think we know the answer to that one, Dad,” Haylin said.

Franny took her aunt by the hand to lead her away. “Not here,” she urged. “Not now.”

“What do you think I would do to that horrid man?” Isabelle said. “Believe me, he’ll bring on his own bad luck. His son, well, he’s another story. He’s the real thing.” She waved at Haylin and he waved back. Unlike most people, he was completely undaunted by Isabelle Owens.

Franny went to explain that there would be only family in Massachusetts, and all of the Owenses gathered in one place was far too much for any outsider to deal with.

“I don’t mind,” Haylin said. “Especially if they’re all like your aunt.”

“I’ll phone as soon as I’m back,” Franny promised.

The burial was to be held in the small graveyard in Massachusetts, the one they’d once peered at through the mossy iron fence, not especially interested, not even when they realized the old headstones were all engraved with the name Owens. Now their parents would be there, even though their mother had spent her entire life trying her best to get away from her family. And yet this place had continued to have a hold over her. In the end she knew she belonged with her relations. Her will had stated that both she and her husband were to be buried there, side by side.

Driving along the Massachusetts Turnpike, Jet had to be sedated. She took Valium on top of the painkillers she’d been given for her cracked ribs. Even then, she continued to shake. Vincent had discovered the limo had a bar. He gulped down scotch with the intention of getting good and drunk. Isabelle had insisted on sitting with the driver so she could give him directions. When she heard the clanking of bottles, she turned and gave Vincent a hard look.

“Let’s not have a scene today,” she suggested. “There’ll be trouble enough.”

“People are dead. To hell with good behavior,” Vincent muttered, low enough so that their aunt wouldn’t hear, but of course she did anyway and she gestured to Franny.

Franny returned the bottle of scotch to its proper place. “We need to get through this without incident,” she said darkly.