The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic #2)(76)

Franny was stunned. “Really?” She looked over at Jet.

“Really,” Jet said.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” Franny concluded. “That’s a gift. I thought you were going to tell us something terrible, but this is actually good news. I dislike children, but I liked her. I still have her drawing.”

“Franny, I’m telling you about this now in case the worst comes to pass. April and I decided that if we should both die early, we want Regina to be with you.”

Franny wouldn’t hear of it. “That’s a mistake. I wouldn’t be a good influence. Neither of us would be, really.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jet said primly.

“There’s no way out of it. April and I agreed on this some time ago. You’re Regina’s godmothers. You’ll be her guardians.”

They sat at the table and he brought forth the legal papers he’d had the family lawyer, Jonas Hardy, draw up. He’d already sent the document to April for signing, and now the sisters signed as well.

“This is all very official,” Franny said. “I happen to have something official as well, thanks to Haylin.”

She handed Vincent a note that he then scanned.

“I have asthma?” he said.

Jet handed him the vial they had prepared for him. “You do now.”



He explained to William that he had to go alone, but William wouldn’t hear of it. “I thought we were ruining our lives together.”

William hailed a taxi and they secretly held hands as they traveled downtown, and then on the corner of Whitehall Street, Vincent had the cabbie pull over. William was so honest and forthright, Vincent couldn’t share with him the plan his sisters had come up with. It was somewhat dangerous, and he knew William would disapprove of him putting himself at risk, which made Vincent love him all the more.

“You’re coming back,” William said, leaning in close. “I have the sight, too. I know we’ll be together.”

Vincent walked the rest of the way to the induction center. He had brought along the official letter written on the stationery of the chief pulmonologist at St. Vincent’s that stated that he had severe asthma and could not serve his country. The stationery was real, stolen from the chief’s desk while he was at lunch, but the letter itself was forgery, written by a resident whose last radical act had been to chain himself to a rack in the cafeteria of his high school. Vincent was wired and jumpy; he could barely stay seated when brought into the spare office of the MD who would examine him. He was such a good liar, the best of the best, so why was it that his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth? Why, when the doctor walked into the room, did he fall silent?



Franny and Jet had decided to go to the induction center to wait outside for Vincent. They both were as nervous as birds. “Fuck Richard Nixon,” Jet said.

“Agreed,” Franny said.

“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. He can’t go. I’ve always seen his life would end too early. It’s right there in the palm of his hand. We have to do everything we can to protect him.”

They’d given Vincent wolfsbane, grown in their tiny greenhouse. He’d been advised to consume it with great caution, for the herb was dangerous, and could affect the heart and lungs with lethal action, interfering with his breathing. Just a pinch, Franny had told him. We don’t want you to actually be dead. Unfortunately, his emotional good-bye with William had caused him to forget the vial in the backseat of the taxi, something he didn’t realize until he was already sitting in the doctor’s office.

His lungs seemed fine when the MD had him breathe in and out. “Clear as a bell,” he was told. “How long have you had the asthma?”

“At least five years,” Vincent said. Having been in a rush he didn’t bother to fully read the letter, which stated his asthma had begun at the age of ten.

“And what medications have you used?” the doctor asked.

“Various ones,” Vincent said. “Mostly organic.”

“But you don’t know the names of any of them?”

“You know, my sister takes care of my health. She’s the one who knows everything about my medications.”

“But your sister isn’t here, is she?” the doctor said.

Vincent waited in his underwear while the doctor went to confer. When he returned nearly half an hour later, a soldier in uniform accompanied him. The pulmonary specialist at St. Vincent’s Hospital had been phoned. He’d never heard of a Vincent Owens and the files at the hospital had no information about such a patient. Did Mr. Owens wish to recant his story? Or perhaps he’d prefer prison? Actually, Vincent said, he’d prefer a psychiatrist.

“Are you saying you’re mentally ill?” the doctor asked.

“That’s for others to decide,” Vincent responded, sick at heart but not seeing any other choice. He was desperate to get out of his service.

By now, hours had passed and Jet and Franny were freezing on the sidewalk. Men who had walked into Whitehall at the same time as Vincent had already left. They had no idea that their brother was being interviewed in the psychiatry department, where he explained that he was a homosexual, and that he couldn’t serve because he was also a wizard and he would do no harm to anyone if they tried to send him overseas.