The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic #2)(77)

Franny finally went inside at six that evening. Her footfalls echoed, for the building had emptied. It was a place of fate and the scent in the hall was that of fear and sorrow and courage. Outside, the sky was dark blue, threaded through with clouds. There was a chill in every breath you took. Jet stayed out on the street shivering. On this day she wished she still had the sight. She had developed a fear of crowds and stayed away from public spaces.

At the front desk, Franny was told there was no information. Her brother was no longer in the building and they were closing for the night.

“That’s not possible,” she declared. “I’ve been right outside waiting for him all day. If he had left I would have seen him.”

“Back entrance,” she was told, “used for expedited departures.”



The sisters and William were worried sick. It was as if Vincent had disappeared from the face of the earth. Franny went to the Jester to search for him, while William checked Washington Square and Jet stayed at home in case he should call.

“Maybe we should phone the police,” Jet said when they had all failed to find him.

William phoned his father, then came back with his report. “No police,” he said. “We just wait.”

The following week, an official letter finally arrived. The three sat around the kitchen table that had been in the family’s home, the one that had been tilted ever since Franny and Vincent first experimented with their powers. Jet was the one who finally opened the letter, and she read it aloud in a small voice that shook with emotion. Vincent had been examined and found to be psychotic and delusional. He had been admitted to Pilgrim State Hospital. There was no need to hear more. They needed a lawyer, and Franny called the only one she knew, Jonas Hardy in Boston, who had always handled the Owens family business. He would do the best he could, but once he acquired the hospital admission documents he conceded that getting Vincent released would be a problematic and lengthy process. Their brother had incriminated himself, signing a document that stated he was a homosexual and a wizard who had planned to defraud the U.S. government and avoid military service.

“First things first,” William said. “They won’t allow me to see him because I’m not family.” He turned to Franny. “You go. They’ll let you in.”

“Me?” Franny said.

“You’re straightforward and honest,” William insisted. “And you won’t burst into tears.”

“You’re right,” Jet agreed. “It has to be Franny.”

“When you come back, we’ll sit down with my father and put together a plan,” William said. “We’ll get him out.”

Franny took a cab to Long Island that same day. Before leaving she’d had to lock the dog in the bedroom and make sure the windows were shut, so Harry couldn’t leap out and search for Vincent. He’d been distressed ever since Vincent’s disappearance, pacing and whining and refusing to eat. “I’m going to find him,” Franny told the dog. “You just stay.”

It was a misty day, and the hospital was shrouded in fog. It was a dreadful looming place, built between two highways, made of brick, with the bleak look of an old factory. There was a great deal of fencing, and bars over the windows. The lights flickered and the hallways were painted a foreboding shade of green. Franny felt intimidated standing in the waiting room. She tasted metal, for this was a place that was dangerous, made of metal that diluted her power. There was no way anyone could make use of the sight here.

At last a social worker came to speak to her. She was a well-meaning woman, but there wasn’t much she could do. Vincent was in the wing the army used and no visitors were allowed.

“Why would that be?” Franny asked. “I only want to see my brother. What harm is there in doing so?”

“Only army or medical personnel,” the social worker said. She had a heart and patted Franny’s shaking hands. “Trust me, it would be too upsetting for you to see him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

It meant he was no longer in a straitjacket, no longer fighting or banging his head against the wired-shut window, but viewing the effect of the drugs could be disturbing. He had been too uncontrollable to be in the dormitory with the other patients and had been taken to a single room. He was disheveled and hardly alert, suffering from confusion, trembling whenever there was a loud noise. There would be a report at the end of the month.

“You mean weeks?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We’re dealing with a bureaucracy here. Things take time. Sometimes months.”

Franny walked out knowing that her brother would not last that long.



They drove out to Sag Harbor. It was early spring and the trees were budding, but the air was still cool. It was a clear, bright, beautiful day, the air tinged with salt, the climbing roses blooming. They were in William’s car, and they all wore black. They barely spoke, especially when they drove on the Sagtikos Parkway, past Pilgrim State.

“It’s dreadful,” Jet did manage to say, and they all agreed.

Once in town, they stopped at the liquor store, thinking they would need the fortification. They needn’t have worried. Alan Grant had wine opened on the table, and took a whiskey for himself.

“My advice will set you against the laws of our country.” Mr. Grant’s expression was somber. “And I’m also afraid that in saving Vincent, I may endanger you,” he told his son. “You can be arrested if you aid a deserter.” He gestured to the sisters. “All of you can.”