The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic #2)(99)

The aunts smelled like lavender and sulfur. They wore boots and gloves and knitted scarves, and they’d brought along scratchy black wool coats for the sisters. When the girls put them on, it felt as if spiders were crawling up their arms and backs and the girls didn’t like the idea of spiders at all.

“What did I tell you?” the tall one, Franny, said to the nice one. “People in California dress like fools.”

“No we don’t,” Sally said, insulted.

This tall aunt was clearly the mean one. She appraised Sally coolly. “You’re not a troublemaker, are you?” she asked.

“She’s not at all!” Gillian said protectively.

“Then I suppose you are,” Aunt Frances said to the younger girl.

“What if I am?” Gillian said, her hands on her hips.

“Then you’ll bring trouble upon yourself, which I’d hate to see.”

Gillian’s eyes widened. She was seconds away from tears.

“Well, you’re probably blind and couldn’t see it anyway!” Sally said in an effort to defend her sister.

“I am not blind or deaf and if you have any sense you’ll listen to what I say,” Franny advised. “I will always have your best interests at heart.”

“We’d better go,” Jet said, having had enough of the squabbling. “There’s snow.”

Flakes were falling as they walked through the parking lot to a battered Ford station wagon. Aunt Frances took the car key and burst the balloon that was tied to her wrist. The pop made Gilly put her hands over her ears.

“Really, Franny,” Jet said. “Must you?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have fit into the car.” Franny popped Jet’s balloon as well, then feeling some remorse because their nieces looked so nervous, she stuck her hands in her pockets and brought out red licorice and gumballs for the girls to suck on during the long drive from the airport. “I suppose this is what children like,” she said. “I always preferred lemon slices.”

The flight had been a red-eye and dawn was breaking as they turned onto Main Street. The snow had accumulated and it was slow going. There were crows perched on the rooftops of many of the houses and almost no stores on Main Street. A pharmacy, a bakery, a grocery store. As they drove past, the streetlights flared, then went out.

All at once they had reached their destination. In the backseat of the station wagon, the girls were still holding hands. When they got out their shoes became soaked with snow.

“Of course,” Franny said. “No boots. People in California probably don’t believe in them.”

They walked up the path to the Owens house. Sparrows were nesting in the twisted wisteria. When Sally held out her hand one flitted over to sit in the center of her palm. “Hello,” she said, comforted by the warmth of the bird and its bright eyes.

“How unusual,” Jet said, tossing a knowing look at Franny. Another Owens to whom birds flocked of their own accord.

“It always happens,” Gillian said proudly. “She doesn’t even have to whistle.”

“Really?” Franny said. “Then she’s clearly a very talented girl.”

There were so many vines the girls could barely see the door. The garden had been put to bed for the winter, with some of the shrubs wrapped in burlap, which made them look like monsters. The wisteria twisted around the pillars of the porch, like a goblin’s fingers. The house itself was tall and tilty, with green glass in the windows and a fence that circled the property like a snake. Gillian was not a fan of snakes, or vines, or trees that looked like monsters, but Aunt Jet offered her hand and said, “I have something special for you for breakfast.”

“Is it macarons? That was our mother’s favorite. She always got a box sent from Paris on her birthday.”

Jet and Franny exchanged a look.

“Did she?” Jet said. “Well this time it’s chocolate cake. The best you’ll ever have. And we have Dr Pepper if you’re thirsty.” They went up to the porch as if they’d known each other for years.

That left Sally and Aunt Frances standing on the path.

“Do you live here all alone?” Sally asked.

“Of course not. Your aunt Jet is here.”

“You don’t have a husband?”

“I did. Once.”

Sally stared at her aunt. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Franny stared back, a bit shaken at having been asked about Haylin. Hay would have been so much better with children. If they’d ever had their own, she’d be a grandmother by now. She would be different then, softer, not so quick to frighten small children.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your parents,” Franny managed to say. “I knew your mother when she was a little girl. I still have one of the pictures she drew when she visited me. I have it right in the front parlor.”

Sally looked up at Aunt Frances, waiting to see what she would say next.

“I was a friend of your grandmother’s, you know. And your grandfather. I miss him every day,” Franny said before thinking better of it.

“We didn’t have a grandfather,” Sally said despite her inner vow not to give out any information.

“You did, but he went away to live happily ever after in France.” Franny gave the girl a closer look. “You resemble him. You’re lucky in that.”