Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(86)
The magic books at this stall were concealed by a white shroud, to keep them from catching on fire and from influencing both the bookseller and his buyers, for such texts were known to change a person’s temperament so they became nearly unrecognizable, even to themselves. Though Catherine Durant did not introduce herself, she was concerned, for she recognized the girl to be Maria’s daughter; she saw inside her, and she worried for her future.
“I think it’s best if you don’t sell it,” Catherine Durant told the bookseller.
“Be assured, the book is not for me.” By now, Faith was a brilliant liar. She couldn’t be shaken from a false statement even when interrogated, a skill she’d learned at Martha’s hands. Have you tried to work magic? Have you spoken to anyone in town? Have you collected herbs? Have you been yourself? “I can’t read,” Faith told the woman, a white spot appearing on her fingernail as she spoke. “It’s for my grandfather.”
“Sold,” the bookseller said. So few females could read or write, it was easy for the vendor to believe her. And there was yet another reason he didn’t argue with the girl. He knew enough of the Nameless Art to know that he didn’t wish to quarrel with someone who could turn silver coins black, and he now realized that the coin Faith had paid him with had turned so; nor did he wish to return it to her, magic or not. Coin was coin, no matter the color. And the woman, Catherine Durant, was not a customer of his. The Grimoire was wrapped in black paper so that it might remain hidden as Faith carried it home; even in New York, witchery was a private endeavor, one best kept to oneself. As for the bookseller, he sold not another book or manuscript all that week; it was only then he realized he would have been wise to take advice from the woman with the small white dog.
* * *
On her way to Maiden Lane, the binding of the text burned through the paper wrapping. The package throbbed, as if it had a beating heart, as the most potent books sometimes do. The dark Grimoire itself was a protective talisman, one so strong that when a thief suddenly approached Faith in an alleyway, he stumbled back as if pushed when he tried to grab the package. Faith could hear the snap of a bone breaking in his hand. The thief cried out, then glared at her as if it were she and not the book that had been responsible for his pain.
“Wait,” Faith called out as the thief ran away, about to do her best to apologize. But then she thought better of it and stopped herself. The truth was, she wasn’t at all remorseful. The time for apologies was over and her mouth was set in a thin line. She’d had enough of being a victim and never intended to be one again. She made a vow then and there to do harm to anyone who might wish ill upon her and those she loved.
That very night she began to study The Book of the Raven. She told her mother she had a stomachache, forsaking a supper of spring chicken with cream sauce, locking herself in her small chamber. She didn’t stop reading until the first light of day. By then Faith was in a fever, her imagination on fire. She would no longer practice the tradition she’d been born into, she’d forsake the Nameless Art in favor of left-handed magic, black magic, the most ancient form of all such arts, begun before Babylonia had been built, before the flood washed away most of the world, a practice that originated with a secret text titled The Key to Hell. She’d thought of hell quite often while she was in Brooklyn, and how she might send Martha there. If only she had possessed The Book of the Raven then, she would have known what to do, even when restricted by iron.
Wax, pins, fire, hair, fingernails, blood, bone, Bella donna, skullcap, henbane.
This thing of darkness I acknowledge to be mine.
Faith was still a novice, but she practiced the black art faithfully, learning maledictions by heart, until she was skilled at her craft. Soon enough she was nearly thirteen, the odd age between childhood and womanhood when a person becomes more of what she is. A locked door was not enough privacy for her studies. She kept a blanket thrown over her to shroud the magic and contain it within a circle, then drew the pentacle of Solomon on her floor with invisible ink. It was easy enough to hide her practice. Maria Owens had the sight, but all mothers see their children as they wish to, and the truth of Faith’s studies escaped Maria’s sight. Faith had helped that to happen, casting a See What You Please spell so that Maria viewed Faith as a perfect child who set the table for supper, swept the floors, tended to the garden, and kissed her good night. Yes, her hair was a darker shade of red, her skin had a new pallor with the freckles disappearing, her eyes were indeed fevered. She had learned to be deceptive from her years with Martha, and now she did so again quite naturally.
She was in the midst of the left-handed magic of revenge, using malice and spite to get what she wanted. In no time, the magic had changed her. When she found a baby swallow and lifted it off the ground, it turned to ash in her hands. She dusted off her hands and felt a shiver of fear over what she now carried inside her. But what was done was done. She had chosen her path. In her practice she used the wild purple orchids that have two tubers, one for white magic, one for black, a plant that could heal or hurt and was called “Dead Man’s Fingers” in a play written by the man who adored the author of The Book of the Raven. Near the Minetta Stream there were old trees with hollows in their trunks, doors to other worlds where words were said backwards, widdershins, spinning left, the witch’s path that was counterclockwise. It was here that Faith gathered blackberries, long used against serpent’s bites and for setting curses. The Book of the Raven had taught her transference magic, shifting the sorrow or disease or the ill fate that a person carried into another object or being. She had small glass bottles filled with hate and fever and rage and grief, which were stored in a cabinet in her chamber, and at night they glowed with green light, as if stars had fallen from the sky.