The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(19)

“No,” Jet said thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be.”

“It isn’t,” the boy assured her.

“No,” Jet said, feeling something strange come over her. She felt comforted by his calm, serious manner. “You’re right.”

“Unable are the Loved to die, for Love is Immortality,” the boy said. When he saw the way Jet was looking at him he laughed. “I didn’t come up with that, Emily Dickinson did.”

“I love that,” Jet said. “I love Emily Dickinson.”

“My father doesn’t. He thinks she was depraved.”

“That’s just wrong.” This summer Jet had become a huge admirer of the poet. “She was a truly great writer.”

“I don’t understand many of the things my father believes. He makes no sense. For instance, he’d have my hide if he caught me talking to you.”

“Me?”

“You’re an Owens, aren’t you? That most certainly would not fly with him. He wishes the Owens family had disappeared long ago. Again, depraved.”

Perhaps it was this thought that made the two edge farther into the woods for some privacy. All of a sudden their discussion felt secret and important. The light fell through the leaves in green bands. They could hear the mourners singing “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”

“We’re related to Hawthorne,” the boy went on, “but I’ve never been allowed to read his books. I’m grounded for life if I do. Or at least while I’m in this town, which believe me will not be long. My father has all sorts of rules.”

“So does my mother!” Jet confided. “She says it’s for our protection.”

The boy smiled. “I’ve heard that one.”

He was called Levi Willard and he had big plans. He would attend divinity school, hopefully at Yale, then head to the West Coast, far from this town and his family and all their small-minded notions. By the time he’d walked Jet to Magnolia Street in the fading dusk, she knew more about him than she did most people. It was nearing the end of the summer and the crickets were calling. She suddenly realized she didn’t want the summer to end.

“This is where you live?” Levi said when they reached the house. “I’ve never been down this street before. Funny. I thought I knew every street in town.”

“We don’t really live here. We’re visiting for the summer. We have to go back to New York.”

“New York?” he said. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Then you should come! We can meet at the Metropolitan Museum. Right on the steps. It’s just around the corner from us.” She had already forgotten the pact she had made with her sister. Perhaps the world was open to them after all. Perhaps curses were only for those who believed in them.

“To friendship,” he said, shaking her hand with a solemn expression.

“To friendship,” she agreed, although for the longest time they didn’t let go of each other and she knew exactly what he was thinking—This must be fate—for that was what she was thinking as well.



The siblings packed up their suitcases. The summer was over. It had vanished and all at once the light falling through the trees was tinged with gold and the vines by the back fence were turning scarlet, always the first in town to do so. Vincent, bored and edgy, fed up with small-town life, was eager to throw his belongings into his backpack and sling his guitar over his shoulder. He’d been itching to return to Manhattan and get his life back on track. On the morning of their departure they had an early breakfast together. Rain was pouring down, rattling the green glass windows. Now that it was time to leave, they felt surprisingly nostalgic, as if their childhoods had ended along with their summer vacation.

Aunt Isabelle handed them their bus tickets. “You’ll have a good trip. Rain before seven, sun by eleven.” And sure enough the rain ceased while their aunt was speaking.

When Franny finished packing and went downstairs, Isabelle was waiting for her with two fresh pots of tea. Franny grinned. She knew this was a test. It was likely Vincent and Jet had already been assessed in the same manner, but Franny had always excelled at such things. She wasn’t afraid to make a choice.

“Let’s see what you’ll have,” their aunt said. “Courage or caution?”

“Courage, thank you.”

Isabelle poured a cup of an earthy fragrant mixture. “It contains all the herbs you’ve tended this summer.”

Franny finished one cup and asked for another. As it turned out, she was desperately thirsty. Her aunt poured from the second pot.

“Isn’t that caution?” Franny asked.

“Oh, they’re both the same. You were never going to choose caution. But take my advice. Don’t try to hide who you are, Franny. Always keep that in mind.”

“Or I’ll be turned into a rabbit?” Franny quipped.

Isabelle went to embrace her favorite niece. “Or you’ll be very unhappy.”



As they headed toward the bus station, doors and windows along the street snapped shut.

Good riddance was whispered. Go back to where you belong.

Jet straggled behind. She had felt at home in the garden on Magnolia Street, and even more at home whenever she met up with Levi Willard, whose very existence she kept to herself, a secret she hadn’t revealed to her brother and sister. They had the sight, but they hadn’t even bothered to look into what Jet was doing when she went out in the evenings. She said she was going to pick herbs, and they let it go at that. Their dear Jet, why would they even suspect her? Why would they guess she had learned something from Franny, and had thrown up a barrier inside her mind?