The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(22)

“Whatever we did it didn’t quite work out,” Franny admitted. “I asked for flight.”

“You have to know how to ask for things,” Vincent told her. “The Magus says always be specific.”

When they reached Fifth Avenue, Jet stopped in her tracks. Even though the night was dark she could see what was before her. Her wish was entirely whole and absolutely perfect. She knew how to ask and had been very specific: Send me my true love. It was simple and there was no way for it to be misunderstood, and now there was Levi Willard, sitting on the steps of the museum. He was so handsome, it made no difference that he was wearing a threadbare black suit, a skinny black tie, and a scuffed pair of black shoes.

“Jet,” Franny said. “Are you all right?”

Jet had stopped breathing, but only for a moment “That’s him,” she said. “My wish.”

Franny spied the boy on the steps. When he stood to wave she narrowed her eyes. “Seriously? Him? What about the curse?”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe you should,” Franny said, thinking of all the funerals Jet had attended.

Jet took hold of her sister. “You have to cover for me.”

Franny looked at the boy on the steps and pursed her lips. “This might be too much for you,” she told her sister. “Sneaking into the house? Dealing with Mother if she does find out? And isn’t this what we said we’d stay away from? We made a vow.”

“Franny, please. I know I can do it. Isabelle tested me with the tea, too,” Jet said. “Did you think it was just you?”

Surprised, Franny asked, “Caution or courage?”

Jet smiled her beautiful smile. “Do you even have to ask? Who wouldn’t choose courage?”

“Go,” Franny said. “Before I change my mind.”

Vincent stood with his hands in his pockets, puzzled, as Jet ran down Fifth Avenue.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“Jet’s been keeping secrets.”

“Has she? Our Jet? Didn’t she choose caution?”

“Apparently not,” Franny said.

“Is this our Jet who never breaks a rule?”

They both thought it over. Jet was something of a mystery.

“And who’s he?” Vincent asked.

“I believe he’s her date.”

“Him? He looks like a funeral director.”

“It’s him, all right,” Franny said. “He’s the one.”



In the morning, they knew they were in trouble. Vincent and Franny were awakened early, summoned to the kitchen, where their parents awaited. Their mother and father were at the table, two cups of black coffee set out before them, bleary-eyed and grim, having been up all night. It was difficult to take them seriously, for they were still in their costumes. Sigmund and Marilyn. Their mother was smoking a cigarette even though she had quit several months earlier.

“Whatever it was,” Vincent was quick to say, “we didn’t do it.”

“Do you or do you not know where your sister is?” their father fumed.

Vincent and Franny exchanged a glance. Jet was missing?

“And what is this?” their mother asked.

There was a pool of melting butter in the butter dish, a sign that someone in the house was in love.

“Don’t look at me,” Vincent said.

“It’s nonsense anyway,” Franny added.

“Is it?” Susanna said.

“We’ve let you run riot for too long,” their father went on. “That trip to Massachusetts never should have happened. What a mistake!” He turned to their mother. “I told you it was a matter of genetics, and once again I was proven correct.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Franny was thinking of the boy in the black suit. She didn’t even know his name or where on earth he and Jet had disappeared to.

“The police?” Susanna said. “The last thing we want is to bring in the authorities. No. Your father is the one who deals with abnormalities.”

Disgusted by his parents’ reaction, Vincent began pulling on his boots in order to go look for his sister. “Jet is missing and that’s all you have to say? That we’re not normal?”

“That’s not what I said!” their mother insisted.

“It’s exactly what you said,” Franny remarked with a dark look. She went to collect her jacket so she might join Vincent in the search. Of course she blamed herself. She should never have agreed to cover for Jet. She’d gone so far as to stuff pillows under her sister’s quilt so it would appear she was home sleeping should their mother check in.

“Do not leave this house!” Dr. Burke-Owens demanded. “We’re already down one.”

Vincent and Franny ignored his command and went to the door. When it was thrown open, however, there was Jet on the threshold, hair in tangles, clearly out of breath, holding her shoes in her hand.

“You’re alive,” Vincent said. “That’s good.”

“You do realize that ‘Cover for me’ does not mean ‘I’ll stay out all night,’?” Franny hissed. Now that Jet was safe and sound Franny could allow herself to be furious.

“We lost track of time,” Jet explained. “We were everywhere. Places I’ve never been to before even though I’ve lived here all my life. The Empire State Building. The ferry around Manhattan. Afterward we walked along the Hudson until we wound up at a diner on Forty-Third Street. He’d never had a bagel before! He’d never heard of lox! Next time he wants to have Chinese food.”