The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(27)

On these days Jet was often on her way to meet Levi, and Franny was her accomplice. Sisters were sisters, after all, and if they didn’t stick up for each other, who would? Their mother had continued to make matters difficult ever since Jet had gone missing. She had posted a sign-out sheet on the refrigerator, and every time the girls left the house they were to jot down their destination, time of arrival, and time of return. Foolishly, their mother trusted Vincent, who disappeared to Greenwich Village whenever he had the chance.

“Good luck fighting the power,” he’d say to the girls as he took off.

“Mother is not the power,” Franny would say.

“Well, she has power over you,” Vincent remarked, which they all knew was true enough.

On this particular day, Jet had until four o’clock. They said they were heading to the Museum of Modern Art to do research for term papers, but only Franny would be going. She had brought a camera along and planned to take photographs in the sculpture garden that she could have developed in case their mother demanded proof.

Levi was waiting at the Bethesda Fountain, beneath the Angel of the Waters statue, their favorite meeting place. The statue referred to the Gospel of St. John, and the angel carried a lily in her left hand, to bless and purify New York’s water. Each time Levi came to the city, he had to sneak away, traveling back and forth by bus in a single day, paying for his ticket with earnings saved from odd jobs. Today he had told his father he had an interview at Columbia University, allowed even though the Reverend disliked New York City and saw it as a place of crime and greed. It was Levi’s first lie and he stuttered when he told it, which made his father question him for nearly half an hour. Reverend Willard was firm in his beliefs and firmer still in his dislikes.

Jet had brought along The Scarlet Letter as a gift. She had signed it To Levi with great affection. It had taken her half an hour to decide what the dedication should be. Love was too much. In friendship, too little. Affection seemed perfect. At least for now.

“That’s our copy! Doesn’t he have his own books?” Franny groused.

“Not really,” Jet said.

“And doesn’t he have any other clothes?” Franny asked when they spied him.

“He was raised to be simple and kind.”

Franny laughed. “Are you sure you’re looking for simple?”

“Simple means he’s not self-indulgent. Just so you know, Levi happens to be brilliant.”

He was wearing his black suit and a scarf Jet had knitted for him. It was her first attempt, and quite uneven, but Levi had pronounced it a wonder. He had dark hair and his beautiful gray-green eyes lit up whenever he saw her. “Hey,” he cried. “There’s my girl.”

“Don’t forget to be at the museum at a quarter to four,” Franny called when Jet took off. “Keep track of time!”

Franny watched her sister disappear into the park with Levi. It was such a beautiful crisp day she didn’t know why she had a sinking feeling. Lewis had been following along, and now he called out with his harsh cry. He soared above the fountain, the first grand public artwork to be commissioned from a woman artist in the city of New York. Franny shielded her eyes from the thin sunlight to watch the crow perch on the angel’s hand. Below him, sitting on the rim of the fountain, was a man in a black suit paging through The Scarlet Letter, which had been forgotten and left behind. He wore a white shirt and a black tie and shoes so old it was evident that he favored simple things. When he came to the title page and saw the dedication, he didn’t need to read any further. He closed the book.



After his father’s discovery, Levi was no longer allowed to leave the house unless he was going directly to work or to school. The telephone was cut off, so it was impossible to reach him. Their copy of The Scarlet Letter was mailed back to Jet without a note, and the handwriting on the envelope clearly wasn’t Levi’s. Packed with the book were half a dozen nails.

“What on earth is this supposed to mean?” Jet said anxiously.

“It means his father is deranged,” Franny said.

She quickly gathered the nails and threw them into the trash. She knew from her readings at the library that witch-hunters believed a witch could be caught by nailing her steps to the ground to ensure that she couldn’t run. A witch’s powers were decreased when she was near metal; surround her with it and she would be helpless.

Luckily, Franny had also grabbed The Scarlet Letter. When it fell open in her hands she saw that someone had scrawled over Jet’s lovely inscription with thick black ink and written their own message.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Franny recognized the quote from Exodus, for it had been scrawled in the judge’s notes at Maria’s trial. It was the same quote that had been on the title page of The Discovery of Witches, written by Matthew Hopkins, the Witch-Finder General of England, in 1647, the man who was believed to be responsible for the deaths of three hundred women.

“I think April’s right,” Franny told her sister that night when they were both in bed.

Jet had been crying for hours, but Franny’s comment stunned her. Franny had never thought April to be right about anything. She sat up in bed. “You do?”

“You should stay away from Levi.”

Jet fell back into her pillow. “Oh, Franny.”

“Did you hear me?” Franny asked.