The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(28)

“Yes,” Jet said, no longer in tears and more determined than Franny might have imagined. “I heard you. And I wish I hadn’t.”



She went to Vincent for help. A rebel could only depend on another rebel. She trailed him to the Jester, getting on the Fifth Avenue bus, then walking half a block behind him. She was amused that he didn’t have a clue that he was being followed until she slid into the booth beside him. She had thrown up an invisibility shield that had clearly worked.

“Good God, Jet,” he said, “what do you think you’re doing? This is not your kind of place.” All the same, he called for two beers. If his sister was going to be here, she might as well drink.

Jet placed a letter on the table.

“Let me guess. For Levi?”

“Just this once,” Jet said.

“Yeah, I think that’s what you always say. How do you propose I get it to him?”

Jet took a bus ticket from her purse.

“Massachusetts.” Vincent nodded. “You seem to have it all covered.” He was actually impressed. “And what do I tell the parents?”

Jet had a copy of the school newspaper. The Starling Band had been invited to play at a prep school north of Boston.

“I’ve joined the band?” Vincent said.

“Yesterday,” Jet told him.

“I’m very clever,” Vincent said. “Aren’t I?”

“The music teacher said he’d been trying to get you to join for ages. He’s delighted.”

“Do I actually have to play?”

“There’s a concert in the morning. Then you take a taxi and wait for Levi outside of his school at three.”

“And if his father is there waiting, too? Have you factored in that possibility?”

Jet took a sip of the beer Vincent had ordered. “Then you use The Magus.”



He recognized Levi right away. The white shirt, the dark hair, his serious demeanor as he made his way down the steps of the high school. He went right past Vincent, in a hurry. Vincent rose to his feet and took off running to catch up with him.

“Hey, Levi. Slow down.”

Levi threw him a puzzled look. “I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, well I know you. Slow the fuck down.”

“I have to get to work.” Levi had slowed his pace. “Over at the pharmacy.” He looked at Vincent more closely. “Did you want something?”

“No. But you do.” Vincent took out the letter. “From my sister.”

Levi grabbed the letter and tore it open, reading it hungrily.

Vincent gazed around. “Your father’s not here, is he?”

“What? No.” Levi went on reading. “You’re supposed to give me twenty dollars.”

“I am?”

“Sorry. I wouldn’t ordinarily agree to this, but my father puts all of my earnings into a bank account I can’t access. I need money for the bus to New York.”

Vincent gave him the twenty. “You don’t think you might be looking for trouble?”

Levi thanked Vincent for the loan, but laughed at the question. “Life is trouble, brother. You’ve got to fight for what you want.”

They shook hands. Vincent didn’t know what to think. He saw in Levi something he’d never felt himself. This was what love looked like. This was what it could do to you. Vincent found himself walking to Magnolia Street. It had begun to rain, and so he ran. He wondered if he would ever feel that someone was worth fighting for, if there would ever be a person who would make him stand up and take a chance and have the courage to be reckless.

Isabelle wasn’t surprised to see him. When she gave him tea and a piece of pie, he realized he was starving. He explained that he had been in the school band, but had quit once their performance was over.

“I take it you’re not staying.” Isabelle had noticed he had nothing with him but a jacket.

“The school reserved hotel rooms. I only came to deliver a letter for Jet.” It was impossible to tell a lie to their aunt.

“Levi Willard,” Isabelle said. “I used to see them walking together last summer.”

“Apparently, his father hates us.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Isabelle gestured for Vincent to lift up his left foot. She took his heavy black boot in her hand and examined the sole. There was a nail through it.

“Think again,” Isabelle said. “He knew you were here. He left out nails.”

Vincent fiddled with the nail, his face furrowed. “I can’t get it out.”

“Of course not. This is the sort witch-hunters use.”

Isabelle took a small vial from a shelf. Rosemary oil infused with holly and hyssop. She dabbed some on the nail and uttered an oath. This cannot harm you on this day. When you walk, you walk away. When you return, all of your enemies will burn.

“What happened between our families?” Vincent asked.

“Family,” Isabelle corrected.

Now he was thoroughly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say.”

“We’re related?”

“Charlie is here,” Isabelle said.

A battered station wagon had pulled up at the gate. None of the local taxi services would come to Magnolia Street, therefore Isabelle had called Charlie Merrill, the handyman, to give Vincent a ride back to the hotel where the band was staying.