The Rules of Magic (13 page)

“You're home,” he said. “I was about to give up. No one was answering the phone. You seem to be avoiding me.”

Indeed it was true. She had hardly seen him since their return from the summer. Now she knew why she had been keeping her distance.

She took a step away from him. She'd turned pale as paper.

“Are you okay?” Hay was carrying an armful of college catalogs. They had already decided to apply to all of the same schools. They had a bet going; the winner would be the one who got into one of their top five choices: Harvard, Stanford, Berkeley, Brown, and the hometown favorite, Columbia.

“You didn't know it was going to be him?” Vincent smirked as he headed out. He didn't need the Clairvoyant Tea Aunt Isabelle concocted out of mugwort, thyme, yarrow, and rosemary. He didn't need Jet's empathy or Franny's curiosity. This one was obvious.

“Your brother's a funny guy,” Haylin said.

The crow flew across the living room to perch on a velvet armchair. He studied Haylin, and Haylin studied him back, duly impressed.

“You've got a pet?”

“You know that I don't believe in pets.” Franny collected the crow, then opened the window and set him on the railing.

“You're dumping him outside?” Haylin asked, bemused.

“He's a bird,” Franny said. “It won't hurt him.” Her heart was still pounding. This had to be wrong. Love?

Hay went to peer through the window. “Does he have a name?”

“Lewis.” Franny named him on the spot. She hadn't thought to call him anything before, other than hers.

Haylin laughed. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he said, quoting Lewis Carroll's unanswerable riddle in
Wonderland.

“Because a writing desk is a rest for pens and a raven is a pest for wrens? But he's not a raven.
Corvus brachyrhynchos.
The common crow.”

“He doesn't look common.”

Lewis was tapping on the glass.

Franny couldn't stop staring at Haylin. It had been there all along, whether she'd been aware of it or not. If she just held out it would likely pass. It had to pass. For his sake as much as for hers.

Franny had read in one of Aunt Isabelle's books that if you lit a match to a handful of snow and it melted quickly, the snow on the ground would soon disappear. By counting the knots on a lilac bush the number of cold spells could be predicted. Though the weather was chilly, the sisters escaped the house whenever they could. They liked to walk along the bridle path in the park, wearing high boots and heavy black coats. It was the season of migration and Franny stared longingly at the huge flocks passing overhead. She wished for freedom and here she was earthbound, worried about the petty concerns of human beings.

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.

“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.
”