The Rules of Magic

by Alice Hoffman

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Franny, must you have creatures around?” their mother said.

  “Yes, I must.” The crow flapped inside and made himself comfortable on a curtain rod.

  When they went to their room, the crow flapping after them, Jet was despondent. “She’s never loved our father.”

  “She loves him,” Franny said as she made a nest out of a sweater atop her bureau. “Just in her way.”

  Jet got into bed and pulled up the covers.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Franny said, getting into bed beside her. “Tell all.”

  “Mother hates Levi and she doesn’t even know him. I think she hates me, too.”

  “We don’t have to listen to her,” Franny said. “Or be like her. She definitely would have chosen caution.”

  Jet closed her eyes. “I won’t listen to her.”

  They lay there side by side, defiant, convinced that, if there were curses, then there must also be cures for every mortal plight.

  In November, April Owens came to New York, having told her exasperated parents that she’d been invited to visit her cousins, which was far from true. She had already spent what should have been her first freshman semester of college working in a coffee shop in the North End. She had been accepted to MIT, delighting her stupefied parents, who had no idea she was so intelligent, but had deferred because she felt she had other things to attend to. It was too exciting a time to be tied down to school. On the eighth of the month, Senator Kennedy from Massachusetts had won in the closest presidential election since 1916. Hatless and handsome, he had given people faith in the future when he gave his acceptance speech. I can assure you that every degree of mind and spirit that I possess will be devoted to the long-range interests of the United States and of the cause of freedom around the world.

  April came directly to the Owenses’ town house. She had a packet of lavender in her pocket, for luck.

  “Look who’s here!” Susanna Owens tried to sound cheerful when she opened the door, but her pose was a flop. In fact, she looked panic-stricken at the mere sight of her niece. She most certainly didn’t want the responsibility of overseeing this difficult girl, whose influence might lead her children to the brink.

  As for April, she was unreadable as she slipped inside the house, a Cheshire cat who had arrived with a single suitcase. She looked younger than she had in the summer, her white-blond hair pulled into one long braid, her face free from makeup. She was dressed in black, with knee high lace-up boots.

  “Surprise, surprise,” April said. She turned to Jet, whom she considered a pal. “Although I’ll bet you knew I’d be here.”

  The family turned to Jet. “What is that supposed to mean?” Dr. Burke-Owens said, always looking for a neurosis to pin down. “Are you and April in cahoots?”

  “It doesn’t mean a thing,” Jet said, doing her best to skirt the issue. When she and April exchanged glances, she was glad she’d said nothing and was stunned to read her cousin’s thoughts. April did have something of a cluttered mind. Certainly, it couldn’t be this.

  “You can read me like a book,” April assured her cousin. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Jet?” Susanna said with alarm. Since the incident with that boy, she had taken to checking her daughters’ room every night, and she made sure to pick up the extension should Jet receive a phone call—which only caused Jet to be very adept at quickly hanging up.

  Now Jet gazed at the floor and refused to respond. She never divulged privileged information, hers or anyone else’s, though she knew why April had come. If their cousin wished to make a scene, so be it.

  “It’s silence, is it?” Susanna said. “Well, then April can stay the night but she’ll leave in the morning.”

  “You’re kicking me out? Just like that?” April shook her head in disbelief.

  “Your parents will want you to come home,” Susanna said. “I’ll phone them.”

  “If anyone understands wanting to escape Boston it should be you. From what I’ve heard, we’re two peas in a pod. Difficult to control. I heard you were sent to two different boarding schools, and that when you went to Paris you turned your back on who you were.”

  Susanna’s fierce distaste for this annoying girl was evident. “My dear, you are young,” she said coolly. “Therefore I’ll excuse your rude manner. You may stay through breakfast.”

  The sisters made up the spare room for their cousin. It was a cramped, chilly space with a single bed. Years ago, another family’s cook had resided here, and had cried herself to sleep every night. It was still possible to see tearstains on the floor.

  “Where’s Henry?” Jet asked.

  “My parents killed him, of course. They said he got into the rat poison, but I’ll never believe that.”

  April lay down on the bed, weary, one arm flung over her eyes. As it turned out, she was not immune from rejection.

  “Your mother hates me,” she said.

  “Our mother is too well bred to hate,” Franny said. “She disapproves.”

  The crow found his way to the room and let out a shrill caw.

  April opened her eyes. “You have a familiar,” she said to Franny. “And your parents haven’t killed him yet?”

  “He’s not a familiar,” Franny said. “He’s a foundling.”

  “Fine,” April said. “Tell yourself that.” She gazed down the hallway, then turned to Jet. “Where’s your brother? Out raising hell?”

  “Guitar lessons,” Jet said. “He’s quite serious about it.”

  “I suppose he has time for hell later on.” In an attempt to rally, April sat up and gazed in the mirror. She unbraided her pale hair and dabbed on some lipstick. The sisters exchanged a look, for unless they were mistaken, their cousin’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  “April, I’m sorry,” Jet said.

  “Why on earth should you be sorry?” Franny asked her sister. “She’s the one who arrived here without an invitation.”

  Instead of the smart talk they were used to from April, their cousin cried for a moment, then pulled herself together.

  “Do you need some water?” Franny said, touched by the sight of her adversary in tears.

  April shook her head. “Did your mother warn you not to fall in love?” she asked the sisters. “Did she say it would ruin you? Because it’s common knowledge that she ran off to Paris with some Frenchman she was mad for, but he had some sort of accident, and that was that was that. She can be cautious now if that’s what she wants, but as far as I can tell, love is like a train that will keep going at full speed whether you like it or not, so you may as well enjoy the ride. If you try to avoid it, you’ll just make everything worse. What’s meant to happen will.” She looked at Jet more closely. “Congratulations. I can see it’s already happened. I hope he’s worthy. Who is he?”

  “Levi Willard,” Jet said.

  April looked stricken. “That’s a bad idea.”

  Franny was quick to defend her sister. “I don’t see how this is your business.”

  “Well it is and it’s your business, too. The Willards despise our family. There’s some sort of feud. It’s been going on for hundreds of years. It has something to do with the curse.”

  The sisters looked at her blankly.

  “Don’t you get it?” April said. “He’s part of the secret.”

  “I doubt that,” Franny said.

  “You can doubt all you want.” She turned to Jet. “Have you met the Reverend?”

  “Not yet,” Jet admitted.

  “You probably never will. He’ll refuse to be in the same room. He’s not too well bred to hate us. I wandered into his garden during my first visit to Aunt Isabelle’s and he came out and poured salt on the ground, as if I had contaminated the place. Our aunt went over there, and I received a letter of apology in the mail, but his garden died right after that; maybe it was a lack of rain or maybe it was our aunt, I don’t know. I just know none of this bodes well for a happy future for you and Levi W
illard.”

  “Things change,” Jet said bravely.

  “Do they?” April had begun to unpack. Along with her clothes, she’d brought several candles. “Aunt Isabelle always says that every guest should bring a gift when visiting. Even if that guest is unwanted.” She handed a red candle to Franny and a white one to Jet. “If you wish to see who your true love is, prick two silver pins into the wax. When the candle burns down to the second pin your beloved will arrive. Works every time.”

  “No thank you. I already know my true love,” Jet said stubbornly.

  “I have zero interest in games like this,” Franny informed their cousin.

  “She believes in logic and empirical evidence,” Jet informed April.

  “So do I,” April said. “I’m the scientist here. I’ve been studying arachnids in my spare time. Especially those that murder their mates after reproducing. I feel it will give me insight into the odds we Owens women have.”

  “If you plan on calling yourself a scientist you should be aware that odds don’t matter. The natural world defies statistics.”

  “Does it?” April made a face that showed she disagreed. “I think the genetic realities of our family are quite obvious. It’s in our blood.” She took out a last candle for Vincent.

  “He won’t be interested,” Franny said with assurance.

  “You never know,” April said.

  “Yes I do,” Franny insisted.

  As usual, Vincent came home late. He peered into the sisters’ room to find Jet asleep and Franny in bed reading a book concerning the migration of owls. Even from a distance, Vincent stank of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “Let me guess,” Franny said. “You were at a bar.”

  Vincent sat on the edge of the bed. “Dad said April is here.”

  “You spoke to Dad?” They both laughed. Conversations with their father were rare. “She’s leaving after breakfast,” Franny reported. “Thankfully.”

  “She’s not so bad,” Vincent said.

  “Oh, please.”

  “She’s actually sort of vulnerable.”

  “Hard to believe. She seems perfectly capable and extremely full of herself. By the way, she brought you a gift.”

  Vincent frowned. “Did she?”

  Franny gestured to a black candle on her desk. “She says it will show you your true love.”

  Vincent pitched the candle into a trash can. “Not interested.”

  “Exactly as I thought.” Franny nodded. “I know you too well.”

  “Mind if I sleep on the floor?” Vincent was far from sober, and before Franny could answer he sprawled out on the white carpet, where he snored gently through the rest of the night.

  In the morning, when Franny went to the spare room, April was gone. She hadn’t bothered to wait for breakfast. She hadn’t said good-bye. All that remained of their cousin were a few pale hairs on her pillow and a note. Thanks for nothing.

  Franny sat on the bed, which was still faintly warm. She felt guilty and ashamed. After all, they shared the same bloodline. Franny asked the dresser drawer to open, which it quickly did. There was the red candle. Franny placed it on the night table. She closed her eyes and willed it away. It fell onto the floor and rolled toward the door.

  Vincent had come to the threshold of the room. He picked up the candle. “You’ve been practicing,” he said admiringly.

  “I don’t have to practice,” Franny responded. “None of us do. April was right. It’s in our blood.”

  “Where is April?” Vincent asked, puzzled by the empty room.

  “Do you care?” Franny asked.

  “Somewhat,” he admitted.

  “Well, somewhat isn’t enough. We weren’t nice to her so she left.”

  “I was always nice to her. Wasn’t I?”

  “No,” Franny said bluntly. “You were dismissive.”

  “Is that another word for cruel?” Vincent seemed remorseful.

  “Of course not,” Franny assured her brother. It was difficult to speak to someone who was avoiding the truth. “You’re just interested in other things.”

  “Am I?” Vincent said.

  Franny had decided to go forward with the love-divining spell to prove that love was out of the question for her. Stick two silver pins into a candle. When the candle burns down to the second pin your beloved will appear. Surely no one would arrive. She went and fetched two straight pins from their mother’s sewing basket.

  “This is dangerous,” Vincent told her. “Love is easy to find, but not so easy to get rid of.” As he well knew from his summer fling, which had soured so quickly.

  Jet wandered into the room as Franny was lighting the candle. They could still find each other, no matter where they were, just as they had when they were children whose skills made it impossible to play hide-and-seek.

  “If you’re so good at reading people, what was up with April?” Franny asked her sister.

  Jet flushed slightly. “Don’t know.”

  “Look at her!” Vincent pointed to Jet. “She can’t tell a lie for the life of her.”

  “No,” Franny said warmly. “The best liar award goes to Mr. Vincent Owens, Esquire.”

  “Gratefully acknowledged and accepted.” Vincent bowed deeply.

  There was a knock at the front door. Without them noticing, the candle had burned down to the second pin.

  “All I know is that I threw my candle away,” Vincent reminded them. “It’s for one of you.”

  Franny and Jet stared at each other. “It’s probably for you,” Franny said.

  “I didn’t light my candle. I can’t have Levi appearing at our door. You go,” she told her sister.

  Franny went, her unwilling heart slamming against her chest. She was convinced that she was the last one love would ever come to. She wasn’t made for such things. She wanted flight and freedom and would prefer to live among the birds, pitching a tent in Central Park and having nothing to do with humankind. Surely the caller was the mailman or one of her father’s misdirected patients who had come to the wrong door.

  The crow came to light on the molding of the door. “Make whoever it is go away,” Franny told the crow. The bird was supposed to be her soul mate, wasn’t he? But rather than help, he lifted off and winged to his favorite perch above the drapes, eyeing her with a knowing look.

  The knock came again.

  Vincent approached, carrying his guitar case. He’d begun to attend concerts at the Riverside Church on Sunday afternoons and had been caught up in folk music. He wore cowboy boots now, old dusty ones found at a secondhand store. He’d bought a fringed suede vest at some godforsaken thrift store on the Bowery.

  “Don’t open the door,” Franny told him.

  “I have a lesson and I’m late. This is something you’ll have to handle, kiddo.”

  Vincent flashed his glorious grin, an expression that always meant trouble, either for him or for someone else. This time that someone was Franny. Vincent swung the door open before she could stop him. There was Haylin, leaning on the wall.

  “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 acros
s 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.