The Rules of Magic (26 page)

On their seventh day together Vincent fell silent, exhausted by sex and by his own fears, which now had grabbed hold of him and wouldn't let go.

“What's wrong?” William asked.

Vincent couldn't bring himself to speak of the curse or let the idea of it into the room with them, even though William would have understood in a way another man would not. He was a bloodline whose relative Matthew Grant had been tried for witchcraft and then acquitted in Windsor, Connecticut, before disappearing. There was no official record of William's ancestor after his trial, but there didn't need to be. He'd come to New York, where the family had settled on Long Island, and William had spent every summer at his family's house on the shore. He had an easy manner, but was direct and comfortable with himself. He'd been to Harvard, so he understood Massachusetts
as well, and he'd written his thesis on John Hathorne, the witch-finder and judge who had sentenced so many of their kind to death, and several of the classes he taught at the New School centered on outsider societies.

“Do you know your fate?” Vincent asked as they lay together, entwined.

“I know yours.” William laughed. “I told you when I met you.”

“To sing in Washington Square Park?”

William grinned. “To be mine.”

When Vincent went missing Franny was worried sick the first two days, furious over the next two days, and hurt every day that followed.

“He'll be back,” Jet insisted. “You know Vincent.”

Franny walked the dog, who continually pulled on his leash to the corner of Bleecker Street, then would stop, puzzled, refusing to walk on until Franny dragged him home. She wondered if her birthday wish had gone wrong, and had driven Vincent further away.

“You would know if something was wrong,” Jet assured her sister. “You still have the sight.”

At last Vincent phoned to say he was sorry to have been out of touch.

“Out of touch?” Franny had barely slept a wink since her brother had disappeared. “I was afraid you were murdered.”

“Worse,” Vincent told her. “I'm in love.”

“Very funny,” Franny said.

He'd had so many admirers and he'd never cared about a single
one. He laughed, understanding his sister's response. “This is different, kiddo.”

“You don't sound like yourself.” Franny was already looking for a canister of salt and some fresh rosemary to dispel whatever afflicted him.

“I am myself,” Vincent told her.

He gave her an address and told her to come see for herself. Franny packed up the ingredients she thought she might need, then leashed the dog and took off. Vincent's instructions were odd, however, and the streets unfamiliar. Finally she came to Conjure Street. It was dusk when she thought she saw Vincent on the stoop of an old town house, but Harry didn't bark to greet him and it was another man who waved to her. Franny approached, suspicious. The dog, on the other hand, went right to the stranger, who introduced himself as William Grant. Although he wasn't especially handsome he had charisma and even Franny was engaged by his manner.

“I'm meeting my brother here.” Franny was studying William more closely. His dark sensitive eyes, his intensity.

“I am as well.”

“Really?”

There had been so many people who'd been mad for Vincent; Franny assumed she'd simply come across one more admirer. She had persisted with her childhood task of watching over her brother. Every week she dropped a protection amulet into his jacket pocket, made of black cloth and bound by red thread, containing clove and blackthorn. Often, however, she found the amulets discarded in the street.

“And I'm here to meet you, too,” the fellow said. “Your brother was too shy to be here when we first spoke.”

“My brother? Shy? We're not talking about the same person.”

William laughed. “This is all very new to him.”

“But not to you?”

“Well it is if you mean falling in love.” When Franny didn't answer, it was William's turn to study her. “You can't be surprised. He thinks you knew before he did.”

She'd certainly known that Vincent had never been in love with a woman. That neighbor of their aunt's who had seduced him, the college girls, the waitresses, the fans of his music, all were meaningless. He rarely saw them more than once, and often couldn't remember their names. But William Grant was different. Franny knew it as soon as her brother came outside to join them. She could tell when he looked at William.

“So now you know,” Vincent said.

“I think I always knew,” Franny said.

“Well, then, now it's out in the open.”

“I'm sure you don't mind if we speak privately,” Franny said to William, taking her brother by the arm.

“Not at all.” They left William with the dog, who seemed perfectly content to be entrusted to this stranger.

“He has the sight,” Vincent protested as Franny directed him toward an alley. “There's no privately. It's
all
out in the open. You might as well speak in front of him.”

Her brother could be so irritating when he pretended to be dense. “You know you're not supposed to do this,” Franny said.

“Be with a man?”

“Fall in love!” They both laughed, then Franny's expression darkened. “Seriously, Vincent. The curse.”

“Oh, fuck it, Franny. Aren't you sick of being ruled by the
actions of people who are long dead? Maybe everyone is cursed. Maybe it's the human condition. Maybe it's what we want.”

Franny was truly worried. There was no one of whom she felt more protective. She thought of sitting beside his crib with a canister of salt, refusing to leave him after he'd been returned to them. She had seen a halo around him, the sign of a beautiful, but short, life. Franny had the salt with her now, but here he was with a grin on his face. And there was William Grant, watching them, concerned, clearly mad for her brother.

“Franny,” Vincent said. “Do not argue with me. Let me be who I am.”

As she threw her arms around him, she forgot about the salt and the rosemary and the curse and the ways fate could surprise you.

“Then I wish you happiness,” she said, for that was really all she'd ever wanted for him.

There was a crow on the lamppost on New Year's Day. They'd had a small dinner, stuffing a goose with Aunt Isabelle's recipe, which included chestnuts and oysters sure to inflame the erotic center of anyone who partook of the meal. Vincent and William took off after helping to wash up, laughing as they packed some of Vincent's belongings. He was so often at William's apartment it seemed he lived there. After he'd gone, Franny saw that he'd left
The Magus
at home, which she took to be a good sign. She went after it, thinking she would hide it under a loose floorboard in the kitchen, and perhaps Vincent would forget about it entirely. But when she went to grab the text, it burned her fingers. “Fine,” she said to the book. “As long as you leave him be.”

As Franny and Jet stored away the dishes, Jet noticed the crow in the yard. “Isn't that Lewis?”

Franny went to greet him, having not seen him in more than two years. When she held up her arms he came to light on her shoulder. No matter what anyone said about crows, there were indeed tears in his eyes.

“Is it Haylin?” Franny asked.

The crow rested his beak against her cheek and she knew that it was. She went inside and found the phone number of Dunster House.

The crow paced on the coffee table and kept an eye on her. Jet paced as well, as Franny did her best to get through to the school. It was a holiday, and Harvard was all but deserted. At last a custodian answered. As Franny wasn't a relative, he couldn't give out any information.

“Don't take no for an answer,” Jet urged. “Stand up for yourself.”

Franny pleaded with the custodian, who at last gave in, telling her that the student in question had been taken to Mass General Hospital.

“Of course you'll go,” Jet said. “There's no question about it.”

“But what if I ruin him?” Franny asked her sister. “Maybe I should stay.”

Franny had never before asked for her sister's advice and Jet was somewhat startled, especially because she had not been forthcoming about her own life. She had intended not to see Rafael again, but that's not how things turned out. They often met outside the hotel, then walked through the park. Jet read the papers he wrote for class, and later when he wrote a book about teaching kids who had been labeled unteachable he thanked
her in his dedication, although no one in his family had ever met her. She had not regretted a moment.

“Go,” Jet told Franny. “What's meant to happen will.”

Franny stored her toothbrush and an extra T-shirt in her backpack, then had Lewis climb into the cat's carrying case, for it was too miserable a night to fly such a long distance. She took a cab to Penn Station and bought a ticket on the first train to Boston.

The car was overcrowded, and Franny had to stand until they reached New Haven, when she could finally slide into an available seat. By then she had a deep sense of foreboding. The other passengers must have felt it as well; as crowded as the train was, no one would sit next to her.

When she got to Boston she let Lewis out of his case and he lit into the sky. She stopped at a shop outside South Station and bought a bag of jelly doughnuts, then took a taxi to Mass General. This time she knew she would be questioned about her relationship to the patient. When she said she was his sister, she was told that Hay had suffered from appendicitis. His roommate had found him curled up in a fetal position, teeth chattering, unable to respond, and had frantically called an ambulance. It was touch and go, the nurse divulged as she led Franny along the hall; they had feared septic shock and Haylin was still weak.

He was in a shared room, which meant Franny had to edge past the man in the bed closest the door. He was exceedingly old and she could tell he was dying. There was a dark circle tightening around him like a shroud, instant by instant. Franny paused to take his hand, and the old man clutched at her, grateful. “Are you here to see me?” he asked. “Will you say good-bye to me?”

“Of course,” Franny assured him.

Haylin had been dozing, but he rose up through his half sleep, brought fully awake by the sound of Franny's voice. He was pale and much thinner. There was the dark stubble of a beard on his face. The old man now soothed, Franny went on to Haylin's bed. She dumped her backpack on the floor and lay down beside him, careful not to disturb the IV tubing inserted into his vein. She circled her arms around him.

“Franny,” he said. “You came.”

“Of course,” she said.

“It's always been us,” Haylin said.

Franny told him how Lewis had come to the city to fetch her. “He's never really liked me,” she said. “He's always preferred you.”

“You're wrong,” Haylin told her. “He's crazy about you. I have a photograph of you on my desk and he sits there and stares at it, lovesick.” Hay chuckled, then clutched at his abdomen, in pain. Franny had brought along a protection spell. She tied a blue string that had been coated with lavender oil around Haylin's wrist, then kissed his open hand.

“Is this to bring me back to you?” he asked.

“It's to make you well.”

She delivered the bag of jelly doughnuts, which brought a grin to Haylin's face. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

Hay then launched into praising Cambridge, how much Franny would appreciate the narrow streets and the riverside. She could take a class or two at Radcliffe. They could get an apartment in Central Square. He had been taking extra courses, and planned to graduate a year early so they would have more
time to spend together. She submitted to this dream of happiness, but only briefly, until she gazed out the window. The crow was on the windowsill, watching, his head tilted. He knew what she was thinking. She was too afraid of the curse to ever place Haylin in danger. Franny slipped off the bed. It was too difficult to be near him. She poured Haylin a cup of water.