“I doubt I’ll have time for it,” Franny responded briskly. All the same, she was developing a soft spot for Ian. He was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders, as her Haylin had been and he liked to talk, a trait she’d always appreciated in a man. Why, Haylin wouldn’t stop talking for a minute; when they walked through town he would stop and speak to all of the neighbors they met, even the ones who were terrified of Franny. “You should write about those women who were never written about,” she told Ian.
Once again, he could see Franny as she’d been as a young woman. The long red hair, the freckles on her milky skin, the wide mouth set in a line when she was certain she knew the right thing to do. He’d felt quite empty now that he’d finished his book, adrift about what to do next.
“The lives of the witches in Essex,” he said, considering.
“Now you’re thinking,” Franny said. “Start with Cora. I’m sure she’ll manage to pay you back if you do.”
Ian leaned over and kissed Franny.
Gillian elbowed her sister, in shock. “Is he insane?”
“Possibly.” Sally waited for her aunt’s reaction.
To their surprise, Franny laughed. “It had better be good,” she told him.
“It will be. I’ll dedicate it to you.”
“Lord, no.”
Still, they could all see she was flattered. As for Franny, she noticed that Sally was staring, wide-eyed. Wake up, girl! Look at what is right in front of you. Is your heart beating too fast? Are you shaky when you see him and when you walk away? Well, that’s love all right, and it will still be there, even if you want to pretend it’s not.
Franny leaned in and kissed Ian’s cheek, then he was the one to laugh, and he bowed to her, as if she were a queen. Franny looked across the grass and nodded to Sally. You could live a little or you could live a lot.
Vincent walked around the house. No birds sang here, always a sign. He found the back door that was now all but covered with hedges, and made his way inside. He had often looked for sympathetic magic on the Lower East Side, the strong stuff that could intensify an enchantment. He recognized the wicked ingredients on the small kitchen table: black wax, pins, black thread, madder root, belladonna, the berries of lords and ladies, the heart of a dove, a strange white bone, ashes, a black candle. Vincent sat down and placed his hands on the table. Down paths, down roads, through the woods, through the village. And then nothing. The path he could see when he closed his eyes stopped in the woods.
Franny came looking for her brother. She sat across from him, her hands on the table, her fingers touching his, adding her power to his own. Take me wherever she might be, across the land or the water or out at sea. The table seemed to shudder, then it rose off the floor, faster than they expected, as if grateful for the release. They couldn’t hold on and could only watch as it hit the ceiling, sending bits of plaster fluttering down. Vincent stood to protect his sister, then brushed the dust from his coat. They’d been blocked by left-handed magic and the path turned to ash, making it clear Kylie could not be found this way.
When they went outside the thornbushes closed over the back door.
Sally and Gillian were waiting beside the lilac tree that had never flowered.
“I’d say she was here until this morning,” Vincent said. There was still a scrim of ash over the grass, and when he’d held his hand on the door it was still warm.
“Can you find her?” Sally asked her grandfather.
“When I left for France, no one could find me. The same thing is happening now. You can’t find someone who refuses to be found.”
“We can hope she seeks us out,” Franny added.
“That’s not enough.” Sally was firm. What if Kylie never looked for them?