Jesse Wilkie, who was still quite unwell, managed to call over to the next village where there was a proper police department and a hospital, asking for ambulances and immediate care to be sent for close to a dozen of those stricken, the oldest and youngest being the most affected, their hands and feet burning red.
Poultices were needed for Kylie as well, and when Sally and Franny went to fetch them, Sally looked around the crowded room and she realized that Ian was nowhere to be seen.
“Where would he be?” she asked Margaret.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t stop him. He’s never been one you can tell what to do,” Margaret said apologetically “He went to find Tom Lockland. In all honesty, he did it for you.”
“For me?” Sally said.
“Of course,” Margaret said. She gazed at Sally, a bit puzzled. “I thought you understood. It’s all for you.”
“You go,” Franny told her. “We’ll see to Kylie.”
Franny then did the oddest thing, she embraced Sally and held her near, which was not at all like her, then she backed away and gave her the slip of paper on which she’d written out one of Maria’s spells. She handed over a pair of scissors from the sewing kit and a straight razor from the shared bathroom on their floor. For every act of love there was always a sacrifice.
“Thank you for everything you did for us,” Sally said to Franny. “You saved us.”
In Franny’s opinion, it had been the other way around. Before Sally and Gillian arrived in Massachusetts, Franny had been sure she could never love anyone again. She’d been in mourning for her beloved Haylin and the girls had been in mourning for their parents. They had expected to dislike one another, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Franny saw how alike she and Sally were, fated to make many of the same mistakes. If she could wish anything for Sally, it would be that she could fall in love completely, holding nothing back. That was why Franny had her choose the short straw in the pub in Notting Hill.
Both were now somewhat mortified by their show of emotion, all the same, the protectiveness Franny long ago felt for Sally and Gillian when they’d arrived at Logan Airport had never dissipated. They were her little girls, born to her or not, and they always would be.
“That’s enough of that,” Franny said, backing away.
“It certainly is,” Sally agreed, blowing her nose on a napkin.
Gillian had come up wearing her jacket, ready to go. She shook the car keys Jesse had lent her. Like most people in town, Jesse believed in the power of the Unnamed Art. She’d taken three strands of yarn, and as her grandmother had instructed, twined them together into a bracelet while speaking a charm, and given it to Gillian, promising the band of thread would help to keep both Gillian and her sister from harm.
Sisters, hand in hand,
Poster over sea and land,
Thus do go about, about.
Thrice to thine,
And thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine.
“You don’t have to go,” Sally told her sister.
“Of course I’m going.”
There was no time to waste and, as Franny always said, everything worthwhile was dangerous. They walked out into the muddy, crimson street. Jesse’s old Vauxhall was parked under the tall hedges, and Gillian quickly got behind the wheel. Sally was about to slip into the passenger seat, when she saw Vincent approach. He’d been out walking, checking to see if any neighbors were in need of assistance. Walking was something he needed to do to clear his head and he had been thinking about the dread he’d had about Jet on the night of her death. It had taken this long, but he finally understood, and he gestured wildly for Sally. A key could be many things, but so could a lock. This one was Lockland, and Vincent was indeed the key. He knew what you had to give up to open the lock.