Free The Rules of Magic by Alice Hoffman Page B

it. That’s not what love is.”
    â€œNo,” Jet said thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be.”
    â€œIt isn’t,” the boy assured her.
    â€œNo,” Jet said, feeling something strange come over her. She felt comforted by his calm, serious manner. “You’re right.”
    â€œUnable are the Loved to die, for Love is Immortality,” the boy said. When he saw the way Jet was looking at him he laughed. “I didn’t come up with that, Emily Dickinson did.”
    â€œI love that,” Jet said. “I love Emily Dickinson.”
    â€œMy father doesn’t. He thinks she was depraved.”
    â€œThat’s just wrong.” This summer Jet had become a huge admirer of the poet. “She was a truly great writer.”
    â€œI don’t understand many of the things my father believes. He makes no sense. For instance, he’d have my hide if he caught me talking to you.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYou’re an Owens, aren’t you? That most certainly would notfly with him. He wishes the Owens family had disappeared long ago. Again, depraved.”
    Perhaps it was this thought that made the two edge farther into the woods for some privacy. All of a sudden their discussion felt secret and important. The light fell through the leaves in green bands. They could hear the mourners singing “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”
    â€œWe’re related to Hawthorne,” the boy went on, “but I’ve never been allowed to read his books. I’m grounded for life if I do. Or at least while I’m in this town, which believe me will not be long. My father has all sorts of rules.”
    â€œSo does my mother!” Jet confided. “She says it’s for our protection.”
    The boy smiled. “I’ve heard that one.”
    He was called Levi Willard and he had big plans. He would attend divinity school, hopefully at Yale, then head to the West Coast, far from this town and his family and all their small-minded notions. By the time he’d walked Jet to Magnolia Street in the fading dusk, she knew more about him than she did most people. It was nearing the end of the summer and the crickets were calling. She suddenly realized she didn’t want the summer to end.
    â€œThis is where you live?” Levi said when they reached the house. “I’ve never been down this street before. Funny. I thought I knew every street in town.”
    â€œWe don’t really live here. We’re visiting for the summer. We have to go back to New York.”
    â€œNew York?” he said. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
    â€œThen you should come! We can meet at the Metropolitan Museum. Right on the steps. It’s just around the corner fromus.” She had already forgotten the pact she had made with her sister. Perhaps the world was open to them after all. Perhaps curses were only for those who believed in them.
    â€œTo friendship,” he said, shaking her hand with a solemn expression.
    â€œTo friendship,” she agreed, although for the longest time they didn’t let go of each other and she knew exactly what he was thinking— This must be fate —for that was what she was thinking as well.

    The siblings packed up their suitcases. The summer was over. It had vanished and all at once the light falling through the trees was tinged with gold and the vines by the back fence were turning scarlet, always the first in town to do so. Vincent, bored and edgy, fed up with small-town life, was eager to throw his belongings into his backpack and sling his guitar over his shoulder. He’d been itching to return to Manhattan and get his life back on track. On the morning of their departure they had an early breakfast together. Rain was pouring down, rattling the green glass windows. Now that it was time to leave, they felt surprisingly nostalgic, as if their childhoods had ended along with their summer vacation.
    Aunt