Page 66 of The Rules of Magic

But when Vincent imagined William no longer knowing him he found he could not proceed. What would he feel when they walked past each other on Bleecker Street and William gazed at him as though he were a stranger? What was this world without love?

As Vincent passed a sewer he tossed the magical ingredients down through the grate into the watery depths below the city. Then he took out the book that had been with him since he was fourteen. He went to Washington Square and left The Magus on a bench for the next person in need to find. It was wrenching to do this. He had so treasured the book; it had spoken to the darkness inside him, it had been his true voice when he’d had none. But that time was over, and what magic there was, was inside him.

Know yourself, Aunt Isabelle had told him. They had stood in the garden when he had been so lost. He hadn’t known how to reach the surface, all he knew was that he was drowning. Yet on the morning when his aunt tested him, he had chosen courage. So he walked on, to Charles Street, where William was waiting for him in his apartment, which overlooked the green plane trees and open sky right in the center of a city where anything was possible for those who were not afraid to try.

Before his appearance at Whitehall Street, Vincent called his sisters into the kitchen. “There’s something I need to say in case anything happens to me.”

“It won’t,” Jet assured him. “You’ll be fine.”

“But if something does happen,” Vincent went on, “you should know about me and April.”

Franny furrowed her brow. “Did you have an argument? I didn’t even know you were in touch with her.”

“No one can argue with April. She’s always right.” He paused. “We’re in touch on and off. We have to be.” When Franny gave him a look, he added, “Jet knows what I’m talking about.”

“Does she really?” Franny said, annoyed at having been left out. “She no longer has the sight, so you must have confided in her.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jet was quick to say.

“I didn’t confide in her,” Vincent told Franny. “April did. It happened the summer we first went to Aunt Isabelle’s. When I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. For a brief moment I thought I wanted April.”

“Seriously?” Franny shook her head. “That’s hard to picture.”

“Well, picture that it ended up with Regina.”

Franny was stunned. “Really?” She looked over at Jet.

“Really,” Jet said.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” Franny concluded. “That’s a gift. I thought you were going to tell us something terrible, but this is actually good news. I dislike children, but I liked her. I still have her drawing.”

“Franny, I’m telling you about this now in case the worst comes to pass. April and I decided that if we should both die early, we want Regina to be with you.”

Franny wouldn’t hear of it. “That’s a mistake. I wouldn’t be a good influence. Neither of us would be, really.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jet said primly.

“There’s no way out of it. April and I agreed on this some time ago. You’re Regina’s godmothers. You’ll be her guardians.”

They sat at the table and he brought forth the legal papers he’d had the family lawyer, Jonas Hardy, draw up. He’d already sent the document to April for signing, and now the sisters signed as well.

“This is all very official,” Franny said. “I happen to have something official as well, thanks to Haylin.”

She handed Vincent a note that he then scanned.

“I have asthma?” he said.

Jet handed him the vial they had prepared for him. “You do now.”

He explained to William that he had to go alone, but William wouldn’t hear of it. “I thought we were ruining our lives together.”

William hailed a taxi and they secretly held hands as they traveled downtown, and then on the corner of Whitehall Street, Vincent had the cabbie pull over. William was so honest and forthright, Vincent couldn’t share with him the plan his sisters had come up with. It was somewhat dangerous, and he knew William would disapprove of him putting himself at risk, which made Vincent love him all the more.

“You’re coming back,” William said, leaning in close. “I have the sight, too. I know we’ll be together.”

Vincent walked the rest of the way to the induction center. He had brought along the official letter written on the stationery of the chief pulmonologist at St. Vincent’s that stated that he had severe asthma and could not serve his country. The stationery was real, stolen from the chief’s desk while he was at lunch, but the letter itself was forgery, written by a resident whose last radical act had been to chain himself to a rack in the cafeteria of his high school. Vincent was wired and jumpy; he could barely stay seated when brought into the spare office of the MD who would examine him. He was such a good liar, the best of the best, so why was it that his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth? Why, when the doctor walked into the room, did he fall silent?

Franny and Jet had decided to go to the induction center to wait outside for Vincent. They both were as nervous as birds. “Fuck Richard Nixon,” Jet said.