Page 88 of The Book of Magic

“There’s a trust for the house, as I said, and another trust will continue to support the library. As for Bridget Owens’s personal belongings, your aunt wanted everything to go to your mother and your aunt Gillian, except for her personal library, which is to be sent to Rafael Correa. She also left him a packet of letters that can be found in her night-table drawer. If you deliver them to me, I’ll have them sent on.”

Antonia was baffled. “Who is Rafael Correa?”

“Apparently someone she was quite close to. I suspect they were separated by the curse.”

“There is no curse,” Antonia was quick to say. She wondered if this Rafael Correa was the handsome older man she and Kylie had spotted lingering around the edges of the funeral and the luncheon afterward, leaving with the little lost dog Jet had brought home.

“I’m just repeating what my grandfather told me.” Ariel clearly meant no offense, but when she had information, she felt it only right to share it with a client. “Maria was said to be a witch.”

“There are no witches,” Antonia said. “Only people who want to burn them.”

Ariel grinned and handed over a small tarnished key. “Although you might want to see Maria Owens’s papers. They’re in a locked box in the basement. As far as I know no one’s gone through them, but you’re welcome to take a look.”

“Maybe another time.” As in never. Antonia’s entire life had been based on science and logic and the notion of a curse was preposterous. Yes, she knew her aunts made remedies and teas, and that her aunt Gillian believed in amulets and enchantments, but they certainly didn’t call down curses and deal with the Black Art. Antonia slipped the key into her purse, where it fell among other items she would likely never use: throat lozenges, paper clips, pens that no longer worked. Her hand still felt oddly hot and she found she was quite dizzy, which anyone in her condition might be. At this hour of the day she often had a snack to keep her energy up. “Do you have any fruit?” she asked.

“Of course.” There were some plums and bananas in a ceramic bowl, which the attorney offered Antonia. “I’m sure the curse is just a story.” Ariel laughed. “I mean, do you feel cursed?” Their eyes met then. Big mistake.

Antonia devoured a plum, but she was still starving. She was shaking as a matter of fact.

“Do you want me to order sandwiches?” Ariel asked. “There’s a place around the corner.”

“Yes.” Antonia no longer had the urge to leave. “Cheese is fine. No mayonnaise. No mustard. Lettuce, but make sure they wash it and double the tomatoes. Pickles would be great.”

“Perfect,” Ariel Hardy said, although she didn’t move to make the call.

The baby kicked Antonia without warning, swiftly bringing her back to the here and now. The Reverend was right. You didn’t know if you had the ability for some things until they happened to you. You could surprise yourself with what emerged from inside yourself. It now occurred to Antonia that perhaps she herself was the woman in her dreams who was drowning, the figure with red hair, her white blouse floating out all around her, going under fast. Antonia sat back in the leather chair, her head swimming, her carefully planned future utterly disrupted. She made certain to bite her tongue. She was usually too quick to give her opinions and now it seemed as if it might be best for her to be quiet for once in her life. Everything was the same and everything was different. It was then she knew what her current situation was. This is what happened when you fell in love.

IV.

The professor’s office was in Notting Hill, just off Westbourne Grove, at the end of Rosehart Mews. It was easy enough to miss, and meant to be so, as Ian Wright didn’t wish to be disturbed when he was writing, and he was always writing.

There was an indistinct pentagram formed of gray bricks set into the cobblestone, but the image was faded and the stones were old. Anyone who didn’t take careful notice could easily miss the address, for there was no number marking it, only the faint star that disappeared on those rare occasions when snow drifted down, but which stood out in the rain, for it was darker when wet, gleaming and nearly black. Sally spotted the sign in the window right away, but of course she was looking for it. Control and removal of black magic.

The front door, painted black, opened from left to right. There were bells above the threshold, but they were rusted and the jangle they made was more of a cough than a chime. It was just Sally’s luck to be the one who must beg for assistance, exposing her broken heart to a stranger. They’d begun the afternoon in London at the pub at the crossroads, a cozy place called the White Bull. Franny had insisted they draw straws to decide who would approach the professor. The Owenses were no good at asking for help, it was not in their nature, and no one wanted the task of seeking it out. Sally had won the draw, which, in her opinion, meant she had lost. She was frustrated, but it was fate that she should be the chosen one. Her daughter was missing and it was her responsibility to find Kylie. She had no choice and set off for the mews, despite her anxiety about approaching an alleged expert on left-handed magic.

“You made that happen,” Vincent declared to his sister once Sally had gone.

Gillian had gone up to the bar to order sandwiches and drinks and was out of earshot. The pouring rain outside had stopped, but everything was damp, the streets flooding with murky puddles. The usually busy neighborhood was all but deserted as it was just past the lunch hour. People had taken shelter and stayed where they were in case another round of rain struck, as was predicted. So much the better in order to pick up one another’s thoughts. Vincent grinned. He had distinctly sensed a silent incantation for luck emanating from Franny’s direction when it had been Sally’s turn to pluck a straw. He’d seen his sister’s lips move as she whispered, and he’d known Sally would choose the short stick.

“I don’t know what makes you say that.” Franny took her brother’s hand, feeling fortunate to have him near. How had they managed to get so old? And yet, some things remained the same. She flicked her gaze over a man at the bar who was staring at Vincent, nearly swooning, though he was more than twenty years younger. It still happened, just as it had when they were young. People fell head over heels for Vincent and he didn’t even notice. How had he managed to remain so handsome? Franny supposed that wasn’t due to magic. It was simply who he was.

“I know you,” Vincent scolded Franny. “Nothing’s done by accident.”

“Do you think I can control a damned thing in this world?”

“I believe you can. Every now and then.” Vincent felt his deep love for his sister. She’d always been the one to rescue him when they were young. “I’ve always believed in you.”

Franny lowered her gaze so that he wouldn’t see the sting of tears in her eyes, as if she could trick him. She, who was known for her cool demeanor, had somehow become a person at the mercy of her emotions, which was not like her at all. Or at least it hadn’t been. The transformation had begun with Jet’s passing, and now she blamed Vincent for her complete undoing. Ever since spying him on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, her love for him had opened her heart. All the same, she rapped his hand as if he was still the wild, fearless boy who had never adhered to any rules. Still, it was no mistake that Sally would be the one to leave them behind. Franny knew that something awaited Sally if she went to seek out the professor. Something unexpected and rare. Something that happened only if a person followed her fate.

“Hush,” Franny told her brother. “It’s my last good deed.”

“You!” Vincent laughed. “Doing good? That’s rich.”

Gillian finally returned with three glasses of port and some chicken salad and tomato sandwiches. She’d enchanted the bartender without trying, having inherited a fair share of Vincent’s magnetism. “On me,” the bartender had told her, but she knew what he meant. I’ve fallen for you in an instant, I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I’ll leave my wife, my job, my home. It was the Owens charm. Some of them had it in overabundance, while others, such as Sally, hid their inner light. Gillian had always been a firefly, drawing men to her when she was young, and trouble along with it. By now she was used to rejecting men’s overtures. She grinned and said, “Taken.”

“Lucky bastard,” the bartender said gloomily about whoever had her hand.

Gillian wasn’t so certain of that. Ben expended considerable energy trying to make her happy, hiding their marriage, living apart, but it was a thankless task when only one thing could make her happy, the arrival of a child, and there seemed no magic strong enough for that.