Page 67 of The Rules of Magic

“Agreed,” Franny said.

“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. He can’t go. I’ve always seen his life would end too early. It’s right there in the palm of his hand. We have to do everything we can to protect him.”

They’d given Vincent wolfsbane, grown in their tiny greenhouse. He’d been advised to consume it with great caution, for the herb was dangerous, and could affect the heart and lungs with lethal action, interfering with his breathing. Just a pinch, Franny had told him. We don’t want you to actually be dead. Unfortunately, his emotional good-bye with William had caused him to forget the vial in the backseat of the taxi, something he didn’t realize until he was already sitting in the doctor’s office.

His lungs seemed fine when the MD had him breathe in and out. “Clear as a bell,” he was told. “How long have you had the asthma?”

“At least five years,” Vincent said. Having been in a rush he didn’t bother to fully read the letter, which stated his asthma had begun at the age of ten.

“And what medications have you used?” the doctor asked.

“Various ones,” Vincent said. “Mostly organic.”

“But you don’t know the names of any of them?”

“You know, my sister takes care of my health. She’s the one who knows everything about my medications.”

“But your sister isn’t here, is she?” the doctor said.

Vincent waited in his underwear while the doctor went to confer. When he returned nearly half an hour later, a soldier in uniform accompanied him. The pulmonary specialist at St. Vincent’s Hospital had been phoned. He’d never heard of a Vincent Owens and the files at the hospital had no information about such a patient. Did Mr. Owens wish to recant his story? Or perhaps he’d prefer prison? Actually, Vincent said, he’d prefer a psychiatrist.

“Are you saying you’re mentally ill?” the doctor asked.

“That’s for others to decide,” Vincent responded, sick at heart but not seeing any other choice. He was desperate to get out of his service.

By now, hours had passed and Jet and Franny were freezing on the sidewalk. Men who had walked into Whitehall at the same time as Vincent had already left. They had no idea that their brother was being interviewed in the psychiatry department, where he explained that he was a homosexual, and that he couldn’t serve because he was also a wizard and he would do no harm to anyone if they tried to send him overseas.

Franny finally went inside at six that evening. Her footfalls echoed, for the building had emptied. It was a place of fate and the scent in the hall was that of fear and sorrow and courage. Outside, the sky was dark blue, threaded through with clouds. There was a chill in every breath you took. Jet stayed out on the street shivering. On this day she wished she still had the sight. She had developed a fear of crowds and stayed away from public spaces.

At the front desk, Franny was told there was no information. Her brother was no longer in the building and they were closing for the night.

“That’s not possible,” she declared. “I’ve been right outside waiting for him all day. If he had left I would have seen him.”

“Back entrance,” she was told, “used for expedited departures.”

The sisters and William were worried sick. It was as if Vincent had disappeared from the face of the earth. Franny went to the Jester to search for him, while William checked Washington Square and Jet stayed at home in case he should call.

“Maybe we should phone the police,” Jet said when they had all failed to find him.

William phoned his father, then came back with his report. “No police,” he said. “We just wait.”

The following week, an official letter finally arrived. The three sat around the kitchen table that had been in the family’s home, the one that had been tilted ever since Franny and Vincent first experimented with their powers. Jet was the one who finally opened the letter, and she read it aloud in a small voice that shook with emotion. Vincent had been examined and found to be psychotic and delusional. He had been admitted to Pilgrim State Hospital. There was no need to hear more. They needed a lawyer, and Franny called the only one she knew, Jonas Hardy in Boston, who had always handled the Owens family business. He would do the best he could, but once he acquired the hospital admission documents he conceded that getting Vincent released would be a problematic and lengthy process. Their brother had incriminated himself, signing a document that stated he was a homosexual and a wizard who had planned to defraud the U.S. government and avoid military service.

“First things first,” William said. “They won’t allow me to see him because I’m not family.” He turned to Franny. “You go. They’ll let you in.”

“Me?” Franny said.

“You’re straightforward and honest,” William insisted. “And you won’t burst into tears.”

“You’re right,” Jet agreed. “It has to be Franny.”

“When you come back, we’ll sit down with my father and put together a plan,” William said. “We’ll get him out.”

Franny took a cab to Long Island that same day. Before leaving she’d had to lock the dog in the bedroom and make sure the windows were shut, so Harry couldn’t leap out and search for Vincent. He’d been distressed ever since Vincent’s disappearance, pacing and whining and refusing to eat. “I’m going to find him,” Franny told the dog. “You just stay.”

It was a misty day, and the hospital was shrouded in fog. It was a dreadful looming place, built between two highways, made of brick, with the bleak look of an old factory. There was a great deal of fencing, and bars over the windows. The lights flickered and the hallways were painted a foreboding shade of green. Franny felt intimidated standing in the waiting room. She tasted metal, for this was a place that was dangerous, made of metal that diluted her power. There was no way anyone could make use of the sight here.