“Seriously. Tell me. What am I thinking right now?”
Jet paused. She gathered her long, black hair in one hand and pursed her lips. Since coming to Massachusetts she had grown more beautiful each day. “You’re thinking we’re not like other people.”
“Well, I’ve always thought that.” Franny laughed, relieved that was all her sister had picked up. “That’s nothing new.”
Later, when Jet went out into the garden, she stood beneath the lilacs with their dusky heart-shaped leaves. Everything smelled like mint and regret.
I wish we were like other people.
That was what Franny had been thinking.
Oh, how I wish we could fall in love.
One bright Sunday the sisters awoke to find a third girl in their room. Their cousin April Owens had come to visit. April had been raised in the rarefied world of Beacon Hill. With her platinum blond hair pulled into waist-length braids, and the palest of pale gray eyes, she looked like a painting from an earlier era, yet she was oddly modern in her demeanor. For one thing, she carried a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter, and she wore black eyeliner. She was bitter and fierce and she didn’t give a hoot about anyone’s opinions other than her own. Strangest of all, she kept a pet ferret on a leash; it ambled beside her, instantly making her far more interesting than any other girl they’d met.
“Cat got your tongue?” she said as the sisters stared at her mutely.
“Most certainly not,” Franny said, snapping out of her reverie. “If anything I’d have the cat’s tongue.”
“Well, meow,” April purred.
April had visited this house last summer when she’d turned seventeen, and now she’d run off from Beacon Hill and come back to the one place she’d been accepted. Her presence was an unexpected surprise and, in Franny’s opinion, completely unnecessary. April dressed as if ready for Paris or London rather than a small New England town. She wore a short black skirt, a filmy blouse, and white leather boots. She had on pearly pink lipstick, and her long pale hair had a thick fringe that nearly covered her eyes. She’d begun to unpack: chic clothes, makeup, several candles, and a battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which had been banned and had only recently been published in America.
“I’d love to read that,” Jet said when she saw the racy novel everyone was talking about.
April tossed her cousin the book. “Don’t get corrupted,” she said with a grin.
Their cousin was clearly far more sophisticated than they. She was a wild child, doing as she pleased, refusing to be constrained by the social mores of Beacon Hill. There was a blue star tattooed on her wrist that had caused her to be grounded for several months. She had another on her hip, but that one hadn’t yet been detected by her prying, fretful parents. Ever since childhood she’d rarely been out of eyeshot of a nanny, a tutor, or Mary, the long-suffering housemaid, whose hair had turned gray as she dutifully did her best to keep up with her charge’s shenanigans. According to Dr. Burke-Owens’s theories, such ingrained behavior couldn’t be stopped; it was like a tide, rising to flood-like proportions despite anything placed in its way.
April had been to several private schools and each time had been asked to leave. She didn’t believe in authority and was a born radical. She told the girls that she could turn lights on and off at will and recite curses in four languages. She had been sent on trips to Europe and South America and had learned things from the men she met that would have made her parents woozy with anxiety had they known about her exploits. She seemed to have no fear of consequences, or perhaps it was only that Aunt Isabelle had allowed her to see her fate and she knew there was no way to avoid her future. She would fall in love once, and with the wrong man, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.
“I hope you’ve had some fun while you’ve been here,” April said to the sisters. “Isabelle doesn’t care what we do. You’re entitled to enjoy yourself, you know, and you might as well do so now, because it will most likely end badly for all of us.”
April was such a know-it-all Franny couldn’t stand her. “Speak for yourself,” she said with a scowl.
“We’ve had a grand time here,” Jet offered in an effort to change the subject. “We’ve been swimming at the lake almost every day.”
“Swimming!” April rolled her eyes. “No curses? No spells? Have you even looked in the greenhouse?” When they stared at her, she was exasperated. “This is pathetic. You’re wasting your time. There’s so much you could learn from Isabelle and you’re blowing it by being children.”
“We are not children.” Franny stood up. The lamp beside her bed rattled and came perilously close to the edge of the table. At six feet, with her blood-red hair curling with anger, she was enough of a presence so that even April took heed.
“No offense,” April backtracked. “I’m just telling it like it is.” She lit a fragrant sage candle and began tossing her belongings onto a chair in a jumble of socks and bras and teeny Mary Quant outfits she’d bought on a trip to London. Jet picked up one of the lovely shirts and examined it as if it were a treasure.
“I imagine you’ve heard about the Owens family curse,” April said. She sat on the bed and made herself comfortable, with the ferret immediately falling asleep in her lap.
“Curse? That sounds dreadful,” Jet said.
“Oh, Jet, you can’t believe anything she says,” Franny warned. She’d kept Maria’s writings to herself so as not to upset her sensitive sister.
“Well you should,” April responded. “We have to be careful or we can ruin ourselves and the other person. The other person will fare far worse. It’s always been this way, so take my advice and don’t bother falling in love.”
April continued to pat her ferret, which she referred to as her familiar, implying he was more of a soul mate than a pet. Such things occurred when creatures of different species were drawn to one another and were so intimate in their relationship they could read each other’s minds.
“He knows what you’re thinking,” she assured her wide-eyed cousins.
“Unlikely,” Franny responded. There was no scientific proof to suggest such a thing was possible.
“Well, he just let me know you pretend to have no feelings but you really care much more than you let on. I agree with him.”
“You’re both wrong.” Franny sulked, though she worried that she had somehow revealed her innermost self to a member of the weasel family.
“Well, wrong or right, my parents plan to kill Henry,” April said matter-of-factly. The ferret was surprisingly docile with bright, unblinking eyes, reminiscent of April’s. “They think we have an unhealthy relationship. If they ever dare to do so, I plan to get back at them any way I can. I suggest you do the same when the need arises. Our parents want to keep us locked up. Remember, it’s us against them. In fact, don’t trust anyone.”
“Not anyone?” Jet said, distraught.
April studied her cousins, shaking her head. They clearly knew nothing.
“There are people in this world who wish us harm. Especially in this town. It’s been that way since the 1600s.” April sprawled back and made herself comfortable. “I’ll need to have one of the beds. Bad back. Ballet accident. Who gets to sleep on the floor?” she said with the authority of one who had been a guest the summer before. “And I get all of the down pillows.”