Practical Magic
"Magic is very dangerous. It is a gift, but it requires great skill and great care. Never forget that, Jeanie."
Jean looked up at her Aunt Nell with big turquoise eyes and nodded her head, heeding the warning. She knew that magic had killed her father, and the pain of losing him had caused her mother to die of a broken heart. Which left Jean in the care of her aunts.
Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes. "You needn't be so melodramatic, Nell. Jean, you are going to be a great witch. You have more power in your little finger than most other witches could ever dream of. We'll teach you, and you'll learn."
And that's just what they did. Jean voraciously read every book her nine-year-old mind could comprehend. She practiced every spell, learning to focus her concentration and her magic along with it. In time, she grew to understand the power that Aunt Agnes had always talked about. The more Jean worked with her magic, the more she seemed to have. A never-ending well inside her.
Living with her aunts and their cats and all the magic in that big, old house, Jean became very lonely. She never knew a day without joy and love; Agnes and Nell made sure of that. But they had lived their lives themselves and had settled down together to raise young Jean. Jean, who had her whole life ahead of her. And she couldn't seem to see past the end of her nose. Would she ever be able to leave? If she did, she'd be more alone somewhere else. Would the people of their small town ever let her become one of them? Ever trust her, ever stop taunting her in their fear of her magic? She couldn't possibly see how.
Late one evening, when she was just past sixteen years old, Jean cast a spell she knew she shouldn't. She sat out under the light of the full moon, mixing thirteen drops of rose oil into thirteen tablespoons of pure water. She placed a consecrated pink candle in the center of the bowl, blowing gently to light it with her magic. Jean smiled. As simple as it was, the magic never failed to fill her with pride and awe.
In the light of the moon and the lit candle, Jean wrote a list of perfect traits on a piece of parchment. "Unendingly kind to those in need. Eyes bluer than the sky. Covered in scars from hardship, which has only birthed empathy. Curly hair that can barely ever be tamed. Brilliant scientist, who seems to know a little bit about everything. Talented musician, always humming a tune. Wildly enthusiastic about everything. Quick with a joke and full of laughter. Doesn't know how to love except with the whole heart."
After she recited and wrote down everything she could think of, Jean lit the corner of the parchment from the candle. The ashes fell into the rose water in the bowl. Carrying the bowl to the edge of the cliff upon which their house stood, Jean closed her eyes and pushed all her magic out through every pore. Slowly, the ashes rose from the bowl, floating in delicate circles around Jean's body. The rose water droplets did the same. The magic sent the spell up to the stars above in search of the impossible man who would save Jean from her desperation.
From the dark kitchen window, Aunt Nell and Aunt Agnes watched their niece perform the true love spell. Their hearts broke for the girl, knowing that no such man could ever exist. But they saw now what she really needed. She needed a life of her own. And they would do everything in their considerable power to help her get it.
For years, Jean waited for the spell to bring her the man she'd tried to conjure. But year after year after year, no one appeared. Periodically, Jean would check the spellbook to see if she'd performed the spell correctly.
"Have you found one yet?" Agnes asked her sister in an impatient whisper.
"Not yet," Nell whispered back. "It can't just be anyone for Jeanie."
"She's nearly too old to be living here. They already talk about her in the streets!"
"Aunt Agnes?"
The aunts turned, startled by Jean's sudden presence in the kitchen. "Yes, dear?" Agnes replied.
"How did my father die?" she asked.
Nell narrowed her eyes, frowning. "Why do you ask, darling?"
"I've lived here fifteen years and I've never asked once. I think I have a right to know."
Agnes answered, "Your mother was conjuring. She never did tell us the exact spell. Based on what happened, I think it was a protection spell, ironically. And something happened that distracted her. Her power was too unfocused and erratic. Your father was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Men aren't as attuned to magic. It's rare that any man can withstand a spell and even rarer that a man would have any magic talent. So the force of the spell, when it hit him, was more than his mortal body could handle. And he died."
"Why would Mother have been casting a protection spell? Was she in danger?"
Nell smiled sadly. "No, dear girl. She was casting it for you. She saw, as we do, that you have magic beyond what any of us knew what to do with. She was afraid that you would accidentally hurt yourself or someone else."
Jean had never heard this story before. She swallowed hard, trying desperately not to cry. Her stomach tied in knots. "She didn't…she didn't die of a broke heart, did she? She died from the guilt of it! She killed her husband to save me!"
"It was an accident, Jean. And you're her daughter. She would have done anything for you. You'll understand when you become a mother."
The tears came on their own accord now. Jean shook her head violently. "No. Never. I'll never do that. I never want to fall in love or have a child or any of it. I can't. I'll just end up hurting everyone like she did. We'd all be better off if no one ever loves me."
A sharp knock on the door interrupted whatever response Nell or Agnes might have had. Jean wiped her eyes and went to answer the door, desperate to escape her aunts and the pitying looks on their faces.
"Hello, I hope you're having a nice day. I wanted to come by and deliver a sample basket from my farm. I'm hoping I can interest you in becoming a customer. I'll be selling fresh vegetables at the market in town every Thursday," the young man recited with feigned enthusiasm. He paused, getting a good look at Jean for the first time. "Oh…are you alright?"
Jean smiled. It was forced at first, but the man in front of her looked so sincere in his concern. It must have been very obvious that she had been crying. And he was very good-looking with his sharp, dark eyes and strong chiseled jaw and sun-tanned complexion. Jean felt her expression soften. "I'm fine. We'd be happy to try your vegetables. And I'm sure I'll see you at the market sometime," she said.
Nell and Agnes watched from the hallway and smirked to each other.
The young man handed Jean a basket. "Christopher Beazley. I hope to see you again. And I hope you enjoy the veg." He smiled brightly before going on his way.
Jean watched him from the doorway for a moment before taking the basket inside.
Two weeks later, Jean and Christopher began their official courtship. They were inseparable. Jean forgot all about her loneliness and her fears about her magic. In fact, she forgot about magic altogether. She didn't need it, and she certainly didn't want it. In less than a year, they were married. A year after that, Jean gave birth to a perfect baby boy, Jack.
Never in her wildest dreams did Jean think that life could be so wonderful. Jean Beazley wasn't a witch or a loner or anyone to be feared. She was just the farmer's wife. She was just the kind woman who sold flowers and vegetables at the market with her beautiful little boy. Everyone adored the Beazleys. Jean finally had friends and a community and a family and a life of her very own. No one was ever going to take it away from her.
But as with everything, the perfect dream couldn't last. When he was about two years old, Jack began exhibiting strange signs. He would start crying just before a storm began, as though he knew when the thunder would strike. He would grow very quiet, almost frightened, when Christopher came in from the fields in a bad mood, as though he knew not to upset his father any further.
When things in the kitchen began to move on their own, Jean couldn't deny it any further. She had to ask Christopher.
"Do you have any magic in your family?" she asked her husband one evening, after she put Jack down to sleep.
Christopher scoffed. "What sort of question is that? Don't be silly, Jean."
"I'm not being silly. Do you have any witches in your family? Your mother, maybe?"
"What? No! That's a ridiculous thing to say."
Jean sighed, seeing now that broaching the subject would be much more difficult than she expected. "I think Jack has magic. Which is extremely uncommon for men, as I understand it."
"How on earth is that possible?"
"Because I'm a witch. As are my aunts, and as was my mother before me and every single woman in my family going back as far as anyone knows." Jean chewed on her lips, waiting for Christopher to respond, unsure of how he would react to her blunt statement.
He looked at her with wide eyes and started to laugh. "You're having me on!"
"No, I'm not. And I think Jack somehow inherited my magic. Which could be very dangerous."
"What, is he going to pull a rabbit from a hat? Turn me to a toad?" He couldn't stop laughing.
"This isn't funny, Christopher!"
"Oh come off it, Jean." He was starting to get annoyed by her foolishness now.
"I'm being quite serious. You really don't believe me?" Jean stubbornly yanked a candle off the mantle of the fireplace in their cozy little living room. She took a deep breath and gently blew on the wick, lighting it with her magic.
Christopher stared, wide-eyed. "What the bloody hell kind of trick is this?"
"No trick. I'm a witch, Christopher. And I think Jack has the same power," Jean stated gravely.
"So, what, you cast some sort of spell on me to make me fall in love with you? Make me marry you?"
Jean tried not to be hurt by his vicious words. She knew he was confused. "No," she replied gently. "I did wish for an impossible man when I was much younger, who never arrived, of course. But you, Christopher Beazley, you fell in love with me and I fell in love with you without any magical interference."
He stared at her. Trying to believe her. But he couldn't. "I can't be here. I can't be in this house with you. I can't even look at you," he spat.
"Christopher, please!" she shouted.
Their loud conversation had woken little Jack. He wandered into the living room, rubbing his eyes. "Mummy? Daddy?"
"Yes, come here to me, love." Jean held out her arms for her son. He waddled over to her with his adorable toddler gait. "I'm sorry we woke you. Let's get you back to bed," she murmured, picking him up. "Christopher, perhaps you'd like to say goodnight to your son?"
He looked at them both with pure disgust. "You get that…thing away from me. If you're right, he's some heathen creature that came from your ungodly evil."
Jean felt as though all the breath had been sucked from her body. His words had struck a cruel blow to her very being. "Christopher, please," she begged, moving toward him with Jack in her arms.
"Get away!" Christopher shouted.
Jack looked at the fear and pain he saw in his mother's face and the fear and anger he saw in his father's. Unsure of what was happening, Jack began to cry. Jean did her best to soothe him but was unsuccessful.
"SHUT UP!" Christopher bellowed.
And Jack couldn't take anymore. He screamed. The whole house shook, as though it had been lifted in the air and thrown back down to the ground. Jean's magic helped her keep her balance, lest she fall and hurt Jack.
Christopher wasn't so lucky. He tumbled to the ground, hitting his head hard on the sharp edge of the table beside the sofa.
When everything settled, there was blood pouring from the wound. Christopher didn't get up. He wasn't breathing. He was gone.
Jean buried her face in Jack's little shoulder, holding him tight against her so he wouldn't see his father in that state. She picked up the phone to call for an ambulance. As soon as she hung up, she carried Jack out of the house.
By the time Jean reached her aunts, they were already waiting for her. Standing in the kitchen, each with unshed tears in their eyes. They already knew what had happened. Agnes took Jack from Jean's arms and helped him fall asleep in the guest room. Nell held Jean in her arms as she sobbed.
Agnes came back downstairs. "Jeanie, we had no idea what would happen. We just wanted you to find some happiness."
Jean's head jerked up, as though connected to a string that had been yanked from above. "You what?"
"We saw you cast that true love spell," Nell confessed gently. "We knew how much you wanted someone, how you waited for the spell to bring him to you. But when we saw how you looked at Christopher, we thought maybe he'd be nice in the interim. We…we didn't think it would go this far."
"How DARE you! How dare you interfere like that!"
"We had no idea what would happen, dear."
Jean looked at each of her aunts angrily. "You brought him to me, now you bring him back. I know you can."
"No, darling, we can't do that. Once the spirit realm has claimed a soul, only the worst of it will return to the mortal world if called back. It would only be the most terrible parts of Christopher. And we won't do that. Not to you and Jack."
The mention of her child's name made Jean begin to cry anew. "Did you know he had magic? Did you know I passed on this…this curse to my son?"
"It's no curse, Jean," Agnes scolded. "But we could sense the gift in him the moment he was born."
"Jack just lost his father because of his magic! Don't you dare ever tell me it's a gift ever again!"
Nell put a kind hand on Jean's shoulder. "There's nothing that can be done now. Why don't you let us help you sleep? You need to sleep."
Jean shrugged off the affectionate touch. "I'll be up with Jack," she muttered.
Thankfully, Jack was sound asleep when Jean reached him. Aunt Agnes had probably put him to sleep with a spell. Jean had done the same thing when Jack had colic as an infant. It helped give restful sleep to those who needed it. And Jack certainly need it now.
Gently stroking the dark wavy hair on her little boy's head, Jean whispered to him, "Magic is very dangerous. It is not a gift. It requires great skill and great care, and that is why no one will ever teach you and you will never learn. Because the more you learn, the more magic you'll have. Opening that well will only cause more pain. I promise you that, love. But I will always keep you safe, Jack. You will never even need to call out for me. I will always know. I will always protect you. And I will always love you."
Eventually, Jean settled to sleep with her son in her arms. She knew they were all each other had now.