Page 33 of The Witches of Cambridge

Ava narrowed her eyes, thinking he was joking, or perhaps it was just her red hair, which was said to bewitch men; then she saw that he meant it. “Is that all that matters?” she asked. “The way I look?”

“God, no. It’s you, Ava. It’s who you are.”

But who was that? The daughter of an unknown witch, an orphan raised by people who scorned who she was at her very core. Tie up your magic with a cord and burn it, bury it in the orchard, don’t show anyone who you are. “You think you know me,” Ava said. By then they had gotten out of the car. The house at the end of the driveway was huge, made of brick and stone, overwhelming to Ava.

“Maybe I know you better than you think I do,” Jamie said now, thinking of the dreams he’d always had.

They stood close, arms around one another’s waists, while Jack ran across the lawn. The grass was still a deep green despite the cold. Ava wondered if it had been painted, if landscapers were instructed to tint the grass all through the year so it would remain perfect. Jamie’s black coat was flapping out behind him as he grabbed their bags from the car. Seeing him broke her heart; he was so devastatingly good-looking, but he was in many ways still a boy who could never do anything right in his parents’ eyes. Ava stared past him into the woods, for she’d spied a lustrous flash of red. A fox. Jack had seen it as well, but he hadn’t moved. The dog turned to look at her before chasing after it.

“Stay,” she told him.

“Ava?” Jamie seemed unsure. Anything could happen once they walked inside his parents’ house. He hoped no one would notice that his watch no longer kept time; it had stopped when he plunged into the river to save Jack.

“A fox is good luck,” Ava told him. “We’ll be fine.”

Jamie was burning hot as he kissed her. He’d been hurt all his life, every time his brothers threw a soccer ball at him, every time his father lectured him about what a failure he was, every time he saw pity in his mother’s eyes. And still he possessed the Mather watch, which they were all given on their eighteenth birthdays.

The door opened into the black-and-white marble entryway, and Jamie’s mother, Louise, and his sisters-in-laws, Kit and Cynthia, greeted them.

“Late as usual,” the sister-in-law called Kit commented.

“Oh, leave the boy alone,” the other one, Cynthia, suggested, giving Jamie a peck on the cheek.

Ava realized her choice of makeup had been a mistake. She had on black eyeliner and red lipstick, and all the women in the Mather family seemed to favor a palette of muted colors; they were demure in style, their blond hair swept up, their lips blushing pink. Ava was glad she was wearing Lauren’s black Chanel dress with gold buttons, patent leather heels, and the cashmere coat that was beyond critique.

Jamie’s father and brothers were throwing a football around on the back lawn. Ava had been teaching Jamie ornithomancy, the practice of predicting the future by observing the flight patterns of birds, an ancient art of divination. If the birds flew to the right, the answer to a question would be yes. To the left, the answer was no. Now, when his brothers motioned for him to come outside and join the game, Jamie noticed a bird flying against the wind, a sign that someone nearby might not be trustworthy and that it was best to be wary. The birds drifted to the left, and Jamie stayed where he was.

“Hey, asshole,” his brother Brent shouted. “Come join us.”

Jamie acted as if he hadn’t heard, but he had, and perhaps that was what set the tone for the rest of the day. There were greetings all around when they at last gathered in the kitchen, and a bit of a dustup when the Labrador retrievers caught sight of Jack, who growled and was immediately relegated to the second floor, where he would be kept in Jamie’s old bedroom. “You can stay up there, too,” Jamie’s mother, Louise, told Ava. “Jamie can stay in one of the servants’ rooms.”

Although servants no longer lived in the house, there was a warren of tiny rooms in the attic where maids and a butler had once lodged, and it was a running joke in the family that the one who exhibited the worst behavior over the holidays would have to stay there. The men, who had stopped for a drink in the parlor, were now hustled into the huge dining room just before the appetizers were served.

“So, this is the unlucky girl you’ve managed to drag here,” Brent remarked with what he clearly thought was charm. He looked Ava up and down, eyes narrowed, impressed by how gorgeous she was.

“What do you think you’re looking at?” Jamie said, his hackles raised.

“If you don’t know, you must be blind,” Brent shot back.

“Boys,” Louise said, accustomed to being a referee. They’ll grow up and stop, she always told herself, but that had turned out to be untrue.

“Get out while you can,” the middle brother, Sawyer, told Ava, who was already flushed and uncomfortable. Both brothers were lawyers who worked in their father’s firm on State Street in Boston. They always jockeyed over who was at the top of their father’s list, and Paul Mather clearly enjoyed their jabs at one another, for he considered intimidation a skill.

“Let her be,” Mr. Mather said. His words were friendly, but his tone was not. He was imposing and cold, especially when he nodded at Jamie. “How lucky we are that you grace us with your presence.”

Jamie had already begun drinking, and when Ava gave him a look he didn’t stop. She’d been served a glass of wine, which she’d gulped down too quickly, so she felt tipsy. Halfway through dinner and a second glass, she was utterly light-headed. “I don’t usually drink,” she said, interrupting a conversation about a vacation in Nantucket, and everyone turned to look at her in chilly silence. She could not have felt more awkward or ill at ease. Even the Chanel dress didn’t help. She was the apple orchard girl from Maine who didn’t know how to behave at a proper dinner, and they knew it. They could see right through her.

All through the holiday meal the brothers teased Jamie, and he soon dropped his usual arrogant attitude and said nothing, eyes downcast. Ava found herself wishing she had known him when he was a little boy. She could have spirited him away from this place. They could have followed the fox into the woods; they would have never looked back. There was a world that was meant for them, but this wasn’t it.

“How are your classes?” Mr. Mather asked Jamie.

“Don’t you mean how many is he flunking?” Brent, the more obnoxious of the brothers, said mockingly.

Jamie shook his head, as if he regretted what he was about to do. “My apologies on behalf of the assholes at the table,” he said to Ava before he stood and stomped off. They could all hear the front door slam as he left the house.

Now alone with the family, Ava blinked and said nothing. She felt parched and tossed down another glass of wine far too quickly. She’d thought nothing could be worse than Christmases at home, where the food was always terrible and no one spoke, but she’d been wrong. Being at the Mathers’ table was so uncomfortable that Ava didn’t say another word all through dinner and found herself shifting in her seat until Paul Mather said, “I hear a rustling. Is there a mouse loose in here?” He gave her a sharp look.

“No,” Ava said. “It’s me.”