Page 27 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
Violet sighed. Rochelle grew up two years below her in grade school, so she never spent much time with her when they were kids. But when Violet came home from college for long weekends and studied in the library, Rochelle was always here. Just like this. Mrs. Blanc was the exact same way.
Wanting to lighten the topic, Violet smiled. “Are you going to the Welcome Winter Festival in the town square tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Aw, why not? It sounds fun.”
“Because people will be there. And I hate people. You know what else I don’t like about that book?”
Violet raised an eyebrow, her effort to lift the conversation thwarted. “I thought you kind of liked the book?”
“Forty percent in favor, which is a lot coming from me.”
“I gather.”
Rochelle pointed at the book on the table, her nose upturned once more. “This writer doesn’t even know what really happened. The Ainsworths, DeRoses and Zabelles were holding their ground against the Laurents, right? But he doesn’t say what went wrong. Nothing about the breaking point. It’s just empty conjecture. Annoying. That book creates more questions than it provides answers. It fails.”
Flipping to the front cover, Violet read the author’s name. “Alain Foxfort—wait, is this the same Mr. Foxfort that taught tenth-grade English at Libellule High?”
“Yes.”
“Oh wow, why don’t you just ask him about it?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh…”
“Look, follow me.” Rochelle stepped back, gesturing for Violet to stand. “There’s another book that tries to cover our village history without blatant racial bias. Fifty-percent approval rating from me.”
Violet pushed herself up from the creaky chair. “That’s still pretty low, but a marked improvement.”
“Nothing gets over a fifty-percent approval rating from me. Well, with the exception of Simone’s cranberry macadamia scones. But she only makes those between October and December, which is annoying. I have to eat so many because she only makes them for a limited time and then I feel sick.”
Violet shook her head as she followed Rochelle around the corner of a bookshelf. “You don’thaveto eat so many.”
“Of course I do. They’re one of the few joys I have in this life. By the way, I heard your greenhouse got broken into.”
“How do you know about that?” Violet hadn’t called the police, and she’d only told Jasper and her sister.
Rochelle shrugged, then pulled a faded red hardcover book from the shelf in front of her. “People talk. Which is yet another reason why I hate them.”
* * *
Later that afternoon,Violet stood on the front porch of Laurent House, grocery bag in hand. When Jasper opened the door, she couldn’t contain her fervor.
“Did you know our families were basically sworn enemies?”
Jasper blinked. “Well, good afternoon to you, too.”
He opened the door wider and Violet stepped inside. “Hi—I’m serious. Apparently, way back when, my great, great, great… great?... grandmother was an amazing witch and herbalist in this village, and as such, was a huge target for the northern settlers when they arrived here. Your family is written in the history books as her primary accusers. Jas, we areliterallylike the platonic version of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Oh me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.” Jasper plucked the grocery bag handle from her grasp and turned, walking toward the kitchen.
Violet stared after him. “We-We’re quoting Shakespeare now? I’m sensing a weird theme in my life lately.” She shuffled forward to catch up to his long stride. “You don’t own any deadly nightshade, do you?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Did you already know about all this stuff with our families?”
