Holiday magick, p.3
Holiday Magick, page 3
Daniella’s lips the first time he kissed her.
Daniella, the moment he knew he was in love with her.
Daniella, the happiest he had ever seen her—the day he proposed.
Daniella on their wedding day.
As the wizard pierced the twelfth and final rose into his heart, Valentine allowed the tears to flow freely down his cheeks. He could only imagine how attractive Daniella would look in her white gown and carrying…red roses. Yes, she would be surrounded by hundreds of red roses. February 14th—would Daniella even make it that long? He prayed to God that this would work. All of a sudden, Valentine felt a cold chill by his eyes. He opened them to find the wizard collecting his tears in a small, glass vial. Unable to speak for fear of shouting out in pain, he simply watched as the wizard sprinkled his tears over the flowers. As he did so, Valentine observed the white roses transform in color from pink to orange and finally into a deep shade of red.
“Ah ha! Yes!” the wizard exclaimed. “Roses born of blood, sweat, and tears—an incredible site to behold!”
The wizard placed his hands around the stems of all twelve roses, clasped them tightly, and yanked them out of Valentine’s chest all at once. This time, Valentine could not contain the shrill scream erupting from his mouth.
“OW!!” he screeched, clutching his chest.
“Would you rather I have done it one at a time?” the wizard asked sarcastically. “This was much quicker.”
Valentine sat up and noticed that there was no blood on him—not a scar or any sign at all that he had been pierced.
“Astonishing! How did you do that?”
“I didn’t,” the wizard proclaimed as he laid the roses out on the black rock. “The roses did…now let’s just hope they work.” And with a few magic words, the flowers disappeared just like the chocolates. Valentine was sure this would work. He had never felt so proud of anything in his entire life as he had in that moment—knowing that he had found the cure for Daniella’s disease.
On yet another freezing night in the wizard’s cave, Valentine gazed at the moon. There would be no way he could sleep tonight even if he tried. In a few hours, the sun would rise and it would be the 10th of February. A full week since they had sent the roses, and still no word from the castle on Daniella’s condition.
“Are you sure they arrived?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Do you know if they’re working?”
“I told you—it takes time.”
“Do you know anything else at all?”
“I know that if you don’t stop pestering me I will turn you into a toad!” the wizard threatened. “I told you before that the King’s sorcerer will wait seven days to see if the flowers have done their magic—if their essence has flowed into the princess’ system. Today is the seventh day—so be patient!”
“Ah! But this waiting is killing me! What if she is gone already? What if I left her to die alone? What if—”
Just then, another letter appeared on the rock—the King’s seal still wet on its fold. Valentine ran to the letter and nearly tore the paper in his haste to read it. His eyes scanned the words so fast he had to force himself to slow down. He simply could not believe what he was reading.
Sir Valentine,
I regret to inform you that the red roses have had no effect on Daniella’s disease and in fact, her condition has worsened.
In her own words, she has requested that you “stop this foolish search and return to her at once.”
She desires the two of you to be together on the day you would have been married. She will likely pass sometime directly after. Please make haste.
Cordially,
The Royal Healer
“I’m sorry, Valentine.”
“This can’t be!” He threw the letter to the ground and proceeded to stomp on it. “She cannot die!”
“Valentine,” the wizard said solemnly, “I suggest you return to her—go say your proper goodbyes.” The wizard stared down at the floor.
“You said there were three spells.”
The wizard did not move a muscle.
“Return to her,” he repeated.
“You said that there were three cures we could try. The chocolates were the first, then the roses—what is the third?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“No, old man!” Valentine rushed over to the wizard and grabbed his shoulders. “No! Don’t just sit there and tell me to give up. We had a deal! I want that third cure and I want to try it now!”
“I can’t!” The wizard began to sob. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?” Valentine persisted. “Why can’t you tell me?”
Silence.
“Why not?” Valentine shoved the wizard so hard that he fell to the floor.
“Because you will have to die!” he spat.
Valentine took a step back. “What?”
“The way the red virus works…it consumes the heart. It fills the arteries with disease until no good flesh is left and the afflicted dies.”
“Yes, I know all this…”
“The only way to cure the red virus…” The wizard stood up now. “The only other possible cure would be to remove the infected heart and replace it with a healthy one.” Valentine’s hand instinctively rose to his chest.
“And not just any heart. It must be the heart of one’s true love. Otherwise, the virus will simply attack all over again.”
“I must die…for her to live?” Valentine thought for a second. “Will it work?”
“I know that you love her,” the wizard said firmly. “I have never seen anyone go through all that you have for one person—not even the King.”
“He knew about this cure?”
“It is the only one that exists. I told him about it all those years ago, but he refused to die for the Queen. Given that, it probably would not have worked anyway.”
“We must go,” Valentine ordered.
“We?”
“Yes. You will come with me to the castle to perform the spell.”
“Valentine…you’re only twenty-one years old, you still have much to live for.”
“That is where you’re wrong. Without her, my life would not be worth living.”
Valentine was grateful that the wizard knew his way out of the forest and through the villages. With few problems, the two arrived at the castle on the morning of February 14th.
Valentine stared at a frail, sick Daniella lying on her bed. “The gods have played a cruel joke on me,” he said to the wizard.
The Healer spoke softly to Valentine, “She has been asleep these past two days. I fear she will never again awaken. That is how the red virus ends.”
“Not even to say goodbye to her fiancé?” Valentine asked gently. He held her hand in his and slowly spun the gold ring on her finger. “That’s all right, my love. You will need your rest.”
Valentine released her hand and bent down to give her one last kiss. “I’m ready now.”
“Not yet.” The King stood at the doorway. “Young man…I once had the opportunity to do precisely what you are, and I allowed fear and pride to ruin my life.” The King paused for a moment, as if reliving a past he had completely locked away.
“I love your daughter, Sire.”
“I know…I know. And for that, I will always be grateful. If this works, rest assured that you will never be forgotten—not in our hearts, nor in our family, and certainly, never in our kingdom.”
As the two lovers lay on beds side by side, Valentine reached over and grabbed Daniella’s hand.
“Would you like to be put to sleep?” the Healer asked him.
“No, thank you. I want to live long enough to see her beautiful eyes open once more.”
“So be it.”
The wizard began the incantation and Valentine felt his blood boil—it was ten times worse than his experience with the white roses. He cried out as his stomach ached, his head pounded, and his fingertips and toes went numb. “Is this what she has been going through all this time?”
No one spoke a word. The wizard continued the chant.
“Oh, Daniella, I am so sorry, my love. Please forgive me.” His breaths became labored, “I am sorry I could not be here for you when—”
“Done!” The wizard clapped his hands once and Valentine felt a lurch in his heart. It ached! Oh, how it ached! This was the end—he could feel all life draining from his muscles. As his body weakened, he turned his head and looked over at his love.
“Daniella…” he said weakly, “you will always have my heart. I love you.” Valentine lacked the strength to say another word and slowly allowed his eyes to drift closed. But before he felt the last ounce of his spirit leave his body, he heard the angelic sound of his Daniella’s voice.
“Valentine, I love you…You, too, will always have my heart.”
With Valentine’s death and Princess Daniella’s recovery, the King repaid his promises in full. His first order of business was replacing the royal sorcerer with the old wizard, who was allowed to live in the castle for years to come.
But more importantly, in his kingdom and soon, all over the world, the King made sure that the 14th day of February would forever be known as Valentine’s Day. He decreed that on that day, every man in love with any woman must give her three gifts. Chocolates—to remind her of the sweetness she has brought into his life. A dozen red roses—to mimic her timeless beauty. Finally, a symbol of his heart—so that the woman could physically hold it in her hands and feel that his love is truly all her own.
VALENTINE’S DAY
Paper Hearts
Jennifer Allis Provost
Esther Howland was an artist and businesswoman from Worcester, MA, who is widely credited for popularizing Valentine’s Day greeting cards in America. Indeed, she has been called the Mother of the American Valentine. After graduating from Mount Holyoke College in 1847, Esther received an ornate valentine from a business associate of her father’s. Intrigued with the idea of making similar valentines, she began her business by importing paper lace and floral decorations from England, getting supplies through her father’s book and stationery store. Esther had over $5,000 worth of business in her first year, and recruited her friends to help with this venture, which she named the “New England Valentine Company.” Her valentines became renowned throughout the United States, eventually grossing over $100,000 per year, a considerable sum for that time.
Despite the fact that Esther created an empire based on love, she never married. One must wonder if, through her valentines, she had seen another side of love. How did she help others fall in love? What really caused her to start making paper valentines?
“Oh, Essie, I do hope this works,” exclaimed Jessamine, as she clutched the ornate paper to her chest.
“Of course it will,” snapped Esther. “Have my charms ever failed?”
“No,” murmured Jessamine, eyes downcast. “Certainly not.”
Esther regretted her harsh tone; really, she only snapped at the girl because she felt so uncertain herself. She’d bound a spell to paper many times in the past, but those had only been meant to be handled by the subject of the spell. This one was going through the Postal Service, and Esther had heard many tales about their gross mishandling of packages. She had no idea if the delicate paper, or the charm it contained, would survive such abuse.
What was worse, Jessamine had ordered a love spell, the most fickle of enchantments. Esther greatly preferred the simpler spells, those for clear complexions, or to banish wasps, or other straightforward requests. Creating a spell to entice one to love another meant that all sorts of variables must be considered, from a pre-existing marriage contract to a rare, but still possible, counterspell. Not to mention all the times she’d had to unmake her spells, when the purchaser realized that the beau she’d so ardently pursued was not the right man for her.
But Jessamine had assured Esther that she loved dear Edward Hillebrand, with all her heart, and that becoming Mrs. Hillebrand was indeed her most fervent desire. Jessamine had even claimed that Edward had returned her feelings, which had confounded Esther.
“If he has already admitted he loves you, whyever do you need to spell him?” Esther inquired.
“He’s away in New York for the entire year, tutoring,” Jessamine replied, then went on (and on) about the many unmarried schoolteachers who, of course, would surround dear Edward. And they weren’t just unmarried—they were city girls, worldly in all the ways that poor, New England Jessamine wasn’t. Esther’s opinion was that, if Edward’s heart could be so easily swayed by a few witty comments, perhaps he wasn’t worth the bother.
However, Jessamine had been willing to pay twice the standard fee in order to procure a spell of an especially ardent nature, so Esther had bitten her tongue and selected the proper enchantment from her spell book, while simultaneously debating how to get the spell to Edward. After all, even a fledgling witch knows that the spell will fail unless there is some sort of contact with the intended victim, either in the form of a lock of hair, a bit of clothing, or some other such sundry. Jessamine claimed to possess no such token from Edward’s person, at least not one she was willing to part with.
Then, Esther had remembered a shocking, insulting event that had occurred the prior February—her father’s business associate had presented her with a valentine. Well, that wasn’t the truly insulting part, even though it had been a gaudy confection of paper lace and pastel cherubs. And the quotation! An inaccurate quote from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, rendered in bad calligraphy. As if she were no more than a softheaded scullery maid. She imagined that Mr. Childress, being an unmarried man of somewhat advanced years, had mistakenly thought that such overly elaborate creations and trite sentiments would appeal to a girl thirty years his junior. As Esther had held the valentine, awkwardly thanking Mr. Childress, she had been horrified to discover that the card was spelled. Indeed, only Elisabeta’s instruction, and the gloves she was wearing that winter day, had kept her from becoming overtaken with desire for the wrinkly old fool. Since she had no idea of how to weave a counterspell, she threw the offending bit of paper in the back of her closet, heretofore a haven of unfashionable boots and mismatched gloves.
Neither Mr. Childress nor Esther’s father had any reason to suspect she was familiar with charms and the like. She’d learned the basics of charming while away at boarding school, from her roommate, Elisabeta. Essie had always suspected Elisabeta of being a gypsy, what with her dark complexion and flowing, colorful clothes, but she had always spoken proper English with perfect diction. In every aspect, from needlepoint to table manners, Elisabeta seemed to be a perfect, modern lady.
Until the lights were extinguished at night, that is. Once the hall matrons were soundly asleep, a select few girls crept into Esther and Elisabeta’s room, and watched breathlessly as the dark beauty lit candles (they had eschewed incense after the time Mrs. Alberton had woken in a fright and rung the fire bell) and uttered incantations in Latin and Greek. After they’d been suitably impressed by Elisabeta’s skills, she had consented to teach them.
The lessons began with divination; Esther had hoped for an elegant crystal ball, but Elisabeta had only produced a stack of well-worn cards. She claimed they had been passed down from her great-grandmother, who had made her living traveling around in a veiled cart, telling fortunes. Esther had been careful not to touch the dirty things. In due time, Elisabeta taught them of herbs, and the girls had been amazed to learn the many uses of the dried bits, such as basil, cinnamon, lavender, and violet, kept in everyone’s pantries.
“And oak leaves,” added Elisabeta, the dark fringe of her lashes veiling her eyes. “For when you desire your man but he is somewhat…lacking.” The girls had had no idea what that meant, but had taken copious notes, nonetheless.
Esther had soon grown adept at creating charms, so much so that, when Elisabeta was expelled (fluttering your eyelashes at your teacher is not advised, especially when his wife is the headmistress), the other girls had naturally turned to her. In no time she had found herself mixing herbs for every purpose under the sun, from removing warts to improving grades.
Esther had retained her reputation as one adept in the old ways after she had left school, but thankfully her father didn’t listen to such women’s talk. Instead, he assumed his daughter always bought herbs and flowers to use in the kitchen or to decorate the home. Certainly, his own flesh and blood would never engage in such scandalous behavior.
When Jessamine had first approached Esther for a love spell, she had naturally agreed, though the manner of the spell had rendered her somewhat perplexed. In due time, Esther had remembered the valentine that had so offended, and decided that a similar approach was in order for Edward. Her father had agreed to order lace doilies and crepe paper, and in no time, Esther had constructed a truly hideous, yet utterly fashionable, valentine.
However, when it came time to spell the valentine, Esther again found herself stumped. First, she had tried to spell the entire card, but smoke from the incense had quickly discolored the paper lace, and the crepe paper hadn’t taken well to the heat. She had tried herbs, oils, all manner of things, but nothing seemed to work. Something had to carry the charm, that much was certain, yet Esther couldn’t divine what that something should be. Obviously, spelling this delicate paper just wouldn’t do; she needed to find another way to attach the charm.
With a sigh, she retrieved the valentine she’d received from Mr. Childress. She had eventually taken it from her closet and stowed it away in the bottom of her wardrobe, not for sentimental reasons but for research purposes. Yes, only for research. Esther entertained notions of marriage as much as the next girl, but to him? That dried-up husk of a man? With a shudder, she returned to the work at hand.
It was nearly crushed to nothing, having spent these many months wrapped in rags beneath Esther’s least comfortable boots. Esther donned a pair of kid gloves before carefully unwinding the rags, then stared at the detestable creation. It was just as awful as she had remembered, save that the cherubs had faded a bit. She pulled the glove off her right hand, and lightly let her fingertips glide across the outer edge.
