Holiday Magick (5 page)

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.

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.