The Book of Spells (11 page)

“What does that mean?” Eliza demanded. “What did you both want?”

“Never mind that,” Theresa said through her teeth. “What I was
trying
to say was that her first year here, May actually wanted to form some kind of novel-reading club. I wasn’t a student here yet, obviously, but I overheard my parents and Miss Almay talking about it. My mother was in favor of it, but Miss Almay called it frivolous, and her word is law when it comes to student organizations.”

Eliza’s heart pounded shallowly in her chest. In all her letters, May had never mentioned a book club. She felt a sudden rush of pride, followed by a huge chasm of disappointment on her sister’s behalf. Forming a club of that sort was so like the old May. If she had been so
adamant about such things when she’d first come to Billings, how had she returned home so changed?

“The Billings Literary Society it is,” Eliza said resolutely, writing the words in big, bold letters across the top of the page. “Miss Almay might not like it, but if she ever hears about it, we can defend ourselves by saying we’re simply reading the great works in order to make our conversation more interesting for the boys.”

“She’ll love that,” Alice said with a giggle.

“If only she knew what we’re really reading,” Catherine said, grinning as she opened the book of spells.

All four of the girls laughed then, earning another resounding
shhh
from Clarissa and a few of the other students in the room, as well as a stern glance from the librarian—which only made them laugh all the louder.

That Saturday morning, Eliza and Catherine set out to the stationers in town, with Mrs. Hodge in tow as their chaperone, following behind at a respectful distance. Though they had told Mrs. Hodge they wanted letterhead on which to write their families, the stationery would in fact serve as invitations to the first official meeting of the Billings Literary Society.

“I love this time of year,” Eliza said dreamily, tipping her face toward the sun and breathing in the fresh autumn air. For the first time since the term had begun, the awful humidity and heat had fallen away, leaving behind a pleasantly warm, clear day and a cool breeze.

“I could have sworn you’d told me summer was your favorite season,” Catherine teased, swinging her small silk handbag by its cord as they turned up Main Street. “Actually, I believe the words you used were ‘I want to die every year when summer turns to fall.’”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Eliza said, kicking a pebble with her sensible, brown walking shoes—her favorites of all she owned, for their comfort. “But there is something about those few days when you can feel summer melting into fall. There’s a feeling of . . .”

“Possibility,” Catherine finished.

Eliza looked at her and grinned. “Yes. That’s it. Possibility.”

Catherine nodded as she looked around at the leaves rustling in the trees. “Seasons don’t change so drastically in Georgia. Every year when I arrive at Billings, all I can think about is that first snow.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “There’s no snow in Georgia?”

“No.” Catherine laughed, shaking her head. “Not in southern Georgia, at least.”

The girls stepped up onto the brand-new plank sidewalk together, heading toward the Easton Police Station and its austere brick façade. Catherine glanced back at their chaperone, then took Eliza’s arm, leaning closer to her.

“There’s something I wish to tell you, and I hope you will not judge me,” she said quietly.

“I would never judge another without hearing all the facts,” she assured her friend.

A pair of gentlemen tipped their hats to the girls as they strolled by. Eliza pretended not to notice their attentions.

“The reason I knew right away what the book of spells was . . . Well . . . my mother . . . She . . .”

Catherine hesitated, bringing a gloved hand to her face for a moment.

“Is your mother a witch?” Eliza gasped. The moment the words left her lips, she realized just how judgmental they sounded. She cleared her throat and ignored her pulse, which was now fluttering ferociously in her wrists. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

Catherine paused in front of one of the two lampposts outside the police station. She glanced back at Mrs. Hodge again. Seeing them stop, the maid took the opportunity to rest on the bench in front of the Easton Feed Store.

“My mother has always been obsessed with youth and beauty,” Catherine said, her blue eyes downcast. “She has spent much of her life in search of what you might call the fountain of youth. That one salve or elixir or . . . or potion that might keep her young.”

“I see,” Eliza said, even though she didn’t quite see at all.

“This quest of hers has taken her to some . . . unsavory places,” Catherine continued. “Including to the dens of some fairly notorious witches.”

“I see,” Eliza repeated. Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Until that moment, she had never truly considered the notion that magic was actually real. Her head felt light as she imagined the possibilities of such a thing . . . and the dangers.

“She brought me along on some of these visits, and I must say . . . I thought the whole practice was fascinating,” Catherine said, speaking more quickly and freely now, as if she felt the hard part was over. “The things these women can do, the magics they’re capable of producing . . . It’s amazing.”

Eliza glanced at Mrs. Hodge. She was eyeing the two girls
suspiciously. Eliza quickly looked away. “These potions, these spells in the books . . . It’s all real?” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen things you would scarcely believe.”

Eliza suddenly found she had to concentrate to breathe. Unbidden, the names of some of the spells flashed through her mind: the Love Spell, the Spell of Confusion, the Helen of Troy Spell, which made any girl irresistible to all men for the three nights of the full moon. Could these spells really work? And if they could, what did that mean for her . . . for Harrison . . . for Theresa? Could she ever use one to—

No,
the answer came immediately.
Don’t even think it, Eliza.

“Eliza? Are you all right?” Catherine asked.

“I’m not sure. Is it very hot out?” Eliza asked. She touched her gloved fingertips to her forehead, and they came away damp. Breathless, she leaned back against the lamppost, fighting for focus.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Eliza,” Catherine said, reaching for her wrist. “Witchcraft is a wonderful thing, as long as it’s used for good. And I don’t think any of us intends to use it otherwise.”

Mrs. Hodge appeared over Catherine’s right shoulder, her expression one of sheer alarm. “Miss Williams! Are you unwell?” she asked.

“I think I need some . . . some water,” Eliza managed.

Mrs. Hodge looked over her shoulder at the police station. “Stay here. Miss White, try to keep her cool. I’ll be right back.”

Then she turned, lifted her skirts, and scurried up the steps faster than Eliza would have thought possible.

“I’m so sorry, Eliza,” Catherine said, holding on to her wrist with one hand and fanning Eliza’s face with the other. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Eliza took several more deep breaths, but couldn’t seem to calm her racing heart. Suddenly, her vision slipped out of focus.

“Eliza? Eliza!”

A pair of strong arms caught her as she went down. Eliza’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself nestled in the firm grasp of Harrison Knox.

She looked directly into his dark blue eyes and felt faint all over again.

“Miss Williams! Are you all right?” he asked.

Somehow Eliza found the strength to straighten up. She pressed her palm into the cool lamppost behind her again and cleared her throat. Before long, her mind felt solid once more and she was able to collect her thoughts. She looked up at Harrison and saw that Jonathan was with him as well, hovering with Catherine just over Harrison’s shoulder with a look of pure concern.

“Here. Come sit on the stairs,” Jonathan said, gesturing at the stone steps of the station.

“No. No, thank you. I’m fine,” Eliza replied, cursing herself silently for being so feeble.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Harrison asked, taking her hand and looking deeply into her eyes, as if he was trying to see inside her body for himself and make sure all was well.

The tenderness and concern in that glance made Eliza want to
lean into him and beg him to take her home. But something moved in the corner of her vision, and she turned her head. Mrs. Hodge was on her way down the stairs with a tin mug of water. When she saw the boys, Mrs. Hodge paused, as if startled. Then her jaw set with determination and she hustled toward Eliza even faster.

Eliza glanced at Catherine, panicked. But Catherine was staring at Eliza’s and Harrison’s hands, which were still touching. As Theresa’s best friend, Catherine was surely obliged to tell her about such things. Blushing furiously, Eliza quickly withdrew her fingers.

“Here, Miss Williams,” Mrs. Hodge said, handing the mug of water to Eliza and helping cup her fingers around it. “Drink slowly.”

Eliza sipped the cool water as Mrs. Hodge shot Harrison an admonishing look. He took a step back.

“Mr. Knox, Mr. Thackery, thank you for your assistance,” Mrs. Hodge said stiffly. “You may go now.”

“Of course,” Harrison said quickly.

“Feel better, Miss Williams!” Jonathan called out as the two boys started down the sidewalk again.

Before Eliza could say anything, Mrs. Hodge swooped in, checking her pulse, feeling her forehead, and ushering her to the nearest bench. As she sat, her eyes trained on Harrison’s retreating form, Eliza felt ill all over again—but for reasons having nothing to do with her fainting.

The following evening, just before midnight, Eliza sat in the basement of the Billings Chapel along with Alice, freezing in her whisper-thin white nightgown. Alice shivered next to her, though Eliza was certain it was more out of fear than from the cold, for her gown was made of flannel. Catherine and Theresa walked over to join Eliza and Alice on the floor.

“Well, what do we think of our temple?” Theresa asked, tucking the skirt of her own white nightgown underneath her and looking around in a self-satisfied way.

“Must we call it that?” Alice asked, shivering. “It sounds so . . .
satanic.”

“Covens meet in temples. That’s what the spell book says,” Catherine replied.

Eliza, Catherine, Theresa, and Alice had spent the past hour transforming the plain white room into a colorful, candlelit cavern.
Catherine and Eliza had purchased dozens of candles at the general store in town yesterday, and the candles were set into holders and candelabras of various heights that stood around the periphery of the room. Alice and Catherine had gathered all the scarves the four girls owned, and Eliza had swiped a hammer and nails from the toolshed behind McKinley Hall. Now the purples, golds, reds, greens, pinks, and blues of the scarves hung about the room, forming a cozy setting. Theresa had also managed to collect dozens of strings of cheap glass beads, which she had strung from the ceiling. In the candlelight, the beads twinkled like stars, giving the basement an ethereal feel. The coziness of it all had chased out Eliza’s remaining nerves about the evening. She couldn’t wait for the other girls to arrive.

“I simply don’t feel right about this,” Alice said, her teeth chattering. “Couldn’t we have found another place to hold our meetings? This is God’s house.”

Theresa sighed, straightening the lace cuffs of her nightgown. “It’s not his house. It’s his basement.”

Eliza couldn’t help laughing, and Catherine joined in as well.

“Do you think anyone will come?” Alice asked, ignoring their laughter.

“I hope they will,” Theresa said. “My hand still hurts from addressing all those invitations last night.”

Theresa had insisted on writing out all the invitations herself, claiming that her handwriting was the most formal. Then Eliza and Catherine had been granted the distinct honor of shoving the envelopes under the girls’ doors that morning.

“I’m sure they’ll come,” Eliza said, lifting her chin. She reached up to rub the gold locket between her finger and thumb. “How could anyone not be intrigued by a midnight meeting at a chapel?”

“Intrigued? I’d be terrified,” Alice replied. “I still am. I’ll wager only half of them come here.”

“Yes, but which half?” Catherine joked.

Just then, the ceiling above them creaked and moaned. Alice grabbed Eliza’s arm, tense with fear. Whispered voices wafted down from above.

“They’re here,” Eliza whispered.

“This is where it all begins,” Catherine added, her skin glowing with excitement as she looked up at the ceiling.

The girls stood, holding their breath and clutching hands, waiting for the first of their friends to appear. Before long, Lavender arrived at the bottom of the stairs. She had a look of pure suspicion on her brow, until she caught sight of Eliza and Catherine. Then her usual just-plain-serious look returned to her face. She stepped into the room, the scalloped hem of her white nightgown grazing her ankles, and was quickly followed by Marilyn and Genevieve—Eliza was pleased to see that Marilyn had left Petit Peu behind, but Genevieve had her ever-present bag full of sweets—and Viola and Bia, who were clutching each other’s arms with both hands, as if afraid the other might blow away. Jane was right behind them, her brown hair hanging loose down her back. The moment she saw Theresa, she rushed forward and kissed her. Then each of the girls soundlessly joined the circle, as if they realized that was where they were meant to be. Viola and Bia
looked around fretfully, but the others simply seemed excited. Eliza could tell that Jane was biting down on her tongue to keep from asking questions. Only Clarissa had yet to arrive.

The moments ticked by, and Eliza’s heartbeat slowed to a dull, disappointed thud. Clarissa was not coming. And without Clarissa, they would not have eleven members.

This thought had just flitted through her mind when another set of footsteps sounded hurriedly through the office above. Moments later, Clarissa alighted on the basement floor, breathless. She wore a high-necked gown, and her golden blond hair was tied back in two girlish braids, as always. Giving the room a cursory, appraising glance, she clucked her tongue and looked at Theresa.