The Book of Spells (13 page)

“Always serve the tea from behind on the left side,” Miss Almay instructed, gesturing with her folded bifocals. Petit Peu let out a snort, and she cast a disapproving look in his direction. “The vast majority
of people are right-handed, and you do not wish to accidentally bump someone’s arm with the tea kettle as you serve.”

Theresa waited until Miss Almay’s back was turned, then nudged Eliza with her elbow. She trained her eyes on Eliza’s salad fork and narrowed them into slits. “Levitas.”

Eliza’s heart nearly stopped as the fork twitched, then lifted from the lace tablecloth, floating three inches off the surface of the table. Her eyes widened and she glanced over at Alice, who lifted her lace-gloved hand to her chest.

“Fantastic,” Eliza whispered to Theresa, her pulse racing with the intoxicating mixture of wonder and fear. It wasn’t every day that she saw tableware floating about as if suspended by invisible puppet strings.

Theresa smirked. She lifted one finger and twirled it slowly in the air. Instantly, the fork began to spin lazily as well.

“You’ve been practicing, Theresa,” Catherine whispered proudly.

“I’ve always been a quick study,” Theresa said with an immodest grin. “I think we should try some of the potions next. I’ve already gotten Jane, Viola, and Bia to start collecting some of the ingredients we’ll need from the herb garden.”

“What? Without talking to us about it first?” Eliza whispered.

Theresa rolled her eyes. “I’m talking to you about it
now.
”

“I think it’s a fine idea,” Catherine said happily.

“I want to try,” Alice whispered. She looked down at her own silverware. “Levitas!”

Her spoon jumped off the table, then slammed right down again.
Luckily, Petit Peu barked in his sleep at the same moment, so the noise was muffled. Miss Almay paused in her circuit of the room, her back to Eliza’s table, and then kept walking.

Alice leaned back in her chair and pouted. “It didn’t work,” she said, jutting out her bottom lip and glaring at the offending spoon.

“It’s just like I told Viola, Alice. You have to concentrate,” Catherine advised, laying a comforting hand on her wrist. “Try again.”

Alice took a breath, leaned forward again, and narrowed her eyes just as Theresa had.

“Levitas,” she whispered.

Both her knife and spoon floated up, clinking softly together in the air. Alice hid a squeal behind her hand, keeping her gaze squarely on the silverware. Catherine giggled, while Eliza’s heart swelled. If this was what witchcraft was about—making the most boring class of all seem tolerable—then it was the best discovery she’d ever made.

Then Miss Almay started to turn, and Eliza smacked her hand over Theresa’s fork, slamming it back in place. There was a loud clattering of silverware and china as Alice did the same. Petit Peu awakened with a start and let out a few short barks before readjusting his position and promptly starting to snore again. Behind Eliza, Marilyn and Jane just barely covered their laughter with polite coughs.

“Is there a problem, girls?” Miss Almay asked, staring down her nose at Eliza and her friends.

“No, Miss Almay,” Theresa replied sweetly, her hands folded in her lap. “No problem at all.”

“Fine, then. I’d appreciate no further interruption, Miss Williams,” Miss Almay said. “Unless you’d like me to contact your mother and let her know how very much you are
not
living up to May’s high standards.”

Eliza’s skin burned with anger. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. We’ll continue.” Miss Almay turned and started pacing along the west wall. Eliza concentrated on the hem of the headmistress’s dark gray skirt and narrowed her eyes.

“Levitas,” she whispered.

Suddenly Miss Almay’s skirt flew up, revealing the many old-fashioned petticoats underneath. The headmistress let out a very unladylike shriek as she whirled around, attempting to tamp it down. All the girls in the room dissolved into laughter.

“What was that?” Miss Almay demanded as soon as her clothes were set to rights.

“Did you not feel that gust of wind, Headmistress?” Catherine said, arching her brows. Eliza scarcely dared to breathe.

“Perhaps we should close the windows,” Alice offered, standing as if to help.

“Sit, Miss Ainsworth,” Miss Almay snapped, the color high in her cheeks. “Helen!” she shouted, snapping her fingers. “Close these windows.”

Helen rushed forward from her place near the door and did as she was told. As soon as the large windows were shut, the room became stiflingly hot.

“Servers! Kindly pour the tea!” Miss Almay ordered. Then, clearly
flustered, she quickly sat in a wing-backed chair near the front of the room and fanned her face with her hand.

“Thanks for that, Eliza,” Viola whispered, stepping forward to serve Eliza’s tea from the left side. “I’m already starting to perspire, and this is a new blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza replied under her breath. “But she deserved it.”

As Viola poured out her tea, Eliza glanced up to find Helen staring right at her. Eliza’s heart skipped a startled beat, but she forced herself to hold the servant’s gaze. Helen’s hazel eyes narrowed. It took all of Eliza’s determination to keep from being the first to break eye contact, but the longer the two girls stared at each other, the quicker her blood rushed through her ears.

Suddenly Miss Almay stirred, and Eliza’s gaze flicked to the headmistress. She scolded herself silently for losing the challenge to the maid, but her stomach flip-flopped when she saw that Miss Almay was looking from Helen to Eliza and back again, as if she realized what was going on between them.

“Miss Williams,” Miss Almay said suddenly. “See me in my office after class.”

Eliza’s heart sunk. Theresa snorted a laugh.

“You too, Miss Billings,” Miss Almay said.

Both girls slumped down in their chairs, suddenly forgetting about etiquette entirely.

A cold trickle of sweat raced down the back of Eliza’s broiling-hot neck. Miss Almay had been pacing behind her and Theresa for at least five minutes, ominously silent. As each moment passed, Eliza had grown warmer and warmer, and at this point, she was actually fantasizing about tearing her dress off and diving into a pool of ice water.

Theresa sat perfectly still in the next chair, staring straight ahead at the horridly gothic portrait of the dark-haired headmistress herself, which hung behind the wide, ornately carved desk. From it, the visage of Miss Almay glared down at them, the crags of her bony face shadowed, the bend of her nose accusatory. With one Almay before her and one seething behind, Eliza felt as if she was being stalked by a pair of identical fiends.

If Miss Almay was attempting to intimidate her, it was working.

Suddenly, the pacing stopped. There was a prolonged moment of
silence, and then Miss Almay brought her hands down on the backs of the girls’ chairs with a
bang
. Eliza jumped.

“Yesterday I caught Clarissa Pommer and Jane Barton coming out of the general store in town, toting several small bottles of oils and a jar of imported figs,” the headmistress stated, leaning down so that her face hovered just between the two girls. “And when I returned from town, I spied Viola and Bia Hirsch gathering wildflowers out on the meadow.”

Eliza dared not move a muscle, but she slid her gaze toward Theresa. Apparently the girl had assigned more errands than she’d admitted to. Theresa shook her head so slightly, the move was almost imperceptible. The headmistress stood up straight again and strode around her desk until she was standing right in front of her own image. She laced her fingers together at her waist and stared down at Eliza and Theresa.

“I
know
you ladies are up to something,” she said vehemently. “Tell me what it is.”

Eliza felt as if her heart was pounding inside her mouth, filling her cheeks and choking off her air supply. She was going to be sick or finally faint dead away. Miss Almay knew. She knew. Eliza reached up to tug at the gold chain holding her locket in place, feeling suddenly as if it was trying to choke her.

“If I may speak, Miss Almay?” Theresa said, in her most falsely sweet voice.

“Of course, Miss Billings,” Miss Almay replied. “It is why I’ve brought you here, after all.”

“Well, with all due respect, of course, Miss Almay,” Theresa began.

Eliza closed her eyes.

“If you would like an explanation on the activities of Clarissa, Jane, Viola, and Bia, then why are they not here?” Theresa asked, lifting her chin. “Why question the two of us?”

Miss Almay’s eyes narrowed. “Because, Miss Billings, I am not a fool,” she snapped. “Those girls look up to the two of you. You seem to have a power over them that is . . . almost unnatural.”

At this, Eliza’s throat completely closed over. She tried to hold back a cough, but found she simply could not do it. She covered her mouth with her fist and doubled over in her chair, her lungs racked.

“Eliza! Are you all right?” Theresa asked with false concern.

Miss Almay snapped her fingers at the office door. Instantly Mrs. Hodge appeared and raced to pour out a cup of water at the sideboard beneath the window.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Eliza choked out, waving away the proffered water. “It’s just a tickle.”

Mrs. Hodge placed the glass of water atop Miss Almay’s desk. The moment she stepped back, Eliza grabbed it and gulped it down, biding her time. Not until she replaced the empty glass on the desk again did Miss Almay speak.

“Ever since your stunt at the welcome, Miss Billings, lateness has been in fashion,” she said. “And you, Miss Williams, seem to have inspired an influx of patrons to our library.”

Eliza stared at the woman. It was hard to believe that as head of a school, she saw heightened interest in books as a bad thing.

“And I know you two were behind that late-night jaunt to Easton,” she continued. “I saw the two of you wait for the others to return to Crenshaw before you brought up the rear. Why would you do that unless you were the ringleaders?”

Eliza glanced at Theresa out of the corner of her eye, annoyed. Of
that,
she was falsely accused.

“I am certain that whatever is going on with those girls, the two of you are responsible,” Miss Almay said. “Rest assured, I will put a stop to it.”

Eliza stared up at her and a sudden hatred surged through her heart so strongly it shocked her. This was the woman who had squelched May’s spirit and sent her back to Eliza a changed, meek girl. And now here she was, accusing Eliza and Theresa of manipulating their friends, with no real evidence to support the claim.

“We are responsible for no one other than ourselves, Miss Almay,” Eliza said firmly. “I respectfully suggest that if you wish to learn more about those girls and their actions, you ask them.”

Theresa looked at Eliza, stunned. Miss Almay simply froze. She was so still, Eliza couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. Her pupils dilated with anger so that her eyes looked almost black. For a moment it looked as though she was going to reach out and strike Eliza. But then she moved to the door and opened it. “That will be all, girls,” she said.

Eliza and Theresa scrambled to their feet and were out the door so fast, they didn’t even think to bid the headmistress good day. They were mere steps into the hall when the heavy oak door slammed behind them.

“What was that?” Theresa asked Eliza as they scurried toward the main hallway. She sounded impressed. “I’ve never seen you so—”

“So like you?” Eliza shot back.

Theresa blinked. “You say it as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Good or bad, I had to get us out of there somehow,” Eliza replied.

Theresa leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked Eliza up and down. “I may have underestimated you, Eliza Williams.”

Eliza felt a surprising flutter of pride over Theresa’s approval.

“Well, Theresa Billings,” she said, lifting her chin. “You may not have noticed before now, but I am not my sister.”

The following night, at the stroke of midnight, Eliza found herself in the basement of Billings Chapel once again, but this time the mood was decidedly lighter than it had been on Sunday. Laughter and conversation filled the chamber, and candles flickered warmly over the decorated walls. Eliza and Catherine paged through the book of spells, waiting for Theresa, who was the only member of the coven yet to arrive. Eliza laughed as Alice skipped by, eating one of the pastries Genevieve had procured in town for the meeting. Powdered sugar covered her chin, and she had woven a wreath of fresh flowers into her hair.

“You suddenly seem very keen on being here,” Eliza said, stopping Alice in her tracks.

Alice tilted her head quizzically, her auburn curls grazing her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked without a trace of irony.

Eliza and Catherine exchanged an amused glance.

“No longer afraid of repercussions from above?” Catherine asked, holding the book open in her lap.

“Oh. That,” Alice said. She took a step closer to them and lowered her voice. “I figure that if God disapproved of what we were doing, he would have smote us all down the moment we said the incantation that made us witches. But so far, we’re all fine. So I have to believe he approves!”

With that, she skipped away.

“It must be nice living in Alice’s world,” Eliza mused.

“I wouldn’t mind paying a visit,” Catherine agreed. “But I don’t think I’d want it to be a lengthy one.” She looked down at the page she’d just turned to. “Ugh. Look at this.”

Eliza looked down at the page, and a shudder went through her. In the center was a grotesque illustration of a bare skull with roses sticking out of its eyes. Across the top, in elaborate script, were the words
LIFE OUT OF DEATH SPELL
. She slammed the book closed, almost flattening Catherine’s fingers.

“We won’t be needing that,” she said, standing. “Perhaps we should get this meeting started.” She spoke loudly so the other girls could hear her over their conversation and pastry munching. “Theresa will be here soon. There’s no harm in deciding on a new spell to cast before she gets here.”