The Book of Spells (22 page)

“All right, all right.” Theresa knelt next to the body as well and took Catherine’s left hand in hers. Eliza held Catherine’s right hand, which was now as cold as ice, then reached across her torso for Theresa’s hand. They looked into each other’s eyes and nodded.

“Wherever we go, wherever we breathe, let others see Catherine where she might usually be.”

The dizziness wasn’t as nauseating this time, but Eliza wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she getting stronger—more resilient? Or was the spell not strong enough? She opened her eyes, and a pathetic flutter of wind tossed the pages of the book, lifting Eliza’s hair briefly from her shoulders.

“Do you think it worked?” Eliza asked, still holding hands.

Theresa gazed down at Catherine’s serene face. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Theresa,” Eliza said tentatively, feeling a flutter of nervousness
in her stomach. “I think I . . . the other night I . . . I dreamt about this.”

Theresa’s face snapped up. “Dreamt about what?”

“About Catherine dying. The dream, it was . . . it wasn’t exactly as it happened tonight, but she died the same way. In the woods, falling into a deep hole.” Eliza saw no reason to tell the other girl that in her dream, Theresa and Helen had pushed Catherine to her death. She knew it would only anger and upset her.

“Are you saying that you saw the future?” Theresa asked. “I don’t know.

I didn’t think so at the time, of course, but now . . .” Theresa sighed and looked down at Catherine’s body. “A month ago, I never would have thought something like that was possible, but I’d believe it now.”

“But that means . . . that means I could have stopped this,” Eliza said, her eyes filling with tears. “If only I’d told her about the dream, she might have thought twice about following you into the woods. She might have been more careful.”

“There’s no way you could have realized, Eliza,” Theresa said with surprising force. “Besides, she would have followed me anyway. That’s Catherine. Always trying to protect everyone.”

“But I—”

“Eliza,” Theresa cut her off, squeezing her hand. “What’s done is done. And by tomorrow, it won’t matter any longer,” she assured Eliza, looking her firmly in the eye. “Tomorrow night, we’ll bring Catherine back.”

“What are we doing here? Why are you two acting so mysterious?” Clarissa asked, sitting on Theresa’s brocade settee in her single room.

The chamber was larger than any of the rooms the other girls shared—large enough for the entire coven to gather comfortably— with two huge windows that looked out across the darkened campus. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the underbelly of the gray clouds and casting odd shadows over the trees and buildings. Theresa closed the door quietly and stood next to Eliza. The two girls had washed and changed their clothes, then gone from room to room, waking the others and telling them to come up to Theresa’s. But Eliza could still feel the rain on her skin, the grime under her fingernails, the weight of Catherine’s body straining her arms. The seven girls gazed back at them, each clad in nightclothes. Only Alice was not among them. She had refused to come.

“And where are Catherine and Alice?” Clarissa added.

“Girls, we’ve brought you here to tell you some disturbing news,” Eliza began. Her heart felt as if it was made of pins and needles, jabbing outward at her chest with each breath.

“What is it?” Bia asked from the edge of Theresa’s bed, the color draining from her face. She reached for Viola’s hand and drew it into her lap.

Eliza looked at Theresa for help—something she had never thought she would do. Theresa cleared her throat and rested her hand on the back of her desk chair.

“After she walked Eliza home earlier tonight, Catherine took a path through the woods on her way back to the chapel,” Theresa began, as thunder clapped outside the window. “She got lost and she . . . she fell.”

Viola gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand.

Lavender pushed herself away from the closet door. “Is she all right?”

“No,” Theresa said, tears suddenly filling her eyes. “Catherine is dead.”

Bia stifled a scream and hid her face against Viola’s shoulder. The other girls gasped and covered their mouths, looking around as if someone else might explain this away. Marilyn gripped Genevieve’s hand and stepped forward.

“Where is she? You have telephoned the police? You have told Miss Almay?” Marilyn asked.

“No. No one knows but us,” Eliza said, her own tears spilling over onto her cheeks. “Us and Alice, who’s back in her room.”

“What happened?” Clarissa asked, sitting forward. “I don’t understand?
Who would wander in the woods alone on a night like this?”

Eliza and Theresa exchanged a glance.

“She had a sulfur stick and was trying a spell to make it light,” Eliza said, withdrawing the stick from her pocket.

“But why didn’t she return to the temple first? Why didn’t she wait for us to go with her?” Clarissa demanded. “Why would she go into the woods alone?”

“We don’t know why. She just did,” Theresa snapped.

Clarissa blinked and sat down again. Lavender wrapped her arms around the girl’s back in a comforting way.

“I’m sorry, Clarissa,” Theresa said, rubbing her brow. “I’m just exhausted. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone, Theresa?” Jane asked, her bottom lip trembling as she looked up at Theresa.

“Because,” Eliza said, “we’re going to bring her back.”

“What?” Viola, Genevieve, and Marilyn said at once. Bia’s sobs grew louder as she clung to her sister’s side.

“There’s a spell—the Life Out of Death Spell,” Theresa explained. “We’ve already laid Catherine in the temple so that we can use the spell on her and bring her back.”

“But we’re going to need all your help,” Eliza added, trying to look each one of them in the eye. “The entire coven needs to be present for the spell, and we’re going to need to spend the day tomorrow gathering all the ingredients.”

“And if we succeed, if we can do this spell properly, we can make her alive again?” Marilyn asked hopefully.

“But this is impossible,” Genevieve said. “No one can bring someone back from the dead.”

“It’s not impossible,” Theresa replied firmly. “Two weeks ago would you have thought it possible to change the color of someone’s dress at whim? To give a boy boils? To take someone’s voice? No. If we can do all that, we can do this, too.”

“We have to do it,” Eliza said, her heart feeling heavy. “We must, at the very least, try.”

“I’m willing,” Clarissa said, standing.

“Me, too,” Lavender added, rising next to her.

“If it will bring Catherine back, I’ll do it, too,” Viola said.

“Bia?” Bia nodded mutely, sniffling against Viola’s shoulder.

“Jane?” Theresa said.

“I’ll be there,” Jane said resolutely.

“Marilyn? Genevieve?” Eliza prompted.

The two girls looked at each other, communicating silently the way only lifelong friends can.

“We will do it,” they said in unison, facing Eliza.

“Then we are agreed,” Eliza said, stepping forward so that the group formed a true circle around the still seated Viola and Bia. “Tomorrow night, we all gather at the temple to bring Catherine back.”

She reached for Clarissa’s hand, then Theresa’s. Theresa hesitated but a moment, then clasped Eliza’s fingers. Suddenly, her locket felt warm against her skin. Slowly all the girls grasped one another’s hands, and Eliza felt as if she could sense their strength coursing through her. With her friends, her sisters, her coven, anything was possible.

The next morning, ten girls walked from breakfast to McKinley Hall together in a state of solemn silence. Lavender and Viola supported Bia between them, and every now and then Bia would sniffle and hold a handkerchief to her face, but otherwise, there was no sound from them. All ten of them had suffered nervously through morning services and their meal, waiting for Miss Almay to ask where Miss White was, to demand an explanation, but Miss Almay had been too distracted by a heated conversation with one of the teachers to acknowledge any of the students.

Yet now would come the real test of the Presence in Mind Spell. They were about to attend classes.

Jane pulled out the list of ingredients Theresa had jotted down for the Life Out of Death Spell. “We can gather most of this in the garden and the fields,” she whispered. “But what about the fig oil? That can only be purchased in a store.”

“And I hardly think the general store in Easton carries it,” Marilyn added.

Eliza turned around and everyone stopped. “We cannot talk about this now. After lunch we’ll meet under the elm tree. But right now there are too many ears.”

She slid her gaze from the left, where Miss Almay was talking animatedly with Helen and Mrs. Hodge, to the right, where two of their teachers were about to mount the stairs to McKinley Hall. The other girls nodded or hung their heads. Eliza looked at Theresa, and together they walked inside.

Most of the girls slipped into the French classroom, while Genevieve and Marilyn bid them good luck and headed to conversational English, a course established for all the foreign students, of which there was a grand total of four. Eliza was heartsick as she sank into her usual chair. She tried not to look at the empty seat to her right, but she couldn’t help it. Catherine should have been there, but instead she lay all alone in the chapel basement.

She’s gone and it’s my fault,
Eliza thought.
And if we are caught right now, that will be my fault as well.

“It’s going to be all right,” Theresa said as she sat down at Eliza’s right.

Eliza felt a grateful pang for Theresa’s confidence. Not once had they mentioned their argument of the night before, and the word
Harrison
hadn’t been uttered between them. Eliza felt as if they had some sort of unspoken agreement to focus only on Catherine. Today, and for the next few hours, nothing else mattered.

Then Miss Tinsley walked into the room, and Eliza clutched her desktop. The Presence in Mind Spell had to work. It simply had to.

“
Bonjour, classe!
” she intoned.

“
Bonjour, Mademoiselle Tinsley,
” the girls replied, less than enthusiastically.

Just then, the door opened again and in walked Helen Jennings with a tea tray. She set it down on the teacher’s desk and went about pouring out a cup for Miss Tinsley. As she did, her eyes darted around the room and paused when she saw Catherine’s empty seat.

Eliza’s stomach sank through her toes. Helen saw that Catherine wasn’t there.

“Veuillez repondre quand je dis votre nom!”
Miss Tinsley picked up her class roster and looked up at the room as Helen replaced the teapot on the tray. “Alice Ainsworth.”

“
Presente,
” Alice replied, sounding ill.

Helen stepped back against the wall and hovered there, waiting. But for what? Why didn’t she just go? Eliza clutched the desk harder.

“Jane Barton,” Miss Tinsley read.

“
Oui, mademoiselle,
” Jane said weakly.

“Theresa Billings,” Miss Tinsley said, looking right at Theresa.

“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Theresa said rather loudly.

As the teacher read through the rest of the list, Eliza held her breath. She was last in alphabetical order, with Catherine right before her. There was a stillness in the room that she could hardly stand, and it felt as if all the oxygen had been removed, leaving behind a thick, wet cloud that choked her senses. She couldn’t stop staring at Helen,
willing her to just leave. But Helen stayed where she was and stared silently back.

“Clarissa Pommer?” Miss Tinsley said.

“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Clarissa said.

Eliza’s stomach clenched. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Miss Tinsley looked at her class list. She looked up at the empty chair next to Eliza. A huge lump formed in Eliza’s throat. Her hand shot out and caught Theresa’s, which was there waiting for her.

“Catherine White?”

No one moved. No one breathed. No one said a word. There was a moment of complete suspended time, in which Eliza felt as if the whole world was about to implode around her. Helen’s glare hardened as she seemed to stare right through Eliza’s chest. Then, as if drawn by some invisible string, Miss Tinsley’s gaze slid to Eliza.

“Eliza Williams,” she read.

“
Presente, mademoiselle,
” Eliza said, her voice a mere whisper.

“
Bon! Toute la classe est presente!
” Miss Tinsley said, turning and dropping her roster on her desk. Finally, finally, Helen turned and left the room. Eliza could have cheered as she watched her go. She felt somehow as if she had won a standoff with the maid. As if she had just proven something—but of course, that wasn’t possible. Helen could have no idea what had just gone on; she was completely in the dark. Wasn’t she?

“
Attention, étudiantes!
” Miss Tinsley said, clapping her hands sharply. “
Répétez, s’il vous plaît!
”

Eliza looked at Theresa as the instructor began her daily routine of call and response.

Then, suddenly, Eliza’s heart fluttered with pride. Their spell had worked. They had cast a huge spell, just the two of them, and it had worked. Perhaps this was why the dizziness hadn’t been as debilitating as usual when they’d cast their spell. Maybe it meant they were growing accustomed to it, growing more powerful.

When she looked at Theresa again, she saw her feelings reflected in her friend’s eyes. If the two of them could accomplish something of this magnitude alone together, they stood a chance of raising the dead.

“Here. We need a full cup of rosemary,” Alice said, kneeling on her gardening pad in Crenshaw’s herb garden that afternoon. She yanked up a few bunches of the fragrant, spindly herb and tossed them in Eliza’s basket. “That should do it.”

Eliza knelt down next to her friend and glanced tentatively at her profile. Alice continued working, the brim of her wide straw hat shading her pale skin from the sun. Eliza wanted to ask why Alice was helping with their plan even though she had been steadfastly against it last night.