The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (293 page)

“Resarcio.”

She said the word at a whisper, opened her eyes, and looked. Everyone in the circle leaned in. The seam was still torn.

“Nothing happened,” Viola said with a pout.

Eliza felt a swoop of disappointment.

“Try it again,” Catherine instructed calmly. “This time, stare at the back of your hand and really concentrate. Say the spell loudly and clearly. Believe that it will work.”

Marilyn and Genevieve both eyed Catherine with interest, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Eliza was impressed as well. Catherine really sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.

Viola held her hand over the tear. She closed her eyes again, then
remembered Catherine’s instructions and quickly snapped them open. She stared at the back of her hand and this time said the spell in a loud voice. An odd snapping sound filled the small room. Eliza flinched. When Viola lifted her hand, the gash in the cotton had vanished. The nightgown was as good as new.

“It worked!” Bia said breathlessly.

“What else can we do? What else?” Jane blurted, clapping her hands.

Suddenly the room was filled with giggles and twitters. Genevieve pulled out her box of chocolates and passed it around. Eliza looked at Catherine, a grin lighting her face. “You did it.” Catherine blushed.

“What about this one? To change the color of a frock?” Theresa said, tugging the book off Eliza’s lap while she was distracted. “Alice? What do you say? Would you like a pink nightgown instead of white?”

Alice looked down at her flannel uncertainly. “Will it hurt?”

“Oh, please,” Theresa said. She held a flat hand out toward Alice, leaning past Eliza and Catherine. “Hubeo pink!”

Another snapping sound. Suddenly a spot of color appeared at the center of Alice’s nightgown. Alice squealed and grasped Catherine’s arm, her legs bouncing up and down beneath her.

“Get it off! Get it off!”

Eliza watched in amazement as the spot swirled and grew and swirled and grew. Clarissa got up, walked over to Alice, and touched the spot where the color had sprung to life, her brow knit with curiosity.

“It’s warm,” she said, looking at Eliza. “Very warm.”

“Make it stop!” Alice whined, squeezing her eyes shut as the color
seeped across her chest and down her arms, then finally swirled to the floor-length hem. She peeked from the corner of her left eye, then squeezed it shut, holding her breath until she turned beet red. “Is it over?”

“Look!” Eliza told her.

Alice opened just one eye to a sliver, then the other. She gazed down at herself, and suddenly both eyes widened in wonder. “It’s pink!”

Just like that, every one of the girls was on her feet, gathering around Theresa for a better look at the book of spells.

“Here’s one for reviving a dying plant!” Lavender exclaimed.

“This one polishes silver,” Jane said, spinning the silver bracelet on her wrist.

“Is there anything about getting rid of freckles?” Genevieve asked, leaning so close from behind that she almost folded Theresa in half.

“I have always dreamt of having raven hair,” Marilyn said, gazing into space.

Viola reached out to touch Marilyn’s blond locks. “But your hair works so well with your coloring.”

“
Vraiment
? I do not think so,” Marilyn said, touching her hair as well.

“Why not just dye it?” Jane suggested.

Marilyn shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. That would be far too
gauche
.” She looked at Theresa. “Is there anything for changing hair the way you changed her dress?” she said, gesturing at Alice.

“Patience, patience,” Theresa said, clearly enjoying her place at the center of attention. “We’ll get to everything in time.” She looked over at Eliza and Catherine and smiled giddily.

“This is unbelievable,” Eliza said to Catherine in awe. “We’re witches.”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “We certainly are.”

“Now, girls, in your role as ladies of society, you will rarely be serving tea yourselves, but you must know the proper technique so that you may instruct and correct your servants if need be.”

It was a stiflingly warm Tuesday afternoon as Miss Almay strolled around the parlor, which had been set with four round tables, each seating four girls. Gathered at the table nearest the door were Theresa, Eliza, Alice, and Catherine. Lavender, Marilyn, Jane, and Viola hovered around them. For the moment the latter girls were the servers, while the former were the guests. Marilyn had set Petit Peu on a small pillow near the door, where he was now curled up and snoring quite loudly. Helen stood in the corner, watching the girls’ every move.

“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.