The Book of Spells

  Eliza sniffled, swallowed, and nodded, unable to form any words. Unable to understand how Theresa could possibly think anything would be fine ever again. Aside from everything else that had happened, had the girl not heard that thing place a curse on all of them? Eliza knew she was going to live in fear of that curse for the rest of her life, never knowing exactly what it might mean.

  “We should go,” Helen said.

  Suddenly there was a loud crack, like a tree limb breaking nearby. Eliza gasped, and Theresa dragged her down to the ground, pulling them both into the ravine. Theresa’s breath was ragged with fear, and Eliza clung to her as if she would have drowned if she let go.

  “What was that?” Eliza hissed.

  “I don’t know,” Theresa replied.

  “Who’s there?” Helen shouted, swinging around. “If you’re bold enough to follow us, you should be brave enough to show yourself!”

  Eliza clenched her hands into fists, marveling at Helen’s courage. She bit down on her tongue and looked at Theresa, who widened her eyes. The venerable Miss Billings was impressed as well. For a long moment, all three girls were silent and the forest was still.

  “It was nothing,” Helen called down to them. “No one’s here.”

  “Are you sure?” Eliza asked weakly, detesting the tremor in her voice.

  “I’m sure. But let’s go before someone realizes we’re all missing,” Helen replied.

  Holding hands, Eliza and Theresa scrambled up the sloping bank of the ravine and joined Helen at the edge. All three of the girls looked down at their fallen friend. Eliza closed her eyes.

  “Take her to Heaven, oh Lord. She was a good, pure soul,” she said.

  “Not like the rest of us,” Theresa added seriously.

  “No,” Helen said. “Indeed not.”

  A Pact

  The forest was pitch-black as Eliza, Helen, and Theresa tromped through the underbrush in the dead of night for what Eliza hoped would be the final time. Helen and Theresa carried the heavy trunk full of books between them, while Eliza struggled with the three large, rusty shovels they had borrowed from the storage shed.

  “Here,” Helen said suddenly, when the girls were about half a mile due north of the chapel. She pointed at a patch of clearing, which was covered over by fallen pine needles. “This spot should be big enough.”

  “Thank goodness,” Theresa said, dropping her side of the trunk. The thud frightened some dozing birds from the trees above, sending them cawing off into the sky.

  “Let’s get to work,” Eliza said sullenly. She shoved the tip of her shovel into the dirt and began to dig.

  Together the three girls toiled away, clearing a hole that was about four feet wide and at least six feet deep. The longer Eliza worked, the faster she went, feeling that with each jab of her shovel, each toss over her shoulder, she was somehow excising the horrible events of the past few weeks. Sweat prickled under her arms, above her lip, and along her brow, but she didn’t stop to rest or to clear it away. She only worked harder.

  “I think that’s enough,” Helen said finally.

  Eliza started. The three of them had been silent for so long, the sound of a voice seemed almost unnatural. She and Theresa were standing inside the hole, while Helen hovered above them. For the first time in more than an hour, Eliza really studied Theresa. She had a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her dark hair was matted with perspiration. The look that passed between them was one of wary respect. Suddenly, Eliza’s heart was full. She felt as if there was no malice left in her. She had no space left, no energy left, to harbor such things.

  “You saved my life,” she said as Helen jumped down into the hole, leaving her shovel behind. Eliza looked from one to the other, her eyes shining with tears. “You both saved my life.”

  Theresa reached for Eliza’s hand. “You would have done the same for me.”

  “And me,” Helen added, taking Eliza’s other hand.

  For a long moment the three of them stood there, holding on to one another, and Eliza could feel that none of them wanted to let go.

  “It’s not your fault, Eliza, that he loves you,” Theresa said suddenly. She looked at the ground. “I know it’s not your fault.” She looked up again and shrugged, though her eyes were full of tears. “No one ever loves me best.”

  Eliza’s heart welled, but she found she couldn’t speak. How could she respond to that? How could she possibly make it all right?

  She squeezed Theresa’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get on with it.”

  The other girls nodded. Helen climbed back out of the hole and shoved the trunk toward the edge. Carefully, she lowered it down into the waiting arms of Eliza and Theresa. The trunk was heavy and awkward, with the books sliding and clunking around inside. Once the trunk had been placed squarely in the center of the hole, she and Theresa crawled out and took up their shovels.

  “Wait,” Helen said, holding out a dirt-covered hand. “We must make a pact. We must swear right now that none of us will ever come looking for this trunk again. That none of us will ever tell anyone where to find it.”

  “I swear,” Eliza said willingly, placing her hand above Helen’s.

  “I swear,” Theresa said, adding her hand above Eliza’s.

  “Good,” Helen said with a nod. “I’ve had enough witchcraft to last two lifetimes.” Then she pushed her shovel into the pile of dirt at her side, and made to cover the trunk.

  “Wait!” Eliza said suddenly. “I almost forgot.”

  She reached up, clasped the locket in her hand, and gave it one good yank, breaking the delicate gold chain that held it. Without a second thought, she tossed the trinket into the hole, where it bounced off the top of the trunk and came to rest on the ground.

  “Good riddance,” she said.

  As she gazed down at the locket, Eliza felt a momentary pang, remembering the day she’d first held it in her palm—that day in the sun with Catherine and Theresa and Alice—the last day of their innocence. But then the memory was gone, chased away by all the horror that had followed. Her lips set in a thin line, and she reached for the handle of her shovel.

  “All right, girls,” she said. “Let’s finish this.”

  Hurt

  Eliza stood in her black mourning dress, holding hands with Theresa, both of them still as stone. The sky was a blanket of dark gray clouds, and the air was thick with a humidity that seemed to mute every sound. Eliza stared at the gleaming brown wood of Catherine’s casket as it was carried by, feeling numb and exhausted. All her tears had been cried.

  It had taken less than a day for the police search party to find Catherine in the woods. Hours of miserable anticipation that had felt like years to Eliza. But now it was over. She tried to take comfort in the fact that Catherine was going home.

  “At least she’s at peace now,” Theresa whispered, squeezing Eliza’s fingers.

  Eliza nodded mutely, her throat full of emotion. Theresa hadn’t left her side since the night of their pact. Theresa had spoken to Miss Almay, and had all of Eliza’s things—except for her bookshelf, as it reminded her too much of Catherine—moved into her private room on the top floor of Crenshaw. That way, Eliza would no longer have to live in the room she’d shared with Catherine—the room in which she had almost met her end. And now here they were, roommates, clinging to each other as if they were old friends.

  “Thank you, Theresa,” Eliza whispered. “For everything.”

  Theresa simply nodded, giving Eliza a small smile, before returning her attention to the proceedings.

  The eight pallbearers loaded the casket into a hearse—a long, black carriage draped with dark purple swaths of fabric—for transportation to the train station and then on to the Whites’ farm in Georgia. All of the Billings and Easton community had turned out to pay their respects and say good-bye to Catherine—students, teachers, and staff alike.

  Catherine’s father and mother had made the trip up to Connecticut to squire their only daughter home. They stoo
d across the dirt road, watching with red-rimmed eyes, as the pallbearers closed the solid black door on the back of the hearse. Catherine’s father’s hand rested on the shoulder of a small boy with blond hair, whose bottom lip had been quivering all morning. Eliza assumed this was Lincoln, Catherine’s younger brother. She could barely stand to look at him.

  Finally, Miss Almay stepped forward to shake hands with the Whites and offer her condolences. The crowd along the side of the road stood in awkward silence for a moment before breaking up. Packs of boys turned their steps toward Easton’s campus, their hands in the pockets of their starched suits, their heads respectfully bowed. Alice’s sobs grew louder, and Eliza found she could stand it no longer.

  “Excuse me, Theresa,” she said furtively, releasing her friend’s hand. “I need to be alone. Just for a moment.”

  Before Theresa could respond, Eliza turned and walked toward the elm tree next to Crenshaw House, striding as fast as she could. She paused near the outer branches, unwilling to duck under the canopy and be alone in the secluded spot where she and Catherine had so recently been together. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked up at the sky.

  I just need a moment to myself, she thought. I just need a moment to breathe.

  The other girls seemed to understand this. She saw them walking past her on their way into Crenshaw. Lavender and Clarissa shot her concerned looks, but no one stopped. Eliza breathed in and out, telling herself it was time to let Catherine go, time to let her guilt go, time to move on. She couldn’t go on feeling this weight in her chest. She simply could not live this way.

  She just wished she could talk to Catherine one last time. She wished her friend could absolve her—tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

  Her eyes fell on Harrison, and the moment he noticed her, his brow knit with concern. But Eliza couldn’t see him right now. She could not talk to him in this state. She covered her mouth to keep from crying and finally ducked under the thick branches of the elm.

  Once inside the privacy of the leaves, Eliza walked over to the tree’s trunk, leaned against it, and cried. Her chest heaved as she bent her head forward, letting the rough bark cut into the skin of her forehead.

  What had she been thinking? This guilt was never going to go away. Catherine was never going to come back and absolve her. Nothing was ever going to be right again. Nothing.

  “Eliza.”

  Whirling around at the sound of her name, Eliza saw Harrison slipping inside her sanctuary. She shook her head at the sight of him, not wanting him to see her like this.

  “Eliza,” he said again, approaching her. “I’m so sorry about Catherine. I know how you must feel.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Eliza heard herself say, her voice soaked with tears. She backed away from him, moving around the trunk of the tree. “You don’t know anything about me, Harrison.”

  Still he came. He closed the gap between them quickly and pulled her into his arms.

  “I know everything I need to know,” he said, holding her head against his chest. “And it’s okay to cry. I’m here.”

  “I can’t,” Eliza said, sniffling. Her chest felt as if it was being crushed by the weight of ten thousand heavy heels. “I can’t.”

  “Eliza, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you,” Harrison said, leaning back. He placed one finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes. “All I want is to be with you. I haven’t spoken to Theresa yet because of all that’s happened, but I will. I’ll make her understand.”

  Eliza yanked herself away from Harrison’s grasp. “I can’t, Harrison.” She channeled every bit of frustration and misery and regret into the words. “I can’t be with you. You belong with Theresa. You should be with her now, not me. She needs you. Please, just go to her. Leave me alone.”

  The look of hurt and confusion on his face was impossible for Eliza to bear. She had hurt Catherine. She had hurt Theresa. She had hurt all her sisters in the coven. And now she had hurt Harrison, too.

  “But Eliza, I thought you said—”

  “I know what I said, but I was wrong,” Eliza sobbed. “Please, Harrison, just go. Just go to your fiancée.”

  Harrison still didn’t move. Eliza couldn’t take the pain in her chest for a moment longer. She ducked under the lowest branches and ran for Crenshaw House, shoving the heavy door open. Nearly blinded by tears, she ignored Mrs. Hodge, who called after her, and ran up the stairs and into her old room, slamming the door behind her.

  This, she realized instantly, was a mistake. Catherine’s things were still there. Her dresses still hung in the closet. Her books still stood on Eliza’s shelves. Her quilt still covered her bed. This was the last place Eliza wanted to be right then. The last place in the world. But as she turned to go, there was a knock on the door.

  “Miss Williams?” Mrs. Hodge said tentatively. “Catherine’s father has sent some men to pack up her things. May I let them in?”

  Eliza’s heart pounded. Without thinking twice, she dropped to the floor, yanked Catherine’s case of magical items out from under her bed, and shoved it under the one she had slept in. Then she stood up, dried her eyes with her fingertips, and took in a long, ragged breath.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Mrs. Hodge opened the door. The two young men in plain, gray flannel jackets doffed their caps at Eliza but said nothing. They simply went to work, transferring Catherine’s clothes from her bureau to her trunk. They plucked her toiletry items from the shelves, removed the linens from her bed, and finally removed the fleur-de-lis from the wall, tossing it on top of everything else. The whole while, Eliza stood in the hall with Mrs. Hodge, at a respectful distance but watching their every move. She held her breath the whole time, waiting irrationally for one of them to spot Catherine’s box, to realize that it belonged to her deceased friend and not to her.

  “Good day, miss,” one of the two men said to Eliza as they carted the trunk out between them.

  “Good day,” Eliza managed.

  Mrs. Hodge gave Eliza a sympathetic smile. Eliza was surprised and touched to be the recipient of such kind emotions from such a hard woman.

  “Is there anything I can get you, Miss Williams?” Mrs. Hodge asked.

  “No, thank you,” Eliza replied, stepping into her old room, now eerily empty. “I’d just like to be alone for a while.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Hodge said.

  The maid reached for the handle and closed the door, leaving Eliza on her own. Trying not to start crying all over again, Eliza sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at the blank side of the room that was once Catherine’s.

  “I wish you were still here, Catherine,” Eliza said aloud. “I wish you were here with me right now.”

  There was, of course, no reply. But Eliza felt a strange warmth over her shoulders, a glimmer of peace inside her chest. Somehow, she felt as if Catherine was there. And that she was wishing she could be with Eliza, too.

  It wasn’t until the men and the trunk were long gone and the house had gone still that Eliza lay back—and in doing so, caught a glimpse of her bookshelf. Her heart caught and she smiled, for the men had accidentally left her Catherine’s most prized possessions: her books.

  Wiping the last stray tears from her eyes, Eliza shoved herself up and pulled out the blank book her mother had given her. She opened it to the first page and ran her eyes down the list of girls she, Theresa, Catherine, and Alice had chosen to be members of the “Billings Literary Society.” Then she turned to the next page, the one on which each of the girls had personally signed her name. Her fingers grazed Catherine’s signature, and her heart caught miserably.

  Eliza took a deep, broken breath and sat down at her old desk. She took out a pen, turned to the first clean page in the book, and began to write. Slowly, methodically, she recorded every detail of the past few days. The story of Caroline Westwick, of her sister Lucille, of Helen’s involvement in the original coven and Caroline’s suicide.
Then she tearfully recorded all that had happened with Catherine—her dream about her friend’s death, the actual accident, the ritual and the thing it had brought back, and finally the curse. As much as it broke her heart to recall the details, she knew she had to record them—just in case any future Billings girls ever stumbled across the books again. They would have to be warned. They would have to be protected.

  Catherine would have wanted it that way.

  Help Them

  “Why must Miss Almay keep such a close eye on everyone?” Theresa asked Eliza as they sat on the wrought-iron bench alongside the Crenshaw garden on Wednesday afternoon following classes. “Does she think we’re all going to wander off and meet our doom in the woods?”

  “No,” Eliza replied, watching as Miss Almay paced the flower beds planted alongside the house’s foundation. “She knows something is wrong. She can tell.”

  “How could she not know?” Helen asked. The maid knelt in the garden a few feet in front of the two girls, pulling out weeds—all the better to hide the fact that the three of them were conversing. “Look at them.”

  Eliza scanned the area. It was free period, and several of the younger girls had started up a game of jump rope on the lawn. Their laughter and shrieks of joy were in stark contrast to the attitude of the girls from the coven. Alice sat under cover of a wide-brimmed felt hat, reading her Bible diligently, as she had been doing ever since she’d learned that Catherine was dead—again. Jane reposed on a bench opposite Eliza’s and Theresa’s, staring listlessly into space as she toyed with her hair. Lavender, Bia, and Viola sat together on a picnic blanket not talking to one another. Marilyn and Genevieve were ostensibly watching Petit Peu play with a stick, but they hardly seemed to notice him at all. Clarissa was squirreled away in the library, ignoring the existence of everyone else.

  “Well, we’re still in mourning,” Theresa said. “Of course we’d be listless.”