“It’s not just listlessness,” Eliza said. “It’s guilt.”
Theresa’s head snapped around, and Helen stopped weeding abruptly but didn’t turn.
“What do you mean? Why would they feel guilty?” Theresa asked.
Eliza’s mouth was dry. “Because we had the chance to save Catherine, and we failed,” she said, one single tear spilling down her cheek. “We promised them we could bring her back. We set them up for failure. They believe . . . they believe Catherine is still dead because of them. Because of us. Don’t you feel that way, Theresa?”
Theresa took a breath. “No,” she said. “We tried, Eliza. Most people wouldn’t have even done that.”
“Well, even if you don’t feel it, they—we—do,” Eliza said, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Alice slowly turn the page in her Bible. “That sort of pain doesn’t just go away.”
For a long moment, none of them spoke. All three of them just watched the others—watched them ignoring one another, watched them not living their lives.
“All right, then. We have to find a way to help them move on,” Theresa said finally. “We have to help them put this whole mess behind them and start over.”
“But how?” Eliza asked.
Helen stood up, dusted her hands off, and turned to them. “I know we said we were done with magic, but perhaps we need to cast one last spell.”
This Pain
Eliza stood in the center of the temple with Theresa and Helen, the other eight members of the coven gathered in a circle around them. It was Saturday afternoon, and Miss Almay had gone off campus for a visit with her sister in Norfolk. If the girls were going to put Helen’s plan in motion, now was the time.
“What are we doing here?” Clarissa snipped, hugging herself against the chill. “No one wants to be here, you know.”
“Clarissa is right. You don’t intend for us to be casting spells again, do you?” Marilyn asked, holding Genevieve’s hand.
Bia and Viola stood huddled near the door, while the others eyed Eliza, Theresa, and Helen with suspicion. Eliza ignored their questions. She looked into Theresa’s brown eyes and held her breath.
“Ready?” Helen asked. She pressed a single grape leaf into each of their palms.
“Ready,” Theresa and Eliza replied.
The three girls clasped hands, their leaves pressing together, and recited the incantation.
“Sleep, sisters, sleep, and dream your fondest dream. Take no note of what we do. Things are not what they seem.”
This time, there was no dizziness whatsoever. A warm wind swirled up and out from the tight circle, lifting Eliza’s hair straight up from her head. When it died down, she glanced at Helen and Theresa for courage, then turned around.
All eight girls had fallen fast asleep where they stood. Lavender was even snoring. Alice swayed slightly on her feet but didn’t tip over.
“Let’s get to work,” Theresa said determinedly. She walked over to Jane and touched her fingertips to Jane’s forehead. “When you wake, you will be free of this pain,” she said. And Jane’s head nodded forward, her chin ducking toward her neck.
Eliza stepped up to Clarissa and placed her fingers against the sleeping girl’s forehead. “When you wake, you will be free of this pain.” Clarissa’s head nodded forward.
Standing in front of Alice next, as Helen and Theresa worked on the other girls, Eliza took a deep breath. She hoped that when Alice awoke, she would be back to her formerly vibrant, bright-eyed self. She hoped that she would be free of this fear of retribution, this overwhelming guilt that had consumed her. She reached out, touched Alice’s forehead, and closed her eyes, channeling all her energy into her friend.
“When you wake, you will be free of this pain.”
Alice’s head nodded, her red curls grazing her cheeks. Eliza smiled slightly, hoping she had done right by her friend.
“All right. We’re done,” Theresa said, her long, azure blue skirt swishing about her ankles as she turned. “Let’s get them upstairs.”
Helen placed her hands gently on Genevieve’s shoulders and turned her toward the stairs. Then she took Marilyn by the hand and walked her toward Genevieve. Marilyn went along, being led like a sleepwalking child. Helen lifted Marilyn’s right hand and placed it on Genevieve’s right shoulder. Catching on, Eliza set about helping form the chain. Lavender’s hand met Marilyn’s shoulder. Then Clarissa, then Alice, then Viola, then Bia, then Jane.
“I’ll take the front, and you girls take the rear,” Helen said. Then she walked to the front of the line, placed Genevieve’s hand on her own shoulder, and began to walk. Each of the sleeping girls stepped forward as her arm was tugged by the girl in front of her. The chain loped up the winding staircase in silence, never missing a step. Eliza and Theresa stayed behind on the floor of the temple for a moment, looking at each other in awe.
“That Helen really knows her magic,” Theresa said.
“Thank goodness,” Eliza replied. She took a deep breath and let it out, feeling relieved. If this spell worked, at least her friends would be released from their misery. That was something.
At the end of the chain, Jane started up the first step. Eliza looked around the temple and felt a pang of regret and nostalgia. What they had done here in this room had been exciting. It had opened up so many possibilities. But now, those possibilities were gone forever.
But this is a good thing, she reminded herself. Then, you looked forward to only happiness and innocent mischief, but look what misery you wrought. Those books are better left hidden.
“We’d better follow,” Theresa said, nodding toward the stairs.
Together they took one last look around their hallowed space. The pedestal and chairs still stood where they’d left them, looking so lonely and bare without the candles and the draping and the books. With one last sigh, Eliza reached for Theresa’s hand. The two girls turned as one and climbed the stairs. At the top, Theresa closed the door behind them, and Eliza turned the key with one final, resounding click.
“Never again,” Theresa said, looking Eliza in the eye.
Eliza slipped the key into the pocket of her dress, where it came to a rest, cold and heavy at her side.
“Never again.”
CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF THE BILLINGS GIRLS?
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF
THE NEXT PRIVATE NOVEL, COMING FEBRUARY 2011
I knocked on Noelle’s door in Pemberly Hall Friday morning, my eyes puffy and at half-mast—I hadn’t slept at all since we’d discovered the Book of Spells in the basement of the Billings Chapel. It took Noelle a moment to answer, and when she did, she grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.
“Wait. Reed just got here,” she said into her iPhone. “I’m putting you on speaker.”
Noelle placed the flat cell phone atop her dresser and stepped back. She wore a gray wool skirt that came halfway down her calves, paired with heeled black boots and a black ballet-neck sweater. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face on the sides, and her makeup was impeccably done, complete with fully lined eyes and lavender eye shadow.
Apparently she had slept. I pulled my navy cotton cardigan tighter around my wrinkled long-sleeved T-shirt and stifled a yawn.
“Girls?” Noelle’s grandmother’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear. Well, our grandmother’s voice, I corrected myself with a jolt. I had learned just a couple of days ago that Noelle and I were half sisters. “Girls, are you there?”
“We’re right here, Grandmother,” Noelle said, placing her hands on her hips.
“Reed?”
Noelle knocked me with her elbow.
“I’m here,” I croaked.
“Good. Noelle is a bit . . . out of sorts this morning,” Mrs. Lange said, sounding displeased. “Perhaps you can help me calm her down.”
“Calm me down?” Noelle blurted. “Like that’s gonna happen. You sent us out into the snow in the middle of the night to find the quote-unquote
key to our future and what do we find? A book about witchcraft.” She went over to her bed and yanked the thick tome out from under a tangle of bed sheets and silk pajamas, holding it up as if her grandmother could see it. “Is that what you’re trying to tell us Gram? Really? That you think we’re witches? I’m sorry, but you’re either senile or really, really bored.”
I took the book from Noelle with two hands. Even though I agreed that last night had felt like a pointless practical joke, the book was still real. It had once belonged to Elizabeth Williams, one of the original Billings Girls, and was therefore a precious relic to me.
“Seriously, Grandmother, have you ever thought about taking up mah-jongg?” Noelle continued without pause. “I hear it really helps keep your faculties in order.”
“Noelle,” I scolded under my breath.
She widened her eyes at me. “What?”
Through the speakers, I heard Mrs. Lange take in a deep, patient breath. “Girls today are so skeptical and jaded. But you two—you have no idea the power you could wield.”
Noelle rolled her eyes.
“So . . . ?” I said slowly, hugging the book to my chest. “Are you saying that you’ve actually done witchcraft?”
“No,” she admitted. Noelle threw up her hands and turned away. She’d been away from school for almost two weeks and her Louis Vuitton rolling case was still open on the floor. She picked it up and turned it over, dumping the entire contents out on her gold and burgundy throw rug. “No one at Billings has practiced in a long time,” Mrs. Lange continued. “But the two of you . . . girls, you have no idea how powerful you could be, now that you’re together.”
I felt an odd chill go through me and I looked over at Noelle. She sorted through a pile of balled-up sweaters, crumpled socks, and tangles of necklaces, her fingers shaking slightly.
“The two of you have a unique opportunity here,” Mrs. Lange continued, oblivious to Noelle’s silent tantrum. “You might be able to fix certain things, set to right the unpleasant . . . situation that has arisen at Easton.”
Noelle stood up straight, her arms falling down at her sides, one hand clutching an Hermès scarf and the other the gold chain strap on a Gucci purse. We looked at one another and I knew we were thinking the same thing: The woman was senile. But then, I saw a flash of movement behind Noelle, a blur of color against the stark white snow outside. Stepping over the pile of clothes at my feet, I carefully walked to the frost-laced window and peered out. There, across the quad at the desiccated site of the former Billings House—our former home—was group of people in long wool coats. I recognized the perfect posture of Headmaster Hathaway and the jet black curls of Demetria Rosewell, one of the more powerful Billings alums. They walked carefully around the jagged stone outline that was the footprint of the demolished building, along with a pair of men who pointed and jotted notes on clipboards, and bent their heads together in the bright sunshine.
I felt a familiar hollowing-out sensation in my gut. “What’s that about?” I whispered to Noelle.
“I don’t know,” Noelle replied, coming up behind me.
Chilling words coming from her, since normally she knew everything. Although lately, my know-it-all friend had dropped the ball more than once. The idea of her not always being in charge was going to take some getting used to. I turned and looked at the phone.
“Mrs. Lange?”
“Yes, Reed.”
“Do you mean . . .” I kept one eye on the group out the window, their feet sinking into the snow. “Do you mean that we might be able to bring Billings back?”
For the first time that morning, Noelle looked intrigued.
“Now you’re thinking, Reed.”
There was a glimmer of pride in her voice, and I felt it in my chest. I’d made my grandmother proud. Weird. Noelle and I looked at each other, then out the window. Mrs. Rosewell was shaking hands with Mr. Hathaway, nodding in a satisfied way. The sunlight glinted off Mr. Hathaway’s wide smile. There was something foreboding about it. Like someone was making a deal with the devil, but I wasn’t sure which side was good and which was evil. All I knew was that I didn’t like it.
Noelle and I exchanged a glance. What if we could bring Billings back? Wouldn’t it be worth it to hear our grandmother out?
“No. No way.” Noelle shook her head and stepped away from the window, as if she was shaking herself out of a daydream.
Noelle was angrily tossing her things onto her bed. “We are not witches, Grandmother. This is not some CW summer series.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Mrs. Lange said.
“It means this conversation is over,” Noelle replied. She plucked the phone off the dresser and held it in front of her mouth. “I’ll call you later, Grandmother. We’re late for breakfast.” Then she ended the call before Mrs. Lange could protest.
“Well,” I said. “That was rude.”
“She’ll get over it,” Noelle replied, shoving the phone into the rust-colored Birkin bag she was currently using for her school-work. She turned and sat down on the mound of her comforter with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m sorry, Reed.” She looked up at me tentatively. “For everything. The whole faked kidnapping thing was her idea. She kept talking about birthright and us being sisters and how you needed to go through this test and then we’d have our reward. I thought she was going to . . . I don’t know . . . give us the keys to some villa in Spain I’d never heard about so we could bond this summer.” She sighed again and her eyes fell on the book, which I still held clutched to my chest. “I never would have said yes to any of it if I knew she was batshit crazy.”
“It’s okay,” I said, releasing my grip slightly so I could look down at the worn cover. “I can see how she could be really . . . persuasive.”
A tingling sensation sprung to life in my chest and traveled down my arms, into my fingertips, making the book feel warm in my hands. I would never have said this to Noelle in a billion years, but there was this teeny, tiny part of me that wondered . . . what if Mrs. Lange wasn’t crazy? What if what she’d said was true and we could wield some kind of power? I’d seen some insane stuff since I’d started school at Easton last fall. Nothing supernatural, of course, but definitely crazy—things I never would have thought were possible even two years ago. What if this was possible too?
“Okay, forget this.”
Noelle plucked the book right out of my hands and tossed it back onto the mess of her bed. My fingers felt cold suddenly, and I tucked them under my arms.
“I say we concentrate on more important things,” she said, her brown eyes bright.
“Like what?” I said, trying not to look over her shoulder at the book.
“Things based in actual reality.” She reached for her black-and-white plaid coat and opened the door for me, but I hesitated. “What?” she asked impatiently.
“Do you mind if I take that?” I said, gesturing toward the book. “I mean, if you’re not going to look at it—”
“Seriously?” She walked to her bed, picked up the book, and held it out to me. “It smells like rotting garbage and mold. Please take it.”
I reached for the book, but she snatched it back toward her shoulder, giving me an appraising glance. “As long as you promise me you’re not going to try anything in it. Because I really don’t think I could be friends with someone who actually believes in this crap.”
I held her gaze. “I promise.”
Her eyes narrowed further, but after a long moment, she handed the book over. I stuck it in my messenger bag and pulled the flap down over it.
“As I was saying,” Noelle said as we stepped out into the hallway, “I think we should talk about throwing you the most kick-ass seventeenth birthday party in the history of birthdays. You’re a Lange now. I’d say you’re well overdue.”
Instantly, my shoulder muscles coiled.
“I’m not a Lange.”
I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice, but it didn’t entirely
work. The thing was, I barely even knew Noelle’s dad, and I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. But I was certain that I didn’t feel like part of their family. I was a Brennan, and I always would be.
Noelle rolled her eyes again as she started to close the door behind us. “Whatever.”
“Actually, Noelle, I wanted to talk to you about that. . . . Can we keep this whole sisters thing between us for now? If that’s okay with you,” I added quickly.
She froze with her hand on the doorknob. “Why?”
“I just . . . I don’t want to deal with all the questions and explanations and everything until I’m a little more used to it,” I said.
“Wow. I’d think you’d be kinda psyched to be my sister,” Noelle said. Only she would have a big enough ego to say something like that without a hint or irony or self-deprecation.
“It’s not that,” I told her. “It’s just . . . it’s kind of humiliating, you know? I’m going to have to tell everyone that my mom cheated on my dad with your dad.” I looked at my water-stained leather boots, mottled after days of tromping around campus in the snow and sleet. “There’s no getting around that.”
Noelle’s expression utterly changed. It was pretty clear she’d never thought of the whole thing from my perspective before. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.” She closed the door with a bang. “But you still deserve a party.”
She had me there. After faking her kidnapping, scaring me to death, and making me jump through multiple hoops to find her over the past couple of weeks, I’d say I deserved whatever good things she wanted to throw my way. A party might be just what the psychoanalyst ordered after everything I’d recently been through.
Her eyes flicked over me as if she was noticing my outfit for the first time, and did not approve. “Where’s your coat?” she asked.
I glanced down at my jeans. “Oh. I guess I forgot it.”
She shook her head, walked back inside, and came out two seconds later with a wool camel-colored trench. “See? You should definitely be psyched to have me as a big sister. I’m already taking care of you.”