The Book of Spells (24 page)

“The girls are waiting in the chapel,” Eliza told her.

Helen hesitated, glancing at the door as if she expected a ghost or goblin to come screeching out at her. “Waiting for what?”

“For you,” Eliza said. “It’s time for your initiation.”

“The girl who died—her name was Caroline Westwick,” Helen said, tugging her blue shawl closer to her body as she, Theresa, and Eliza trailed the other girls back through the woods after her initiation. The sky overhead was lit by the biggest full moon Eliza had ever seen. It glowed an eerie yellow-green against the midnight sky. “That was the name of the girl who died. Odd, isn’t it? How she and Catherine have the same initials?”

A chill went through Eliza as she glanced back toward the chapel. Catherine was there, all alone in that basement, her body growing colder by the moment. Eliza felt an ache in her gut over leaving her friend behind once again, but she’d had no choice. She had wanted to do the Life Out of Death Spell right away, as soon as Helen had become a member of the coven, but Helen had insisted they wait another day—long enough for her to study the spell, to make sure it was safe. And that, after all, had been a condition of her initiation, so Eliza had no choice but to agree.

“Check your sources,” Theresa said under her breath, glancing ahead at the other girls. Their hushed conversations traveled back to Eliza’s ears in furtive whispers. All of them had just seen Catherine’s body for the first time, and all of them had been affected. “Everyone knows that Caroline Westwick ran off to Europe to marry some divorced ex-duke and broke her mother’s heart.”

“That’s just what her family wants you to believe,” Helen said, looking Theresa in the eye. “But next time you visit their home, walk out to the orchard. At the foot of the easternmost tree, you’ll find an unmarked grave. That’s where her mother goes every morning to grieve.”

Theresa stopped walking. All the color dropped from her face, and she held both hands against her stomach. “How can you possibly know this?”

Helen paused and looked down at her hands. “Because I visit Caroline, too.”

Theresa pressed one hand into the trunk of an old oak tree, her breathing ragged. The rest of the girls kept tromping ahead, not noticing their friends’ absence.

“Theresa? Are you all right?” Eliza asked, placing her hand on the small of Theresa’s back.

Theresa nodded, waving Eliza away, but Eliza kept her hand there as she looked wildly around at Helen. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . she was a friend of the family.

“I don’t understand,” Eliza said. “Why would the Westwicks lie about something like that?”

Helen removed a handkerchief from the pocket of her nightgown and handed it to Theresa in a perfunctory way. Theresa cupped the fabric over her mouth, closed her eyes, and breathed.

“Think of your own mother, Miss Eliza,” Helen said. “Would it be more humiliating for her to say you’d simply fallen in love and followed your silly little heart, or to tell the world that you’d become obsessed with witchcraft, lost your mind to it, and subsequently killed yourself?”

Eliza’s mind went suddenly gray. Now she clung to Theresa’s arm to steady herself. “She committed suicide?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Helen said flatly. “She threw herself off the roof of the Easton Academy chapel, but I don’t think she knew what she was doing when she did it.”

“How is this possible?” Theresa looked around in confusion, as if hoping Caroline would step out of the trees and explain it all away.

“Why did she do it?”

Helen sighed.

“It was Caroline’s older sister, Lucille, who originally found the books. She started her own coven, and she invited ten other girls to join, just as you did. Even though I was only thirteen years old, I was one of those she invited. Caroline was not,” Helen said.

Eliza narrowed her eyes. “She invited a maid, but not her own sister?”

The moment the words left her lips, Eliza felt ashamed.

“I think that was why she did it, Miss Eliza,” Helen said. “I believe that by asking me, she was taunting her sister.”

“That does sound like Lucille,” Theresa admitted. “She always left Caroline out.”

Helen nodded. “Every time our coven would meet, Caroline would follow us. She would hover upstairs in the chapel, and occasionally she would beg to be let in, but Lucille always shunned her. She would laugh about it, like it was all a joke to her. It made some of us uncomfortable. But you didn’t argue with Lucille.”

Eliza looked at Theresa, wondering if she saw the parallels to her own position at Billings, but Theresa’s attention was trained on Helen.

“Everything we did back then was in good fun, or so we thought,” Helen said. “It was much like I’m sure it’s been for you. We cast fun little spells, helped the girls pass tests, helped them attract certain boys. They even cast a spell to get me out of scrubbing the floors when I had a cold.” The moon broke from behind a cloud, bathing Helen in milky light.

“And?” Theresa prompted. “What happened?”

“One night Caroline’s frustration got the better of her,” Helen explained. “She snuck into Lucille’s room and stole the books. She told her sister she would burn them unless Lucille initiated her. So we did. We took in a twelfth. And that, we all later believed, was our mistake.”

Helen turned and began walking again, her steps hurried, as if she wanted to get away from these memories. Eliza gripped Theresa’s hand, clinging to her as they rushed to catch up.

“What do you mean, your ‘mistake’?” Eliza asked.

“Caroline was never invited to join the coven. She forced her way in,” Helen told them. “We didn’t choose her, the way Lucille chose us. She wasn’t meant to be a witch . . . and she couldn’t handle the power.”

“And that’s why she died?” Theresa asked.

Helen nodded. “All Caroline wanted was to be like her sister, so she cast several spells. One to change her hair color, another to make her taller, another to make her smarter, a better musician, a finer artist. All just to be like Lucille. But it was too much. She didn’t know what she was doing. And she lost her mind.”

Helen paused as they reached the edge of the woods, looking out over the Billings campus. Every window was dark, yet the moon cast its solemn glow over the troop of girls moving swiftly toward Crenshaw.

“After she died, we tried to burn the books—and that was when we realized Caroline’s original threat was empty, though she had no idea at the time. When burning them didn’t work, we locked them in the chapel basement, then buried the map along with the locket Lucille had commissioned for herself as the leader of the coven,” Helen said. Her eyes flicked to the gold locket around Eliza’s neck. “The locket you now wear, miss.”

Eliza’s hand fluttered up to touch the gold trinket. Suddenly it felt heavier than it ever had before.

“If you thought the books were so very dangerous, why bury the locket and the map right there in the garden where anyone could find them?” Theresa asked. “Why make a map at all?”

Helen took a deep breath and blew it out audibly. “The map was Lucille’s idea. She said the books were too precious to be lost forever. She said that some future Billings girls would find them, and maybe they would know how to harness their power better than we did.” She cast an arch look at Theresa. “Really, I think she couldn’t let go. As for the burial spot, it wasn’t a garden then, and we were all too terrified to venture back into the woods at night to bury it there.”

Eliza looked at the dark windows of Crenshaw House. She wondered which room Caroline had lived in.

“Caroline’s last words were what convinced us that we never should have let her force her way in to the coven,” Helen said, gazing off into the distance.

Theresa gripped Eliza’s hand tightly. “Why?” Eliza asked. “What did she say?”

Helen’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “We were all on the roof. We were trying to stop her,” she said, her voice thick. “But she wouldn’t come down. She turned to look at us—her eyes were so unfocused, so blank. Then, right before she fell, she said, as clear as day . . . she said—”

Helen paused, touching her fingertips to her lips as they quivered.

“What? What did she say?” Theresa demanded.

Helen drew in a ragged breath. “She said, ‘I don’t belong.’”

Eliza walked into her room that night and fell directly into bed, glad that she was already wearing her nightgown, since she never would have been able to muster the energy to change. She curled into a ball facing the center of the room, but at the sight of Catherine’s empty bed, she flung herself around to face the wall.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered to herself. “Helen is clearly a powerful witch. With her on our side, we can’t fail.”

A sudden scratching noise sounded at her window. Eliza’s heart vaulted into her throat and she sat straight up in bed. A long, silent moment passed. Then the scratch sounded again. Eliza whirled around. A pale face hovered outside her window, staring in at her.

Eliza screamed.
Catherine?
Had her roommate come back of her own volition to punish Eliza for letting her fall to her death? But then her eyes focused on the panicked visage.

“Harrison?” she whispered.

He gestured frantically for her to let him in. Eliza jumped out of bed, realizing with a start that she was on the fourth floor, and whipped open the window. Harrison was perched precariously on the one-foot-wide stone lip that ran around the periphery of the building. He clutched both sides of the window and jumped to the floor, crouching for a moment to catch his breath.

“Harrison Knox,
what
are you doing!?” Eliza demanded, closing the windows with a
bang
. “You could have killed yourself.”

Harrison stood, blew out a breath, and smiled. “It would have been worth it to see you.” He looked her up and down, and the smile transformed into a grin. “And in your nightgown, no less.”

Eliza blushed furiously. She reached for the fringed shawl on the back of her desk chair and drew it tightly around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” Harrison said, stepping toward her. He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she automatically tilted her face into his palm. “But even though you refused my invitation, I simply couldn’t stay away any longer.”

All Eliza wanted to do was fall into Harrison’s arms. To let him hold her and comfort her and chase away all the awful things she’d seen and done. But he didn’t belong to her. He was Theresa’s. Right or wrong, whether they were in love or not, he had proposed and she had accepted. They were going to be husband and wife.

“Eliza,” Harrison said, stepping still closer. That one word was like a plea.

And then he tipped her chin up with his finger and brought his lips down to brush hers. Eliza’s skin was on fire, and her mind seemed to
experience complete weightlessness. Every one of her reservations was obliterated by that one touch. She moved into him, and Harrison wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. Eliza had never felt so completely loved in her life. So secure, so excited, so absolutely sure. Harrison was the man she was meant to be with. No other person would ever make her feel this way.

And yet—

She pulled away.

“What is it?” Harrison asked, his eyelids heavy. “Eliza, what’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Eliza said, summoning all her strength just to utter that one sentence. She touched her still-tingling lips with her fingertips.

Harrison hesitated. He looked behind him as if someone might be watching. “But I thought—”

“Theresa and I . . . we’re friends now, Harrison.” Eliza’s heart twisted excruciatingly, and she found she couldn’t look him in the eye. “And I can’t do this to her. I won’t be the other woman.”

“But Eliza, you know how I feel about you,” Harrison begged, his blue eyes entreating. “How I feel about her. Can’t we just—”

“No.” Eliza forced herself to look at him, and her heart broke, shattering into a million tiny pieces all over her insides. “Go, Harrison. Please.”

Harrison opened his mouth to protest but seemed to think the better of it. He stepped past her toward the window, but Eliza grasped his sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. “Out the door, please.
I don’t think I could manage having your death on my conscience as well.”

Harrison nodded, though he had no idea how much meaning her words held. He paused with his hand on her doorknob and looked back at her. “If I’m caught, I won’t tell them who I’d come to see,” he said, his expression pained.

“Tell them whatever you wish,” Eliza replied, turning away from him. She felt exhausted, suddenly, as if she’d run out of fight. As she heard the door click quietly closed, she would have welcomed expulsion. Anything to get away from here. To put this place and all the people she’d hurt behind her.

She watched from above as Harrison jogged off into the night, headed for the fateful woods and the Easton campus beyond. One lonely tear slid down her cheek, but she told herself she had done the right thing.

Eliza Williams was no one’s mistress.

“Jane and Viola were up all night pressing the figs we got in town for oil,” Theresa whispered under her breath as she and Eliza walked to class the next morning. “Are you certain that Helen knows where to find eye of newt? Because we can’t afford to waste any more time. That spell has to be done at midnight tonight, or Catherine is lost forever.”

They both smiled stiffly at Miss Tinsley as she walked quickly past them.

“Good morning, girls!” the teacher called brightly. “I hope you’re ready for a lively translation session this morning.”

“Yes, Miss Tinsley,” the two girls replied in unison.

The teacher lifted a hand in a wave and disappeared through the front door of McKinley.

“All I know is Helen told me she could get it, and I trust her,” Eliza replied.

Theresa paused at the foot of the steps to McKinley Hall and waited for a pair of younger girls to scurry by before speaking.

“And why is that, exactly?” Theresa asked, smoothing an errant lock of hair back behind her ear. “I swear, Eliza, I wanted to stage a protest last night when you walked into the temple with that girl. The only reason I didn’t was because we don’t have the time to spend searching for someone better.”