by Kate Brian
Eliza glanced at Catherine, panicked. But Catherine was staring at Eliza’s and Harrison’s hands, which were still touching. As Theresa’s best friend, Catherine was surely obliged to tell her about such things. Blushing furiously, Eliza quickly withdrew her fingers.
“Here, Miss Williams,” Mrs. Hodge said, handing the mug of water to Eliza and helping cup her fingers around it. “Drink slowly.”
Eliza sipped the cool water as Mrs. Hodge shot Harrison an admonishing look. He took a step back.
“Mr. Knox, Mr. Thackery, thank you for your assistance,” Mrs. Hodge said stiffly. “You may go now.”
“Of course,” Harrison said quickly.
“Feel better, Miss Williams!” Jonathan called out as the two boys started down the sidewalk again.
Before Eliza could say anything, Mrs. Hodge swooped in, checking her pulse, feeling her forehead, and ushering her to the nearest bench. As she sat, her eyes trained on Harrison’s retreating form, Eliza felt ill all over again—but for reasons having nothing to do with her fainting.
Witches
The following evening, just before midnight, Eliza sat in the basement of the Billings Chapel along with Alice, freezing in her whisper-thin white nightgown. Alice shivered next to her, though Eliza was certain it was more out of fear than from the cold, for her gown was made of flannel. Catherine and Theresa walked over to join Eliza and Alice on the floor.
“Well, what do we think of our temple?” Theresa asked, tucking the skirt of her own white nightgown underneath her and looking around in a self-satisfied way.
“Must we call it that?” Alice asked, shivering. “It sounds so . . . satanic.”
“Covens meet in temples. That’s what the spell book says,” Catherine replied.
Eliza, Catherine, Theresa, and Alice had spent the past hour transforming the plain white room into a colorful, candlelit cavern. Catherine and Eliza had purchased dozens of candles at the general store in town yesterday, and the candles were set into holders and candelabras of various heights that stood around the periphery of the room. Alice and Catherine had gathered all the scarves the four girls owned, and Eliza had swiped a hammer and nails from the toolshed behind McKinley Hall. Now the purples, golds, reds, greens, pinks, and blues of the scarves hung about the room, forming a cozy setting. Theresa had also managed to collect dozens of strings of cheap glass beads, which she had strung from the ceiling. In the candlelight, the beads twinkled like stars, giving the basement an ethereal feel. The coziness of it all had chased out Eliza’s remaining nerves about the evening. She couldn’t wait for the other girls to arrive.
“I simply don’t feel right about this,” Alice said, her teeth chattering. “Couldn’t we have found another place to hold our meetings? This is God’s house.”
Theresa sighed, straightening the lace cuffs of her nightgown. “It’s not his house. It’s his basement.”
Eliza couldn’t help laughing, and Catherine joined in as well.
“Do you think anyone will come?” Alice asked, ignoring their laughter.
“I hope they will,” Theresa said. “My hand still hurts from addressing all those invitations last night.”
Theresa had insisted on writing out all the invitations herself, claiming that her handwriting was the most formal. Then Eliza and Catherine had been granted the distinct honor of shoving the envelopes under the girls’ doors that morning.
“I’m sure they’ll come,” Eliza said, lifting her chin. She reached up to rub the gold locket between her finger and thumb. “How could anyone not be intrigued by a midnight meeting at a chapel?”
“Intrigued? I’d be terrified,” Alice replied. “I still am. I’ll wager only half of them come here.”
“Yes, but which half?” Catherine joked.
Just then, the ceiling above them creaked and moaned. Alice grabbed Eliza’s arm, tense with fear. Whispered voices wafted down from above.
“They’re here,” Eliza whispered.
“This is where it all begins,” Catherine added, her skin glowing with excitement as she looked up at the ceiling.
The girls stood, holding their breath and clutching hands, waiting for the first of their friends to appear. Before long, Lavender arrived at the bottom of the stairs. She had a look of pure suspicion on her brow, until she caught sight of Eliza and Catherine. Then her usual just-plain-serious look returned to her face. She stepped into the room, the scalloped hem of her white nightgown grazing her ankles, and was quickly followed by Marilyn and Genevieve—Eliza was pleased to see that Marilyn had left Petit Peu behind, but Genevieve had her ever-present bag full of sweets—and Viola and Bia, who were clutching each other’s arms with both hands, as if afraid the other might blow away. Jane was right behind them, her brown hair hanging loose down her back. The moment she saw Theresa, she rushed forward and kissed her. Then each of the girls soundlessly joined the circle, as if they realized that was where they were meant to be. Viola and Bia looked around fretfully, but the others simply seemed excited. Eliza could tell that Jane was biting down on her tongue to keep from asking questions. Only Clarissa had yet to arrive.
The moments ticked by, and Eliza’s heartbeat slowed to a dull, disappointed thud. Clarissa was not coming. And without Clarissa, they would not have eleven members.
This thought had just flitted through her mind when another set of footsteps sounded hurriedly through the office above. Moments later, Clarissa alighted on the basement floor, breathless. She wore a high-necked gown, and her golden blond hair was tied back in two girlish braids, as always. Giving the room a cursory, appraising glance, she clucked her tongue and looked at Theresa.
“This does not look like a proper setting for a literary society,” she announced, breaking the silence.
“Why are we all wearing our white nightgowns, Theresa?” Jane blurted, as if Clarissa’s declaration had released her from some vow of silence.
“If it was five degrees cooler outside, we could have caught our deaths,” Lavender pointed out. “Look at Bia. She’s practically blue.”
“And I’ve torn the hem on mine,” Viola whined, tugging the skirt of her white cotton gown.
“And we have all risked expulsion again,” Marilyn pointed out. “I do not wish to be sent back to France so soon, and neither does Genevieve.”
“Ladies, ladies, please. Everything is going to be fine,” Theresa said, stepping forward. “We are not here to form a literary society.”
The seven new girls glanced around the circle in confusion. “But that’s what the invitation says,” Clarissa pointed out, removing the card from the pocket of her nightgown and holding it out helpfully.
“We know,” Eliza said patiently. “But that was just a ruse, in case any of the teachers found them.”
“Then why are we here?” Lavender asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Eliza glanced around at Catherine, Theresa, and Alice for courage. “We’re going to form a coven,” she said simply.
Clarissa laughed through her nose. A few of the other girls gasped.
“You’re joking,” Marilyn said, reaching for Genevieve’s hand. “You are making a joke.”
“No. This is not a joke,” Eliza said firmly.
Instantly the smile fell from Clarissa’s face, and she began to chew on her hair. Both Viola’s and Bia’s faces turned ashen. Marilyn frowned thoughtfully as Genevieve plucked a chocolate from her bag and popped it into her mouth.
“You wish to make us . . . witches?” Genevieve asked, her mouth full.
“We wish to try,” Eliza said. A few of the girls glanced toward the door. Clearly they were all going to need some convincing—the quicker, the better. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Really? Then why does Alice look about ready to burst into tears?” Clarissa pointed out, removing her braid from her lips for the moment.
Eliza glanced at Theresa, but for once the girl was mute. Why was she suddenly so unwilling to speak up? Eliza took a deep brea
th and rounded her shoulders, stepping into the center of the room.
“We—Catherine, Theresa, Alice, and I—found this stack of old books down here the other night, and there are all these spells and potions and enchantments in them,” she said in a rush, gesturing at the trunk. She looked each girl in the eye as she talked, feeling as though it might reassure them. “It might be a lot of bunk, but we thought it could be fun to try. To see if it’s really real.”
“Why didn’t you just do it yourselves?” Clarissa asked, moving toward the trunk and peeking at the books inside. “Why make all of us traipse out here in the dead of night?”
“We need eleven women,” Catherine said.
“We chose you out of all the girls at Billings to join us,” Theresa finally chimed in.
Bia, for the first time, stopped staring at the door. Lavender straightened up slightly.
Clever, Eliza thought. Make them feel special, make this feel exclusive, and they’ll be more likely to stay.
“If you think it’s safe, Theresa, that’s all I need to hear,” Jane said.
“What about you, Alice?” Clarissa said. “You haven’t said a word.”
Alice coughed, covering her hand with her fist. She was still trembling slightly, but having the attention focused on her seemed to bring back some of her spirit. “There are spells in the book for making a boy fall in love with you, spells for beauty, spells to make you more graceful. What if . . . what if they actually work?”
“If what you say is true, I would like to try this,” Genevieve said eagerly, reaching for another chocolate. “I would like to try this very much.”
“We have to perform a ritual,” Catherine said, gathering up a set of purple candles.
“A ritual?” Bia said, backing away. “Like a sacrifice? We’re not going to kill a bunny, are we? Oh, Viola, please don’t let them kill a bunny.”
“We’re not going to kill a bunny, Bia,” Viola said. Then she looked up at Catherine as she accepted her candle. “Right?”
“We’re not going to kill anything,” Eliza assured them, touching the locket at the base of her neck. “We’re simply going to light these candles and recite a few lines together.”
Once everyone had their candles in hand, Catherine looked at Eliza and nodded. “Eliza. You’ll do the honors?”
Eliza’s knees quaked beneath her as she picked up the nearest candle at the end of the candelabra on the floor and lit her own wick with its flame. Then she went around the circle and lit the other girls’ wicks. Suddenly the uncertainty of it all was excruciating. What if something went wrong? What if something happened to her? Or to one of the other girls?
By the time she reached Alice, her right hand was trembling, and she had to use her left hand to brace it. Finally, she took her place in the circle between Alice and Catherine, looking around at the faces of their chosen ones. Lavender’s serious expression had not changed. Bia looked as if she was about to faint, but Viola seemed resolute. Jane swallowed over and over again, her eyes transfixed on Theresa, while Clarissa continually scanned the room, as if she was making mental notes. Marilyn and Genevieve simply appeared intrigued.
“Here’s what we’re going to recite,” Theresa said, her voice confident and clear. “‘We come together to form this blessed circle, pure of heart, free of mind. From this night on we are bonded, we are sisters. We swear to honor this bond above all else. Blood to blood, ashes to ashes, sister to sister, we make this sacred vow.’”
Eliza clutched her candle as the group tentatively began to recite. Most of them spoke clearly and slowly, their voices mingling in the dark. Only Bia seemed to be whispering. Her eyes were closed as she furtively rushed through the words, as if she feared to speak and yet at the same time feared to stop speaking the words.
“Blood to blood, ashes to ashes, sister to sister,” Eliza said, holding her breath and looking around the room in anticipation. “We make this sacred vow.”
There was a brief moment of total silence, during which Eliza was certain they were all on a fool’s errand—that nothing could possibly come of this. And then a whipping wind tore through the windowless chamber. Bia screamed. Alice grabbed Eliza’s arm and buried her face in her shoulder. A few of the other girls gasped as every last one of the candles flickered out. The tiny room was plunged into complete darkness, and without the light of the candles, it seemed even colder than before. Just as quickly as it came, the wind died, leaving behind an unnatural stillness.
Terror flooded Eliza’s veins.
“I told you I told you I told you,” Alice whimpered into Eliza’s nightgown. Somewhere in the darkness, someone wept.
“Bia! Bia, are you all right?” Viola’s voice was strained with panic.
“God has come to drag us all to hell,” Alice whispered furtively. “We’re going to burn for this, Eliza. We’re going to—”
Suddenly, Eliza’s candle flickered to life. Then, one by one, tiny pinpricks of light illuminated the room once again. With each flame, a new face glowed. Alice’s tear-streaked cheeks. Theresa’s pale skin. Viola and Lavender on the floor next to Bia, who was just coming around. Jane and Clarissa huddled near the door. Marilyn and Genevieve standing just where they’d been. Catherine seemed not to have moved a muscle in all the mayhem.
Eliza looked around in wonder and saw her sentiment reflected in the eyes of her friends. None of the other candles along the walls had been relit. There were but eleven flames in the room.
“It worked,” Catherine said breathlessly. “We’re witches.”
Basic Spells
“What do we do now?” Alice said tremulously, gathering the folds of her nightgown in her hands.
“I think we should try a spell,” Eliza said. She handed her candle to Catherine and plucked the book of spells off the top of the trunk, opening it to a page near the front. “There are some basic ones in here that seem simple enough.”
“We’ll just try something small. Something harmless. Here. Give it to me.” Theresa reached for the book, but Eliza held onto it. Theresa tugged once, then looked at Eliza with an expression of shock. Apparently no one had ever failed to yield to her before.
“Let’s all sit,” Eliza said flatly.
Her heart pounded, but she held her ground. It was as if reciting the initiation rite had imbued her with more strength than she’d had before. Theresa rolled her eyes, let go of the book, and sat down on the floor. Then all the girls sat as well, tucking the skirts of their nightgowns beneath them.
“All right, let’s see,” Eliza said, running her finger down the list of basic spells. Her gaze fell on something that seemed perfect. “Here’s one for you, Viola. To mend a torn seam.”
“Really?” Viola asked, her eyebrows raised.
“That’s what we’re going to use magic for?” Clarissa said. “Something we could do with a needle and thread?”
“Let her try it,” Lavender said forcefully.
Clarissa lifted her shoulders and let them fall.
“Fine. Here’s what you do, Viola,” Eliza said, squinting down at the page. “Hold your right palm over the tear and say, ‘Resarcio.’”
Viola glanced at Theresa and bit her lip, but did as she was told. Her hand fluttered a bit as she smoothed the torn part of her gown on the floor. She placed her palm over the long, ragged edge, then closed her eyes and said the spell.
“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?”
