The Book of Spells

by Kate Brian

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile, slipping my arms into the sleeves. She’d always taken care of me, and we both knew it. Until that last little escapade of hers, anyway.

  She closed the door, took in a big breath, and blew it out. “Okay. Let’s start with location and date. I’m thinking the city, on your actual birthday. Unless you’ve got some better plans back in Bumblefart, Pennsylvania.”

  I tried not to bristle at her insult of my hometown. I’d gotten used to it over the past couple of years, but somehow, now that she was of the opinion that I’d never belonged there, what with the Lange blood in my veins, it felt more personal. I might not have loved my hometown of Croton, Pennsylvania, but it was my home. And I did love my family, including my father, who would always be my dad, no matter what.

  “No,” I said. “No plans. I think a party in New York would be perfect.”

  “Good. I’m so on it.”

  As we walked down the hallway toward the stairwell, I felt the weight of the book knocking against my hip over and over again, and I itched to steal back to my room and open it up—check out those notes Elizabeth Williams had written in the margins, see if I recognized any of the other handwriting. Maybe I’d have a chance to do it later, when Noelle wasn’t around. Because even though I didn’t believe in spells, I was sure she would tell me I was ridiculous for caring about these girls who had lived almost a hundred years ago.

  But I did. And I was dying to know more about them.

  “So you bailed from school for two weeks so you could go to some spa in Sedona?” Portia Ahronian said, lifting her fur-lined hood over her head as we walked toward the chapel after breakfast. She tucked her thick black hair inside the hood, untangling some strands that had gotten caught up in one of her many gold necklaces. “What about all your homework? And your tests?”

  “Hathaway had them e-mailed to me,” Noelle lied casually, lifting a shoulder. “Perks of your dad helping the headmaster land his job.”

  “And why, exactly, did you have to scare the bejesus out of us the night you left?” Astrid Chou asked, popping some contraband cereal from her hand into her mouth. She dusted the sugar from her hands, then slipped on her colorful knit gloves, which she had attached to the sleeves of her purple coat with kiddie-style glove savers, an accessory only quirky Astrid could get away with on an upscale campus like Easton. “I honestly think Amberly almost had a coronary, and as the only one among us who knows CPR, I was not about to go there.”

  “Hey!” Amberly protested, her pert pink lips twisted into a pout. “You wouldn’t save my life?”

  Astrid shook her black bangs off her face. “Maybe. But only if you promised me that red Chloé bag of yours.”

  My friends laughed and I could tell none of them were really still angry with Noelle for the prank she’s pulled on the night of her “disappearance.” Everyone was just glad to have her back, safe and sound. Of course I hadn’t had a chance to tell her that I’d told Ivy Slade she was actually at home with her mom, but that was a flub that could easily be glossed over if Ivy started asking questions.

  “Sorry about that, guys,” Noelle said, returning to the subject as our feet crunched over the salted stone walk. “I was just messing with Reed. I owed her one, and you guys just got stuck in the middle. But I promise. No more drama for the rest of the semester.”

  “Great. You just jinxed us,” Kiki Rosen said, pausing on the third step of the Easton Chapel and turning around to look at the rest of us. A stiff breeze kicked up her hair, half of which she’d recently dyed neon-green. “We are so screwed.”

  She rolled her eyes, but smiled as Astrid hooked her arm through Kiki’s and dragged her inside. Together, the two of them looked like a colorful tear sheet from a comic book.

  “Speaking of the chapel, Reed, when’s the next meeting of the BLS?” Tiffany Goulbourne asked quietly. She’d been bringing up the rear, scrolling through some photos on her camera with Rose Sakowitz. Tiffany was never without her camera, even though with her perfect warm brown skin, almost six-foot height, and perfect bod, she could have definitely been posing in front of one rather than shooting from behind one. She whipped out her BlackBerry as she approached, ready to type the meeting into her calendar. Tiffany had always been one of my more responsible friends, but unlike the rest of them, she seemed to be getting more organized the closer she got to graduation, instead of less. The other seniors had slowly started to slack, copying homework assignments or faking migraines to get out of class. But not Tiffany.

  “We’re in need of some girl bonding,” Rose added, looking a little pale beneath her mass of red curls.

  “Um . . . honestly, I hadn’t really thought about it.” I looked off across campus toward the woods around Easton, where the Billings chapel stood. Suddenly, I itched to skip morning chapel and dash over there. I wanted to check the place out, see if there was anything Noelle and I had missed last night—any more clues to what Elizabeth Williams and her friends had been doing with a Book of Spells almost a hundred years ago.

  Ironic, considering that just a couple of days ago I’d been seriously pondering the idea of never coming back to this place. After Noelle had faked her own kidnapping, I’d all but decided I wouldn’t be returning to Easton Academy this semester. I was done with all the insanity, the selfishness, the entitlement. But then Mrs. Lange had explained that the whole thing had been her idea, and had lured me back here with all this mystery and talk of what was to come, and I’d fallen for it like a satellite plummeting back to Earth.

  “Why don’t we do it tonight?” I suggested. “I’ll send out a text later.”

  “A text about what?”

  Josh appeared over Tiffany’s shoulder and her eyes bulged out like she was afraid we’d just been caught. What Tiffany didn’t know was that I’d already confided in Josh about our secret society—back when he’d been trying to help me figure out who’d snatched Noelle. She and Rose didn’t need to know that, though. I didn’t want them thinking I’d betrayed their trust just because Noelle had taken a spa sabbatical.

  “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” I joked, pulling him toward me. We touched noses and I smiled, inhaling that very particular Josh scent of evergreen soap and dried paint.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you, too,” I replied.

  “Ugh. Let’s go inside before we catch whatever cheesy grossness has sickened these two,” Noelle joked.

  She and the other girls jogged up the marble steps as Josh and I kissed hello. He opened his coat and wrapped it around me along with his arms, nestling us together in a warm Josh-and-Reed cocoon. As I cuddled against him and deepened the kiss, I wondered how I ever could have imagined leaving here—leaving him. Next year, Josh would be off to college and we’d hardly ever see one another.

  “We need to do something. Go somewhere,” Josh said quietly, pulling back. He lifted one hand and gently brushed his fingertips across my cheek. “How long has it been since we’ve gone on a date?”

  I narrowed my eyes, pretending to think. “Since forever?”

  “All right, then. With your permission, I’ll make a plan,” he said, touching his forehead to mine. “ASAP.”

  “ASAP sounds good,” I replied.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” Josh said suddenly.

  My eyes popped open and I turned around. Headmaster Hathaway strode toward us from the direction of Hull Hall with Demetria Rosewell in tow. My first thought was, Double H is going to miss morning services. But I realized in the next second that this was not the pertinent fact here. Nor was Demetria the “she” to whom Josh had referred. Striding along behind them was Paige Ryan. The daughter of the person who had recently tried to murder me multiple times in St. Barth’s. Josh shot her a scowl as she walked by, but all she did was grin. A few steps past the chapel, she paused and looked behind her.

  “Missy! Are you coming or not?” she asked.

  Missy Thurber, my worst n
emesis at Easton, jumped away from Constance Talbot and London Simmons and scurried after her cousin Paige. She also gave me a grin as she hurried by, but hers held a lot more meaning. It was an “I know something you don’t know”grin.

  My heart sunk inside my chest, and I looked back at Constance and London. The two of them turned and hustled inside, avoiding my eyes.

  “What was that all about?” Josh asked, entwining his fingers with mine.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “And I don’t think I want to know.”

  “I love the idea of a party to honor the seniors,” I told Amberly that night as we kicked back on the floor of the Billings Chapel. “Do you want to put a committee together?”

  “Yes! I’d love a committee!” Amberly said, clapping her hands.

  I could see a few of the girls wince at the idea of being roped in by Amberly and toiling under her direction, but it was her idea, so they’d just have to deal. We were just finishing up our meeting when Amberly had very formally presented a “piece of new business” as if we were at a board meeting, rather than sprawled out on silk pillows, chenille blankets, and fur throws in a deserted chapel. Rose had provided the refreshments tonight—gourmet cupcakes shipped in from New York City—and there were crumbs, sprinkles, and coconut shreds everywhere. Vienna Clarke groaned, her hand across her flat stomach, a bit of chocolate stuck to the corner of her mouth.

  “Okay, if there are no other new points of business,” I said, “then I’d say we’re adjourned!”

  The convivial chatter started up as soon as the words were out of my mouth and my friends began to gather up their things. Noelle clasped Vienna’s hands and hoisted her off the floor, while Amberly practically jumped Lorna Gross and Astrid, asking them to join her committee.

  “You ready?” Ivy asked, lifting her long black hair out of her red coat and letting it fall down her back. It had turned out that her absence that morning was no mystery after all. She’d simply been waiting at the post office for a care package from home.

  “Actually, I think I’m going to hang back for a little while,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder in what I hoped was a casual way. I had a plan for the evening, and it did not involve going back to campus.

  Noelle paused near the door and cocked an eyebrow. So maybe my gesture hadn’t hit the mark. “I don’t want to leave all these crumbs. We could attract mice.”

  “Oh. Then I’ll help,” Ivy said.

  She started to put her bag down again and I panicked. “No!” I blurted.

  Both Ivy and Noelle were staring at me now, with matching expressions of concern and confusion. Which was interesting considering how much they hated each other. Noelle crossed her arms over her chest.

  “It’s just . . . I kind of want to be alone,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to think about and I . . . I guess I’ve never told you guys this, but I like to clean while I think. It helps me relax.”

  Ivy’s brow crease deepened and for a moment I thought she would put up a fight, but then Noelle turned, gently knocking Ivy with her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s leave the freak to her cleaning therapy.”

  If anyone knew I really did have a lot to think about, it was Noelle. Apparently she was taking pity on me. Which kind of made me feel guilty about all the lying.

  “Okay,” Ivy said slowly. “But I don’t love the idea of you being out here alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I promised her. “I’ve got my phone if I need anything.”

  The two of them finally capitulated and followed the others outside, who waved and shouted their good-byes as they slipped out into the night. When their voices had finally died off on the wind, I took a deep breath and looked around. Except for the few flickering candles, the chapel was dark. Some of the stained glass windows had been broken long ago, leaving behind jagged, incomplete mosaics, the stars winking outside their busted panes. The pews were polished and buffed—thanks to the members of my secret society—and the wood floors were swept clean, but high in the rafters there were still some heavy cobwebs, and a stray bird’s nest.

  Quickly blowing out all but one candle, I grabbed my messenger bag and the last candle and walked to the office at the back of the building.

  The room was small and square, its basic wood furnishings covered in years of dust and grime. I placed my candle in the holder on the desk, then walked to the bookcase on the west wall. Using both hands, I pried the bookcase away from the plaster. It swung open, letting out a silence-splitting creak of protest. Behind it was a smaller, white paneled door with a brass knob and an old-fashioned keyhole. I tugged the key on its purple cord out of the pocket of my jeans. As I slid the key into the hole, I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure none of my friends had returned. Then I turned the key with a click and the ice-cold doorknob turned easily in my grasp.

  Frigid air rushed up from the basement, along with a musty yet somehow cozy smell that made me think of the basement of the Croton library. The dank room housed all the historical books, and older kids were always getting caught making out down there. I reached back for my candle and held it high in front of me as I descended the stairs.

  When my foot hit the concrete floor, I paused. My throat was dry as I looked around. The basement room was a perfect circle. Eleven chairs were set up to face the center, and at that center was a podium, plain and sturdy and made of wood. It was on this podium that we had found the Book of Spells last night.

  Inhaling a bit of the musty air, I looked slowly around the room and smiled. Elizabeth Williams had hung out here. She’d been in this very room with Theresa Billings and Catherine White and all the other girls mentioned in the BLS book. I wished I knew what they looked like, and wondered why I’d never thought to try to dig up photographs of them before. They’d had cameras in 1915, hadn’t they? Tomorrow I would have to check the Easton archives and see if I could find any photographs.

  I tugged out the BLS book first and opened to the second page, the one where each of the members of the first Billings Literary Society had signed their names. Then I slowly opened the Book of Spells. Near the front was a list of basic spells, and next to each was a little tick, as if someone had checked them off after completing them. Next to some items there were notes, written in a few different hands:

  “Worked on the third try” or “Must be done with two sisters, holding hands.”

  Some of these notes were in the same slanting script as the BLS book—there was the curled-down tail on the y’s and the flourish on the s’s. That small scroll to the W or M or N. The handwriting belonged to Elizabeth Williams.

  Carefully, I studied some of the other notes, my eyes flicking back and forth from the signature page in the BLS to the Book of Spells. Suddenly, my heart caught. Some of the other notes had been written by Catherine White, Elizabeth’s best friend. Her lowercase a’s and o’s were perfectly rounded, almost like a child’s handwriting.

  A shiver of satisfaction went through me, like when I figured out a calculus problem. I paged through the Book of Spells, glancing at some of the titles. The Forgetfulness Spell. The Swelling Tongue. Spell to Mend a Broken Heart. Then something caught my eye as I whipped past, and I slowly paged back. Written across the top of the page were the words “The Presence in Mind Spell.”

  That handwriting was not Elizabeth’s, but it looked familiar. I glanced back at the list of signatures and picked it out right away. The strokes were thick and confident, the uppercase letters overly large. The spell had been written out by Theresa Billings.

  “This is so freaking cool,” I whispered.

  I looked around the room again, hugging myself against the cold. I imagined Theresa, Elizabeth, and Catherine at the podium, jotting down notes in the book. Had they really cast spells in this room? Had any of them worked? Was that even possible? Or was it a game to occupy their time?

  A sudden and loud bang woke me up from my imagination. I scrambled to my feet, clutching the books to me as panic filled my limbs. Heavy footsteps clomped
down the stairs, every creak like an arrow to my heart. I pressed back against the wall, wondering if there was any way to use my candle as a weapon. Then, someone appeared at the foot of the stairs. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders and she looked at me with a wry expression.

  “I knew it!”

  “Noelle! You scared the crap out of me!” I blurted.

  “Which you deserve!” she said, tromping across the room. “What are you doing? Please tell me you’re not really taking this stuff seriously.”

  She wrested the Billings Literary Society book from my hands and looked at it. “What are you, writing a term paper now?”

  I grabbed the book back and crouched, shoving it into my messenger bag with shaky hands, along with the Book of Spells. My nerves had yet to catch up to the fact that there was no danger, and my pulse throbbed in my temples. I breathed in and out a few times, closing my eyes and hoping for patience before I stood up again.

  “I’m just messing around,” I improvised, shouldering my bag. “I was trying to figure out whether those Billings Literary Society girls really believed in this witchcraft crap.”

  Noelle, to my surprise, looked interested. “Did they?”

  “Some of them, I think,” I said, lifting my shoulders. For some reason I didn’t want to name names and open the girls up to Noelle’s ridicule. Which was, of course, ridiculous, since they were all dead.

  “Yeah, well, people were a lot more gullible back then,” Noelle said, turning and heading for the open doorway. “Come on. There’s still a mess upstairs and I am not hanging out here again if it’s infested with mice.”

  “I’m right behind you,” I told her, picking up the candle.

  As I placed my foot on the first stair, a light breeze ruffled my hair. Only there were no openings in the stone wall, no windows anywhere. At the third step, I felt it again. And by the seventh it was stronger still, the wind right in my face. By the tenth step, the flame of the candle died and by the twelfth, I had to squint my eyes to see. When I got to the top I slammed the door behind me, breathless.