The Book of Spells (Private 0.50)

Catherine hastened out of the room to join Eliza. She took her roommate’s arm and tugged her toward the front door of Crenshaw House, as far away from the parlor as they could get.

“What is going on?” Catherine asked. “You scared me half to death!”

Eliza felt a chill at Catherine’s mention of death, but shoved it out of her mind. It had been only a dream.

“I’m sorry, it’s just . . . this is sheer torture,” Eliza replied, leaning back against the thick door.

Catherine took a deep breath and hugged her books to her chest. “What is?”

“It’s Harrison,” Eliza whispered, glancing back toward the parlor. “I’ve never felt this way before, Catherine. It’s as if my heart is trying to tear my chest open and run off to him.”

Catherine stuck out her tongue. “That’s disgusting.”

Eliza walked to the staircase and slumped against the banister in a way that would earn her a slap on the wrist if Miss Almay were to see her. “What do I do? I have to see him soon, or I’m going to go mad.”

Suddenly, Catherine’s blue eyes brightened. “Oh! We could try scrying for him.”

“What’s scrying?” Eliza asked, standing up straight.

“Basically, it’s a magical way to find out where any person is at a given moment,” Catherine replied.

“So I could know where Harrison is right now?” Eliza said.

“Exactly,” Catherine confirmed, grasping Eliza’s hand excitedly. “I think I have everything upstairs in our room.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Eliza and Catherine raced upstairs hand in hand. Once the door of their room was closed safely behind them, Catherine crouched on her knees next to her bed. She tugged out the long, flat box with the gold clasp that Eliza had seen her hide there on her first day.

“What’s in there?” Eliza asked, her curiosity piqued.

“A few things I brought from home,” Catherine replied. She laid the box on her bed and undid the clasp. “Can you fill the wash basin?”

Eliza used the pitcher full of cold water to fill up the ceramic bowl. Catherine, meanwhile, opened the case and began to carefully pick over its contents. Eliza was startled to see that the box was full of items mentioned in their books on witchcraft. There were several jars full of spices and herbs, a couple of white candles, a few crystals, some velvet pouches full of substances Eliza couldn’t see, and a few colorful sticks, which appeared to be made of crystal.

“What is all this?” Eliza asked.

“Some things I picked up on travels with my mother,” Catherine replied. “It’s all quite basic stuff, but you need a specific crystal for scrying.”

“Is it this one?” Eliza asked, lifting one of the sticks. It was bright yellow in color, with uneven edges, as if made by hundreds of tiny jagged rocks fused together.

“No. That’s sulfur,” Catherine replied. “You’re supposed to be able to make a spark by holding it and reciting a simple spell, but I’ve never gotten it to work.”

“That could come in handy on our midnight jaunts,” Eliza joked. “No candles needed.”

Catherine laughed. “If only we could get it to do what it’s supposed to do.”

She gently took the sulfur stick from Eliza’s hand and replaced it in the box. “Ah. Here it is.” She turned and grinned at Eliza, holding a black ribbon attached to a long, multifaceted purple crystal. “Let’s scry for your beau.”

Eliza reached up to finger her gold locket, her heart pounding with excitement at the idea of Harrison as her beau. But then a picture of Theresa appeared in her mind’s eye, and her chest flooded with guilt. She was consumed by the awful, sour, heavy sensation she felt whenever she allowed herself to recall that Theresa and Harrison were engaged—even if they’d become so under dubious circumstances. For a moment she thought to stop Catherine, even reaching for her arm. But then she remembered Catherine’s belie

f that Theresa did not love him, and the moment passed.

Catherine grabbed a jar full of what looked like tiny blue pebbles and approached the filled wash basin.

“Do you have anything of Harrison’s?” Catherine asked.

Eliza shook her head, feeling a twist of longing in her gut. “No.”