The Book of Spells (Private 0.50)

“Presente, mademoiselle,” Eliza said, her voice a mere whisper.

“Bon! Toute la classe est presente!” Miss Tinsley said, turning and dropping her roster on her desk. Finally, finally, Helen turned and left the room. Eliza could have cheered as she watched her go. She felt somehow as if she had won a standoff with the maid. As if she had just proven something—but of course, that wasn’t possible. Helen could have no idea what had just gone on; she was completely in the dark. Wasn’t she?

“Attention, étudiantes!” Miss Tinsley said, clapping her hands sharply. “Répétez, s’il vous plaît!”

Eliza looked at Theresa as the instructor began her daily routine of call and response.

Then, suddenly, Eliza’s heart fluttered with pride. Their spell had worked. They had cast a huge spell, just the two of them, and it had worked. Perhaps this was why the dizziness hadn’t been as debilitating as usual when they’d cast their spell. Maybe it meant they were growing accustomed to it, growing more powerful.

When she looked at Theresa again, she saw her feelings reflected in her friend’s eyes. If the two of them could accomplish something of this magnitude alone together, they stood a chance of raising the dead.

Path to Damnation

“Here. We need a full cup of rosemary,” Alice said, kneeling on her gardening pad in Crenshaw’s herb garden that afternoon. She yanked up a few bunches of the fragrant, spindly herb and tossed them in Eliza’s basket. “That should do it.”

Eliza knelt down next to her friend and glanced tentatively at her profile. Alice continued working, the brim of her wide straw hat shading her pale skin from the sun. Eliza wanted to ask why Alice was helping with their plan even though she had been steadfastly against it last night.

“I hope Jane and Lavender are able to get the fig oil in town,” she said instead.

“I’m sure they will,” Alice said, tugging out a weed and tossing it toward the side of the garden. “Theresa set them on the task, and Theresa always seems to get whatever she wants.”

“Even the eye of newt?” Eliza said.

Alice didn’t respond. She simply went on with her work.

“What will we tell Miss Almay if she comes out for a stroll on the grounds?” Eliza asked. She pushed herself up and walked over to the bushes near the house to gather some lavender.

“We’ll tell her we’re weeding,” Alice said flatly, tossing another dandelion off onto the grass. “What’s another white lie, after all?”

Eliza paused and turned back toward her friend. “Alice, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help in all this. I know how you must feel, and I’m so very sorry this has happened, but I honestly think this is going to work. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

“I keep thinking about that first night,” Alice said, still refusing to make eye contact. She moved methodically—trowel in the dirt, dig, yank out the weed, throw it—the same pattern over and over again. “How you convinced me to go into the chapel. How you told me you’d never let any harm come to anyone you loved.” Finally, she stopped digging and stared right into Eliza’s eyes. “Perhaps you should think about keeping your promises to yourself from now on. Because from what I can tell, Catherine is dead, and the rest of us are doomed to eternal damnation.”

Eliza’s jaw dropped open, the wind knocked right out of her. Tears of confusion, regret, and anger filled her eyes. She was just opening her mouth to speak when Alice turned away from her, and a pair of well-worn leather shoes appeared in her line of vision.

“Miss Eliza?”

Eliza looked up and shaded her eyes with her hands. The sun lit Helen Jennings from behind. Quickly she placed the twig, laden with lavender leaves, into her basket.

“Yes, Helen?” she said, wiping her dirty hand on her apron. Her voice cracked, and she saw Helen’s brow knit with concern. This surprised her, given their previous encounter.

“Is everything all right, miss?” Helen asked.

The tiny hairs on the back of Eliza’s neck stood on end. “Everything’s fine, Helen,” she said firmly, looking the girl in the eye as she fiddled with her locket. Helen’s expression hardened. She glanced at Alice, who was still intent on her work, then held out her hand. Tucked into the cup of Helen’s palm was a small folded note. Eliza’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly took it and squirreled it away in the pocket of her dress.

“I came to see if the two of you wanted a refreshment from the kitchen.” Helen glanced past Eliza at her wicker basket, which was half full of herbs. “Lavender, rosemary, and ginger root, I see.” Then she looked Eliza in the eye and arched her brows. “Are you making a potpourri?”

Eliza swallowed hard. “Yes. We thought they might make a nice gift for our parents on parents’ weekend.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Helen said flatly.

Feeling completely flustered, but not entirely sure why, Eliza took a deep breath. “We don’t need any refreshments, thank you. Right, Alice?” she said, gazing directly into Helen’s eyes.

“No, thank you, Helen,” Alice replied.

“All right, then,” Helen said.

She gave Eliza one last knowing look before she turned and walked away slowly, carefully avoiding the vegetable plants as she went. Eliza stood and watched Helen until she had gone inside the house and closed the door behind her, but even then she had this awful, prickly feeling that she was being watched.