“Good work, Helen,” Theresa said, turning back toward the group.
“I have no wish for congratulations, Miss Billings,” Helen said quietly. “I’d just like to get this done.”
Theresa’s expression hardened. She picked up her lantern from the ground and strode toward the chapel.
“Your wish, Miss Jennings, is my command.”
Life Out of Death
Eliza stood in the chapel basement, her palms slick with perspiration, her arms crossed in front of her. One of her hands grasped Helen’s, the other Theresa’s, as all eleven girls stared down at the lifeless form of Catherine White. Catherine’s face had been covered by a swath of white gauze, her hands folded over her chest like a praying angel. As each girl slowly left the circle, one by one, to add her ingredient to the stone bowl at Catherine’s feet, Eliza’s knees quaked beneath her.
This had to work. It simply had to.
We need you to return to us, Catherine, Eliza thought, closing her eyes as a wave of nerves crashed through her chest. We need you here with us. I know you want to be here, too. Please, please, please come back to us.
All around the room the candles flickered and dimmed, then flickered again and glowed stronger. There was a hush among the coven, and the air was thick with desperation, hope, and fear. Jane’s shoes scratched the silty floor as she shuffled forward and tipped her bottle of arrowroot toward the bowl. Then, head bowed, she returned to the circle and took Viola’s hand. Helen released Eliza, bent to pick up her vial of eye of newt, and slowly, methodically added it to the bowl. The ritual was like a rhythmic dance, each girl doing her part with grace and precision. And then it was Eliza’s turn.
As she rejoined the circle, Helen looked Eliza firmly in the eye. Eliza set her jaw, bent over, and lifted the bottle of jasmine from the floor at her feet. She carefully avoided the thick, white candles Lavender had placed all around the body, per the book’s instructions. When she arrived at the bowl, she looked up at Catherine’s face.
The corpse’s eyes were open and glaring at her angrily.
Eliza gasped and took a step back, her heel coming down right on Marilyn’s toe.
“Eliza, what is it?” Marilyn demanded.
“Shhh!” Clarissa admonished. “We’re supposed to stay perfectly quiet.”
“But I—she—”
Eliza gestured at Catherine with her bottle, but when she looked back again, Catherine’s eyes were closed. The gauze hadn’t been disturbed. The body hadn’t moved. It was just Eliza’s mind playing tricks on her. She cleared her throat nervously; her pulse was racing through her veins, making her feel lightheaded.
Trembling from head to toe, Eliza took a tentative step toward the body. She checked Catherine’s eyes once more. They were still closed. Shaking her head slightly, she opened the bottle and dumped the contents into the bowl’s fragrant mixture. Then she slipped the empty bottle into the pocket of her blue dress and returned to the circle, taking Helen’s hand.
Theresa stepped forward. The final ingredient was the rosemary. She stepped forward with the sprig in her two hands and slowly, meticulously tore each needle from it, dropping them in one by one. Eliza felt as if she was falling into a trance as she watched Theresa. The room seemed to be growing warmer, and the heady scents of rosemary, lavender, lilac, and jasmine filled the room.
As the last rosemary needle fluttered into the bowl, a light, airy wind filled the room—a comforting springtime breeze. It tickled Eliza’s skin and filled her with hope. All around the circle, the girls began to smile.
This was going to work. Every last one of them could sense it.
Theresa returned to the circle and took Eliza’s hand. She nodded, and the girls began to recite the spell, which they had committed to memory.
“Powerful spirits, we implore thee, give us the power, hear our plea.”
The words had barely escaped Eliza’s lips, when every candle in the room suddenly went out. There was no wind this time, no movement— nothing natural that had extinguished the lights. The coven simply plunged into darkness. Eliza could make out nothing, save the white gauze over Catherine’s pale face. Fear radiated from Eliza’s heart and poured off the others in waves. For a long moment no one spoke. Then Theresa squeezed Eliza’s hand and started the next line.
“From the darkness into the light, help our sister travel this night.”
The other girls joined in. Instantly, a biting cold chased out the last remnants of warmth, permeating the room and biting at Eliza’s skin. Eliza heard Bia moan in fear on the other side of the circle but could feel nothing outside of her own terror and the frigid cold air.
“We witches here will be her guide, to wrest her from the other side.”
A crash of deafening thunder filled the room, coming not from outside the chapel, but from within. Bia screamed as the candles blazed to light around Catherine, their flames like a wall of fire between her body and the coven. They licked at the beams in the ceiling and spread menacingly wide, threatening the hems of the girls’ skirts. A few girls edged backward, but no one broke the circle. The sudden heat was excruciating, and Eliza turned her face as her eyes began to sting and tear. Together the coven managed to shout the last few words.
“Let her know no pain, let her fear no strife, give us the power to save her life!”
Another crack of thunder leveled Bia as she fainted dead away. Instantly, the flames completely died as if doused by a deluge of water. Someone—Eliza couldn’t tell who—shouted in surprise. A few of the candles flickered meekly around Catherine’s hands and feet. Smoke plumed from the stone bowl, and the stench of burned herbs filled the air. Jane covered her eyes and began to
sob. Marilyn and Genevieve clung to each other. Looking stunned, Alice took a few steps back and fell into a chair.