The Book of Spells (Private 0.50)

Her heart caught so deliciously it sent shock waves of delightful shivers all through her fingertips and her toes.

“I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you riding in the carriage,” Harrison continued. “Who knew the day you set foot on this campus would be the day my life changed forever?”

Eliza smiled and closed her eyes, solidifying this moment in her memory—the one moment of her entire life that she knew she would never, ever want to forget. Then she opened them again and looked into the eyes of Harrison Knox—the eyes, she suddenly realized, she would be looking into for the rest of her life. Her throat was still full, as were her heart, her lungs, her everything. But somehow, she managed to speak four small words.

“I love you, too.”

Something Else

Still dizzy from an hour spent alone with Harrison, kissing, holding hands, and whispering all their hopes and dreams to each other, Eliza snuck back into Crenshaw House, closing the door carefully behind her. The house was deathly silent, all the girls still sleeping after their late night of revelry. Eliza took the stairs at a run, thinking she might wake Catherine when she got back to their room. After all, Catherine had been gone for a few days, and so much had happened. She and Harrison had shared their first kiss. They had said “I love you.” And now there was talk of the future—once Harrison spoke with Theresa, of course. Everything was happening so fast, but none of it would be happening at all if not for Catherine.

Arriving at the closed door of their room, Eliza bit her lip and stifled a girlish laugh as the gesture brought the sensation of Harrison’s kisses back to her mouth. She quietly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

But as soon as she did, her heart dropped through the floor.

Catherine sat on the edge of Eliza’s bed, her feet planted squarely on the floor, her eyes staring dead ahead, as she slowly, systematically, tore Eliza’s copy of A Tale of Two Cities to pieces, page by cherished page.

“Catherine!” Eliza gasped, stepping forward. “What are you doing?”

Catherine tilted her head toward Eliza in that odd, jerking way, staring straight through her, but never pausing in her task. She tore a page, dropped it on the floor, then tore the next, then the next, then the next. The action, the staring—it was as if she was taunting Eliza. Torturing her. Eliza felt the sudden urge to grab the girl and shake her for destroying the one and only gift Harrison had ever given her. But she paused and forced herself to remain calm.

“Catherine,” she said coolly. “That book belongs to me. Might I have it back?”

She laid her hand out flat, but Catherine continued to rip the pages from the spine. Her eyes were glazed, lifeless, blank. A sliver of fear sliced down Eliza’s spine. Helen’s words echoed in her mind.

“That’s not Catherine. At least, not the Catherine you knew.”

No, Eliza told herself. She just needs time. She’s been through so much. Of course she needs time to get back to her old self.

Screwing up her courage, Eliza walked across the room until she was standing in front of Catherine. The girl’s head jerked, following her, but her eyes still stared, unfocused, as if gazing right past her. Eliza’s heart gripped with terror.

This was terribly not right.

Rip, toss, rip, toss, rip, toss. One of the pages hit Eliza’s foot, and she swallowed back an anguished cry. The book. The precious, precious book. All in pieces.

Just

reason with her. She’ll be all right if you reason with her.

Eliza knelt on the floor at Catherine’s feet, her knees resting on so many fallen pages.

“Catherine, please,” she said quietly. “Please, stop. It’s me. It’s Eliza. Your best friend.”

Suddenly Catherine let out a piercing screech, so inhuman it stopped Eliza’s heart cold. Eliza froze, her eyes widening in horror as Catherine threw what was left of the book at the wall.

“Catherine! What are you—”

But before Eliza could choke out the words, Catherine hurtled off the bed and threw her entire weight on top of Eliza, curling her fingers around Eliza’s throat. Her fingers were like claws of ice, their grip so strong that Eliza’s eyes bulged from the strain. The chain of her locket cut into her flesh, and she could feel the pendant begin to burn.

A terrified scream escaped Eliza’s lungs, but Catherine’s powerful fingers squeezed it into a strangled whimper. Eliza’s head slammed back against the hardwood floor, and she grasped at Catherine’s wrists with her hands.

“No,” Eliza croaked. “No, Catherine. Please.” She managed to turn her head to look up into the face of her tormentor. Catherine’s teeth were set in a fierce grimace, like some kind of feral animal.

But it was her eyes that stopped Eliza’s heart cold.

They were dead. There was no life in them. No sign of Catherine in them at all.

“You did this,” Catherine said, her voice a throaty growl. “You. It was you. You did this.”