The Book of Spells (Private 0.50)

“Possibility,” Catherine finished.

Eliza looked at her and grinned. “Yes. That’s it. Possibility.”

Catherine nodded as she looked around at the leaves rustling in the trees. “Seasons don’t change so drastically in Georgia. Every year when I arrive at Billings, all I can think about is that first snow.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “There’s no snow in Georgia?”

“No.” Catherine laughed, shaking her head. “Not in southern Georgia, at least.”

The girls stepped up onto the brand-new plank sidewalk together, heading toward the Easton Police Station and its austere brick façade. Catherine glanced back at their chaperone, then took Eliza’s arm, leaning closer to her.

“There’s something I wish to tell you, and I hope you will not judge me,” she said quietly.

“I would never judge another without hearing all the facts,” she assured her friend.

A pair of gentlemen tipped their hats to the girls as they strolled by. Eliza pretended not to notice their attentions.

“The reason I knew right away what the book of spells was . . . Well . . . my mother . . . She . . .”

Catherine hesitated, bringing a gloved hand to her face for a moment.

“Is your mother a witch?” Eliza gasped. The moment the words left her lips, she realized just how judgmental they sounded. She cleared her throat and ignored her pulse, which was now fluttering ferociously in her wrists. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

Catherine paused in front of one of the two lampposts outside the police station. She glanced back at Mrs. Hodge again. Seeing them stop, the maid took the opportunity to rest on the bench in front of the Easton Feed Store.

“My mother has always been obsessed with youth and beauty,” Catherine said, her blue eyes downcast. “She has spent much of her life in search of what you might call the fountain of youth. That one salve or elixir or . . . or potion that might keep her young.”

“I see,” Eliza said, even though she didn’t quite see at all.

“This quest of hers has taken her to some . . . unsavory places,” Catherine continued. “Including to the dens of some fairly notorious witches.”

“I see,” Eliza repeated. Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Until that moment, she had never truly considered the notion that magic was actually real. Her head felt light as she imagined the possibilities of such a thing . . . and the dangers.

“She brought me along on some of these visits, and I must say . . . I thought the whole practice was fascinating,” Catherine said, speaking more quickly and freely now, as if she felt the hard part was over. “The things these women can do, the magics they’re capable of producing . . . It’s amazing.”

Eliza glanced at Mrs. Hodge. She was eyeing the two girls suspiciously. Eliza quickly looked away. “These potions, these spells in the books . . . It’s all real?” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen things you would scarcely believe.”

Eliza suddenly found she had to concentrate to breathe. Unbidden, the names of some of the spells flashed through her mind: the Love Spell, the Spell of Confusion, the Helen of Troy Spell, which made any girl irresistible to all men for the three nights of the full moon. Could these spells really work? And if they could, what did that mean for her . . . for Harrison . . . for Theresa? Could she ever use one to—

No, the answer came immediately. Don’t even think it, Eliza.

“Eliza? Are you all right?” Catherine asked.

“I’m not sure. Is it very hot out?” Eliza asked. She touched her gloved fingertips to her forehead, and they came away damp. Breathless, she leaned back against the lamppost, fighting for focus.

“The

re’s nothing to be afraid of, Eliza,” Catherine said, reaching for her wrist. “Witchcraft is a wonderful thing, as long as it’s used for good. And I don’t think any of us intends to use it otherwise.”

Mrs. Hodge appeared over Catherine’s right shoulder, her expression one of sheer alarm. “Miss Williams! Are you unwell?” she asked.

“I think I need some . . . some water,” Eliza managed.

Mrs. Hodge looked over her shoulder at the police station. “Stay here. Miss White, try to keep her cool. I’ll be right back.”

Then she turned, lifted her skirts, and scurried up the steps faster than Eliza would have thought possible.