The Book of Spells (Private 0.50)

“Levitas,” she whispered.

Both her knife and spoon floated up, clinking softly together in the air. Alice hid a squeal behind her hand, keeping her gaze squarely on the silverware. Catherine giggled, while Eliza’s heart swelled. If this was what witchcraft was about—making the most boring class of all seem tolerable—then it was the best discovery she’d ever made.

Then Miss Almay started to turn, and Eliza smacked her hand over Theresa’s fork, slamming it back in place. There was a loud clattering of silverware and china as Alice did the same. Petit Peu awakened with a start and let out a few short barks before readjusting his position and promptly starting to snore again. Behind Eliza, Marilyn and Jane just barely covered their laughter with polite coughs.

“Is there a problem, girls?” Miss Almay asked, staring down her nose at Eliza and her friends.

“No, Miss Almay,” Theresa replied sweetly, her hands folded in her lap. “No problem at all.”

“Fine, then. I’d appreciate no further interruption, Miss Williams,” Miss Almay said. “Unless you’d like me to contact your mother and let her know how very much you are not living up to May’s high standards.”

Eliza’s skin burned with anger. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. We’ll continue.” Miss Almay turned and started pacing along the west wall. Eliza concentrated on the hem of the headmistress’s dark gray skirt and narrowed her eyes.

“Levitas,” she whispered.

Suddenly Miss Almay’s skirt flew up, revealing the many old-fashioned petticoats underneath. The headmistress let out a very unladylike shriek as she whirled around, attempting to tamp it down. All the girls in the room dissolved into laughter.

“What was that?” Miss Almay demanded as soon as her clothes were set to rights.

“Did you not feel that gust of wind, Headmistress?” Catherine said, arching her brows. Eliza scarcely dared to breathe.

“Perhaps we should close the windows,” Alice offered, standing as if to help.

“Sit, Miss Ainsworth,” Miss Almay snapped, the color high in her cheeks. “Helen!” she shouted, snapping her fingers. “Close these windows.”

Helen rushed forward from her place near the door and did as she was told. As soon as the large windows were shut, the room became stiflingly hot.

“Servers! Kindly pour the tea!” Miss Almay ordered. Then, clearly flustered, she quickly sat in a wing-backed chair near the front of the room and fanned her face with her hand.

“Thanks for that, Eliza,” Viola whispered, stepping forward to serve Eliza’s tea from the left side. “I’m already starting to perspire, and this is a new blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza replied under her breath. “But she deserved it.”

As Viola poured out her tea, Eliza glanced up to find Helen staring right at her. Eliza’s heart skipped a startled beat, but she forced herself to hold the servant’s gaze. Helen’s hazel eyes narrowed. It took all of Eliza’s determination to keep from being the first to break eye contact, but the longer the two girls stared at each other, the quicker her blood rushed through her ears.

Suddenly Miss Almay stirred, and Eliza’s gaze flicked to the headmistress. She scolded herself silently for losing the challenge to the maid, but her stomach flip-flopped when she saw that Miss Almay was looking from Helen to Eliza and back again, as if she realized what was going on between them.

“Miss Williams,” Miss Almay said suddenly. “See me in my

office after class.”

Eliza’s heart sunk. Theresa snorted a laugh.

“You too, Miss Billings,” Miss Almay said.

Both girls slumped down in their chairs, suddenly forgetting about etiquette entirely.

Due Respect

A cold trickle of sweat raced down the back of Eliza’s broiling-hot neck. Miss Almay had been pacing behind her and Theresa for at least five minutes, ominously silent. As each moment passed, Eliza had grown warmer and warmer, and at this point, she was actually fantasizing about tearing her dress off and diving into a pool of ice water.

Theresa sat perfectly still in the next chair, staring straight ahead at the horridly gothic portrait of the dark-haired headmistress herself, which hung behind the wide, ornately carved desk. From it, the visage of Miss Almay glared down at them, the crags of her bony face shadowed, the bend of her nose accusatory. With one Almay before her and one seething behind, Eliza felt as if she was being stalked by a pair of identical fiends.

If Miss Almay was attempting to intimidate her, it was working.

Suddenly, the pacing stopped. There was a prolonged moment of silence, and then Miss Almay brought her hands down on the backs of the girls’ chairs with a bang. Eliza jumped.