The convivial chatter started up as soon as the words were out of my mouth and my friends began to gather up their things. Noelle clasped Vienna’s hands and hoisted her off the floor, while Amberly practically jumped Lorna Gross and Astrid, asking them to join her committee.
“You ready?” Ivy asked, lifting her long black hair out of her red coat and letting it fall down her back. It had turned out that her absence that morning was no mystery after all. She’d simply been waiting at the post office for a care package from home.
“Actually, I think I’m going to hang back for a little while,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder in what I hoped was a casual way. I had a plan for the evening, and it did not involve going back to campus.
Noelle paused near the door and cocked an eyebrow. So maybe my gesture hadn’t hit the mark. “I don’t want to leave all these crumbs. We could attract mice.”
“Oh. Then I’ll help,” Ivy said.
She started to put her bag down again and I panicked. “No!” I blurted.
Both Ivy and Noelle were staring at me now, with matching expressions of concern and confusion. Which was interesting considering how much they hated each other. Noelle crossed her arms over her chest.
“It’s just . . . I kind of want to be alone,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to think about and I . . . I guess I’ve never told you guys this, but I like to clean while I think. It helps me relax.”
Ivy’s brow crease deepened and for a moment I thought she would put up a fight, but then Noelle turned, gently knocking Ivy with her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s leave the freak to her cleaning therapy.”
If anyone knew I really did have a lot to think about, it was Noelle. Apparently she was taking pity on me. Which kind of made me feel guilty about all the lying.
“Okay,” Ivy said slowly. “But I don’t love the idea of you being out here alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” I promised her. “I’ve got my phone if I need anything.”
The two of them finally capitulated and followed the others outside, who waved and shouted their good-byes as they slipped out into the night. When their voices had finally died off on the wind, I took a deep breath and looked around. Except for the few flickering candles, the chapel was dark. Some of the stained glass windows had been broken long ago, leaving behind jagged, incomplete mosaics, the stars winking outside their busted panes. The pews were polished and buffed—thanks to the members of my secret society—and the wood floors were swept clean, but high in the rafters there were still some heavy cobwebs, and a stray bird’s nest.
Quickly blowing out all but one candle, I grabbed my messenger bag and the last candle and walked to the office at the back of the building.
The room was small and square, its basic wood furnishings covered in years of dust and grime. I placed my candle in the holder on the desk, then walked to the bookcase on the west wall. Using both hands, I pried the bookcase away from the plaster. It swung open, letting out a silence-splitting creak of protest. Behind it was a smaller, white paneled door with a brass knob and an old-fashioned keyhole. I tugged the key on its purple cord out of the pocket of my jeans. As I slid the key into the hole, I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure none of my friends had returned. Then I turned the key with a click and the ice-cold doorknob turned easily in my grasp.
Frigid air rushed up from the basement, along with a musty yet somehow cozy smell that made me think of the basement of the Croton library. The dank room housed all the historical books, and older kids were always getting caught making out down there. I reached back for my candle and held it high in front of me as I descended the stairs.
When my foot hit the concrete floor, I paused. My throat was dry as I looked around. The basement room was a perfect circle. Eleven chairs were set up to face the center, and at that center was a podium, plain and sturdy and made of wood. It was on this podium that we had found the Book of Spells last night.
Inhaling a bit of the musty air, I looked slowly around the room and smiled. Elizabeth Williams had hung out here. She’d been in this very room with Theresa Billings and Catherine White and all the other girls mentioned in the BLS book. I wished I knew what they looked like, and wondered why I’d never thought to try to dig up photographs of them before. They’d had cameras in 1915, hadn’t they? Tomorrow I would have to check the Easton archives and see if I could find any photographs.
I tugged out the BLS book first and opened to the second page, the one where each of the members of the first Billings Literary Society had signed their names. Then I slowly opened the Book of Spells. Near the front was a list of basic spells, and next to each was a little tick, as if someone had checked them off after completing them. Next to some items there were notes, written in a few different hands:
“Worked on the third try” or “Must be done with two sisters, holding hands.”
Some of these notes were in the same slanting script as the BLS book—there was the curled-down tail on the y’s and the flourish on the s’s. That small scroll to the W or M or N. The handwriting belonged to Elizabeth Williams.
Carefully, I studied some of the other notes, my eyes flicking back and forth from the signature page in the BLS to the Book of Spells. Suddenly, my heart caught. Some of the other notes had been written by Catherine White, Elizabeth’s best friend. Her lowercase a’s and o’s were perfectly rounded, almost like a child’s handwriting.
A shiver of satisfaction went through me, like when I figured out a calculus problem. I paged through the Book of Spells, glancing at some of the titles. The Forgetfulness Spell. The Swelling Tongue. Spell to Mend a Broken Heart. Then something caught my eye as I whipped past, and I slowly paged back. Written across the top of the page were the words “The Presence in Mind Spell.”
That handwriting was not Elizabeth’s, but it looked familiar. I glanced back at the list of signatures and picked it out right away. The strokes were thick and confident, the uppercase letters overly large. The spell had been written out by Theresa Billings.
“This is so freaking cool,” I whispered.
I looked around the room again, hugging myself against the cold. I imagined Theresa, Elizabeth, and Catherine at the podium, jotting down notes in the book. Had they really cast spells in this room? Had any of them worked? Was that even possible? Or was it a game to occupy their time?
A sudden and loud bang woke me up from my imagination. I scrambled to my feet, clutching the books to me as panic filled my limbs. Heavy footsteps clomped
down the stairs, every creak like an arrow to my heart. I pressed back against the wall, wondering if there was any way to use my candle as a weapon. Then, someone appeared at the foot of the stairs. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders and she looked at me with a wry expression.
“I knew it!”
“Noelle! You scared the crap out of me!” I blurted.