“Let’s all sit,” Eliza said flatly.
Her heart pounded, but she held her ground. It was as if reciting the initiation rite had imbued her with more strength than she’d had before. Theresa rolled her eyes, let go of the book, and sat down on the floor. Then all the girls sat as well, tucking the skirts of their nightgowns beneath them.
“All right, let’s see,” Eliza said, running her finger down the list of basic spells. Her gaze fell on something that seemed perfect. “Here’s one for you, Viola. To mend a torn seam.”
“Really?” Viola asked, her eyebrows raised.
“That’s what we’re going to use magic for?” Clarissa said. “Something we could do with a needle and thread?”
“Let her try it,” Lavender said forcefully.
Clarissa lifted her shoulders and let them fall.
“Fine. Here’s what you do, Viola,” Eliza said, squinting down at the page. “Hold your right palm over the tear and say, ‘Resarcio.’”
Viola glanced at Theresa and bit her lip, but did as she was told. Her hand fluttered a bit as she smoothed the torn part of her gown on the floor. She placed her palm over the long, ragged edge, then closed her eyes and said the spell.
“Resarcio.”
She said the word at a whisper, opened her eyes, and looked. Everyone in the circle leaned in. The seam was still torn.
“Nothing happened,” Viola said with a pout.
Eliza felt a swoop of disappointment.
“Try it again,” Catherine instructed calmly. “This time, stare at the back of your hand and really concentrate. Say the spell loudly and clearly. Believe that it will work.”
Marilyn and Genevieve both eyed Catherine with interest, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Eliza was impressed as well. Catherine really sounded as if she knew what she
was talking about.
Viola held her hand over the tear. She closed her eyes again, then remembered Catherine’s instructions and quickly snapped them open. She stared at the back of her hand and this time said the spell in a loud voice. An odd snapping sound filled the small room. Eliza flinched. When Viola lifted her hand, the gash in the cotton had vanished. The nightgown was as good as new.
“It worked!” Bia said breathlessly.
“What else can we do? What else?” Jane blurted, clapping her hands.
Suddenly the room was filled with giggles and twitters. Genevieve pulled out her box of chocolates and passed it around. Eliza looked at Catherine, a grin lighting her face. “You did it.” Catherine blushed.
“What about this one? To change the color of a frock?” Theresa said, tugging the book off Eliza’s lap while she was distracted. “Alice? What do you say? Would you like a pink nightgown instead of white?”
Alice looked down at her flannel uncertainly. “Will it hurt?”
“Oh, please,” Theresa said. She held a flat hand out toward Alice, leaning past Eliza and Catherine. “Hubeo pink!”
Another snapping sound. Suddenly a spot of color appeared at the center of Alice’s nightgown. Alice squealed and grasped Catherine’s arm, her legs bouncing up and down beneath her.
“Get it off! Get it off!”
Eliza watched in amazement as the spot swirled and grew and swirled and grew. Clarissa got up, walked over to Alice, and touched the spot where the color had sprung to life, her brow knit with curiosity.
“It’s warm,” she said, looking at Eliza. “Very warm.”
“Make it stop!” Alice whined, squeezing her eyes shut as the color seeped across her chest and down her arms, then finally swirled to the floor-length hem. She peeked from the corner of her left eye, then squeezed it shut, holding her breath until she turned beet red. “Is it over?”
“Look!” Eliza told her.
Alice opened just one eye to a sliver, then the other. She gazed down at herself, and suddenly both eyes widened in wonder. “It’s pink!”