“I know they’re out here somewhere, and I know that you helped them!” Theresa screamed as Eliza emerged from the tree line into a small clearing.
Catherine and Theresa stood on the far side of a ravine that cut right through the trees. Theresa’s dress was soaked, the heavy fabric clinging to her skin. She whirled on Catherine, her dark hair matted to her face and neck. Eliza blinked, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, but the memory was gone as quickly as it had come.
Theresa went on, “How could you do this to me? You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
“I am your best friend, Theresa,” Catherine replied, holding both hands above her eyes, shielding them from the rain. A flash of yellow peeked out between her fingers—the sulfur stick.
Neither of the girls had noticed her yet, and Eliza found herself frozen with uncertainty. Should she say something? Do something? Or should she simply slink back into the woods as if she’d never been here? Suddenly her locket felt warm against her skin. She could have sworn it was actually pulsating, as if it was somehow reflecting the tenor of Theresa and Catherine’s argument.
But how could that be?
“But you don’t love Harrison,” Catherine continued. “We both know you don’t.”
“I’m not talking about Harrison right now,” Theresa replied, bending at the waist. “I’m talking about Eliza Williams! You like her better than me, don’t you? That’s why you’re helping her sneak around with my fiancé!”
A bolt of lightning lit the night, and Catherine’s eyes suddenly flicked to Eliza. Theresa turned around and instantly, Eliza began to sway on her feet, improvising a plan. She unfocused her eyes and looked from Theresa to Catherine and back again.
“Catherine? Theresa? Is that you?” Eliza said weakly.
Theresa whirled around and her jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?”
“Where am I? Is this the way to Crenshaw?” Eliza squeaked.
Theresa’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so you’re lost, are you?” she demanded, stalking to the very edge of the ravine that separated her from Eliza. “What happened? Did Harrison desert you? Or did he never arrive? Perhaps he suddenly remembered that he was engaged to be married!”
Eliza gulped, her face burning even as it was pelted by cold rain. Part of her wanted to keep up the charade, out of both pride and self-preservation, but as she looked at Catherine, standing there with her shoulders slumped as if exhausted, she decided enough was enough. She stood up straight, rounded her shoulders, and tried to ignore the sick, nervous feeling in her gut.
“How did you find out?” Eliza asked.
“I found his little love note!” Theresa said, whipping the paper from her pocket and holding it out. “Here’s some advice, Eliza Williams. If you’re going to try to steal someone’s beau, take better care of your correspondence.”
Eliza’s face stung at the sight of the cherished note clasped in Theresa’s fingers, turning to pulp in the rain.
“That’s one thing I can say for your sister,” Theresa said, tearing the note up into tiny bits. “When she stole George Thackery away from me, she was much more covert about it.”
The wet scraps of paper fluttered down around her feet. Eliza felt as if she could scream, but instead, she took a deep breath.
“Harrison didn’t desert me,” she said loudly, clearly. “He was there, but I sent him back with a spell when I heard you two fighting.”
Theresa paled. “So you admit it! You admit carrying on an affair with my future husband.”
“Theresa,” Catherine said impatiently.
“We’ve done nothing improper,” Eliza replied firmly.
“Nothing but plan a secret midnight rendezvous,” Theresa shot back. She took a step forward, and the unstable edge of the ravine crumbled beneath her toes. Eliza’s heart swooped.
The gash in the ground was at least ten feet deep.
“Be careful,” Eliza warned her.
“Oh, you’re the one who should be careful,” Theresa replied, her eyes narrowed. “Do you even realize what I could do to you?” Eliza’s heart turned cold, remembering the spell Theresa had cast so cavalierly on Miss Almay. Her gaze flicked to Theresa’s raised hand. Was the girl about to use some new spell she had up her sleeve?
Suddenly it all came back to her in a rush. The dream—the awful dream about Catherine’s death. They had been in the woods, in front of a hole just like this one. Eliza’s throat seized with fear. “Theresa, please!” she croaked. “Step away from the ravine.”
“You think you’ve won? You think you’ve stolen my Harrison?” Theresa continued. “Well, from this moment on, you’re going to want to watch your back, Eliza Williams.”
“Theresa!” Catherine shouted. “Stop it!”