Helen Jennings knew more than she was letting on. And the thought frightened Eliza to her core.
Funeral Party
That night, the girls gathered in Eliza’s room and quickly performed the Spell of Silence so they could sneak out to the chapel. Everyone was dressed in dark tones—black, gray, navy blue—as if attending a funeral instead of an awakening.
“When will we be leaving, Eliza?” Genevieve asked. “I would like for this to be finished.”
Anxiety was etched on all her friends’ faces. All but Alice’s, who sat at the foot of Eliza’s bed and had drawn the hood of her black cape over her face so that only the very tip of her nose could be seen.
“We’ll go as soon as Theresa arrives,” Eliza replied. “Don’t worry, Genevieve. This will all be over soon.”
The door to Eliza’s room suddenly opened and Theresa entered. Eliza felt a thump of foreboding and guilt the moment she saw her. The note Helen had delivered earlier had been from Harrison—a request for her to meet him again tonight. Eliza hadn’t felt comfortable sending her refusal through Helen, so she knew that Harrison was going to be standing in the woods tonight, waiting for a girl who would never come.
“You really should knock, Theresa,” Lavender said. “For all we knew, you could have been the headmistress.”
“Thank you for that lesson in etiquette, Lavender,” Theresa said sarcastically.
Theresa had dressed in a royal purple frock, the most festive of the bunch. The book of spells was clutched against her chest, and she glanced around the room until her gaze came to rest on Eliza.
“We have a problem,” she said, keeping her voice low.
Every single girl turned to look at Eliza. All except Alice.
“What is it?” Eliza said.
Theresa opened the book as she walked to Eliza. “The instructions are qu
ite clear. This spell will not work without all eleven members of the coven present to recite it.”
“What?” Jane exclaimed, stepping forward.
All around there were questions and whispers and panicked twitters. Eliza took the book and scanned the page. Theresa was right. The instructions referred to “eleven voices raised” and “twenty-two” crossed arms. The numbers were there over and over again. Her heart sunk into her toes and disappointment descended over the room.
“Well, we’ll just have to try it with ten,” she said, trying to sound firm.
“I don’t think so,” Theresa said.
“She’s right,” Marilyn spoke up, for once without Petit Peu in her arms. “What if something goes awry because we do not have enough power? This is Catherine’s life we are talking about.”
The other girls murmured their assent. Eliza couldn’t help wondering if some of them were grateful for an excuse to not perform the spell.
“We need an eleventh,” she heard herself say.
“Where are we going to get someone new now?” Viola whined, fidgeting her black-gloved hands. “Not to mention someone who won’t run screaming when we tell them what we’re about to do.”
An idea flitted through Eliza’s mind. It made her feel sick to her stomach, but what other choice did she have? Catherine’s life hung in the balance.
“I know someone,” Eliza said.
“You do? Who?” Theresa asked.
“I’d rather not say until I know that she is willing,” Eliza told her. “All of you go to the chapel and wait for me there. If I haven’t arrived within an hour, you can return.”
As the girls grumbled and whispered and gathered their things, Theresa latched on to Eliza’s arm tightly.
“We can’t wait much longer to do this,” Theresa said through her teeth. “Those forty-eight hours are wasting away.”
“I know,” Eliza said, lifting her chin. “I just need a little time. Trust me. I will bring our eleventh.”