Eliza, Theresa, and Helen stared at the body. Eliza’s chest heaved up and down with her ragged breath. Her locket was white hot against her skin, but she didn’t move to adjust it.
Catherine remained still.
“What’s going on?” Eliza asked, her voice a mere whisper. “What happened? Why didn’t it work?”
“I don’t know,” Helen said, her eyes wide. “We did everything by the book. You added all the rosemary?” she asked Theresa.
“Of course I added all the rosemary,” Theresa replied defensively. “Do you think I wanted it to fail, Helen? Do you think I wanted her dead? What do you expect me to—”
A sudden gasp cut her off, and Eliza hurtled backward, startled so thoroughly that she had to grasp the stone wall to keep herself from joining Bia on the floor. Every girl in the room held her breath.
Catherine White had just sat up.
Not Right
“Eliza?” Catherine said.
Her voice was a croak, and she stared straight through Eliza as she said her name. Theresa dropped Eliza’s hand, and Eliza rushed forward.
“Catherine!”
She whipped away the gauze that clung to Catherine’s hair, and enveloped her in a hug. Catherine’s arms hung limply at her sides, but Eliza hardly noticed. Catherine was back. Catherine was alive!
“It’s a miracle!” Alice said from her chair near the door. “A miracle.”
“How do you feel?” Eliza asked. “Are you all right?” “Are you hungry?” Genevieve asked.
Eliza pulled back and looked into Catherine’s eyes. They stared back at her as if unseeing. As if she’d never looked upon Eliza before in her life. A cold slice of uncertainty bisected Eliza’s heart.
“Catherine?” she said, holding on to the girl’s arm. “It’s me. Eliza.”
Slowly Catherine’s eyes seemed to focus on Eliza’s face. Then, suddenly, as if tugged by an invisible string, her head jerked downward in a nod. Eliza felt a rush of relief. There was still no color in her friend’s cheeks, and her skin was waxy, but she was moving. She was there.
Then her eyes glazed right over again.
“What’s wrong with her?” Viola asked.
“She’s been dead for almost two days,” Clarissa replied in her know-it-all way. “Give her some time.”
“Let’s not talk about death, shall we?” Theresa requested with forced brightness. “What’s important here is that Catherine is alive. We should bring her home and give her a chance to rest.”
Eliza clenched her jaw. She didn’t like the fact that everyone was talking about Catherine as if she wasn’t there. As if she was still just a corpse on the floor.
“Would you like that, Catherine?” she asked her friend. “Would you like to go back to our room and lie down?”
Catherine stared into Eliza’s eyes and again, Eliza felt the chill. Catherine’s head jerked side to side, as if she was a marionette being operated by a novice puppeteer. Eliza held back a choking lump of disappointment and fear, telling herself that Clarissa was right. Catherine just needed some time.
“You don’t wish to go back to Crenshaw?” Eliza asked patiently, trying to keep the tears out of her voice.
“Here,” Catherine said hoarsely. “Stay here.”
“But we have everything back in our room for the party,” Genevieve lamented, biting her lip. “The punch and the sandwiches and the chocolate.”
“You planned a party?” Theresa demanded, nonplussed.
Genevieve blushed, and Marilyn reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It was Genevieve’s idea. It was meant to be a surprise.”
“Well, we can go get all the food and bring it back here,” Alice said, her eyes bright. “If this is where Catherine wishes to be, we can bring the celebration to her.”