Kate Brian - The Book of Spells: A Private Prequel

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,

real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,

places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination,

and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,

living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Produced by Al oy Entertainment

Book design by Andrea C. Uva

The text of this book is set in Filosofia.

Manufactured in the United States of America

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

CIP Data is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-4424-1236-1

ISBN 978-1-4424-1238-5 (eBook)

For Matt, who somehow lived through it,

and for Lanie, who is somehow still sane

Changes

Even at the tender age of sixteen, Elizabeth Wil iams was the rare girl who knew her mind. She knew she preferred summer to al other seasons.

She knew she couldnt stand the pink-and-yel ow floral wal paper the decorator had chosen for her room. She knew that she would much rather spend time with her blustery, good-natured father than her ever-critical, humorless motherthough the company of either was difficult to come by.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that going away to the Bil ings School for Girls was going to be the best thing that ever happened to her.

As she sat in the cushioned seat of her bay window overlooking sun-streaked Beacon Hil , she folded her dog-eared copy of The Jungle in her lap, making sure to keep her finger inside to hold her place. She placed her feet, new buckled shoes and al , up on the pink cushions and pressed her temple against the warm glass with a wistful sigh. It was September 1915, and Boston was experiencing an Indian summer, with temperatures scorching the sidewalks and causing the new automobiles to sputter and die along the side of the roads. Eliza would have given anything to be back at the Cape Cod house, running along the shoreline in her bathing clothes, splashing in the waves, her swim cap forgotten and her dark hair tickling her shoulders. But instead, here she was, buttoned into a stiff green cotton dress her mother had picked out for her, the wide white col ar itching her neck.

Any minute now, Maurice would bring the coach around and squire her off to the train station, where she and her maid, Renee, would board a train for Easton, Connecticut, and the Bil ings School. The moment she got to her room in Crenshaw House, she was going to change into her most comfortable linen dress, jam her floppy brown hat over her hair, and set out in search of the library. Because living at a school more than two hours away from home meant that her mother couldnt control her. Couldnt criticize her. Couldnt nitpick every little thing she wore, every book she read, every choice she made. Being away at school meant freedom.

Of course, Elizas mother had other ideas. If her wishes came true, Bil ings would turn Eliza into a true lady. Eliza would catch herself a worthy husband, and she would return home by Christmas triumphantly engaged, just as her sister, May, had.

After two years at Bil ings, eighteen-year-old May was now an engaged womanand to a Thackery, no less: George Thackery I I, of the Thackery tanning fortune. Shed come home in June, diamond ring and al , and was now official y their mothers favoritethough truly, she had been that al along.

Suddenly, the thick oak door of Elizas private bedroom opened and in walked her mother, Rebecca Cornwal Wil iams. Her blond hair bil owed like a cloud around her head, and her stylish, ankle-length gray skirt tightened her steps. She wore a matching tassel-trimmed jacket over her dress, even in this ridiculous heat. The Wil iams pearls were, as always, clasped around her throat. As she entered, her eyes flicked over Eliza and her casual posture and flashed with exasperation. Eliza quickly sat up, smoothed her skirt, straightened her back, and attempted to tuck her book behind her.

Hel o, Mother, she said with the polished politeness that usual y won over the elder Wil iams. How are you this morning?

Her mothers discerning blue eyes narrowed as she walked toward her daughter.

Your sister and I are going to shop for wedding clothes. Weve come to say our good-byes, she said formal y.

Out in the hal way, May hovered, holding her tan leather gloves and new brimless hat at her waist. Mays blond hair was pul ed back in a stylish chignon, which complemented her milky skin and round, rosy cheeks. Garnets dangled from her delicate earlobes. She always looked elegant, even when she was destined only for a simple day of shopping.

Standing over Eliza, her mother leaned down and snatched the book right out from under Elizas skirt.

The Jungle? she said, holding the book between her thumb and forefinger. Elizabeth, you cannot be seen at Bil ings reading this sort of rot.

Modern novels are not proper for a young lady. Especial y not a Wil iams.

Elizas gaze flicked to her sister, who quickly looked away. A few years ago, May would have defended Elizas literary choices, but not anymore.

For the mil ionth time Eliza wondered how May could have changed so much. When shed gone away to school, shed been adventurous, tomboyish, sometimes even brash. It was as if fal ing in love had turned her sister into a different person. If winning a diamond ring from a boy meant forgetting who she was, then Eliza was determined to die an old maid.

Headmistress Almay has turned out some of the finest ladies of society, and I intend for you to be one of them, Elizas mother continued.

What about what I intend? Eliza thought.

And you wont be bringing this. I dont want the headmistress thinking shes got a daydreamer on her hands. Her mother turned and tossed Elizas book into the crate near the doorthe one piled with old toys and dresses meant for the hospital bazaar her mother was helping to plan.

Eliza looked down at the floor, her eyes aflame and ful of tears. Then her mother did something quite unexpected. She clucked her tongue and ran her hands from Elizas shoulders down her arms until they were firmly holding her hands. Eliza couldnt remember the last time her mother had touched her.