The girl burst into tears.
Lydia sat on the edge of the chair and put an arm around her. “Of course you aren’t all right. None of us are. But we’ll get through this.”
“They’ve just admitted we have a real chance, you know,” Ella put in. “So, in a certain light: Hooray!”
“I—I d-didn’t—expect—” Meg covered her face with her hands, taking gasping breaths. “I d-didn’t think in a m-million years?—”
“I know,” Lydia said, rocking her back and forth. Beatrix had to remind herself that the two were the same age, classmates. Meg seemed so much younger.
“Don’t ever let her guard your sister by herself,” Blackwell murmured behind her.
They waited until Meg cried herself out. Then Beatrix, feeling like a worm, held out the third contract until Meg took it and signed with an unsteady hand. It might no longer matter whether their treasurer could learn protection spells, but she needed even more pressingly to take a Vow. You could never tell what a person might do if sufficiently frightened.
She took Meg’s arm and led her—propelled her—to the circles. Blackwell, tension practically radiating off him, handed over the leaves and pips. Meg sniffled, staring at the contract.
“Go ahead,” Beatrix said, and she hadn’t meant to snap, she really hadn’t, but her nerves were wound so tight she was finding it hard to catch her breath.
“Ic—ic—” Meg wiped at her eyes with the back of the hand that held the leaves.“Ic...”
Seconds went by without another attempt. “Meg,” Beatrix said, this time intending the sharp edge.
“Ic gehate.” The words were whisper-soft. Nothing happened.
“Louder.”
“Ic—ic gehate.”
“Again.”
“Ic—I can’t—I c-can’t—please—I don’t want to break the law, I don’t want to do magic?—”
“Margaret Wallace!” Beatrix grabbed her by the elbows. “Stop sniveling, stand up straight andfocus!”
Meg, trembling, babbled the spellwords over and over until finally one pair did the trick. She choked down the pips, took a few stumbling steps and collapsed onto the carpeting, leaving Beatrix swaying in the hated double-circle.
Of the three Vows, this was the one most like hers on that horrible, wretched day. Except this time she’d been Blackwell.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Meg, I’m so sorry.”
Lydia, shooting her a look, helped Meg up. Rosemarie, always the pragmatist, simply shrugged. Then someone took her arm and gently urged her out of the demarcated area.
Blackwell.
“Miss Harper,” he murmured—and stopped as Ella stepped in front of them, arms crossed.
“Hang on,” she said. The emotion in her voice was unmistakable. Suspicion. “Beatrix, I think you should take the Vow, too. Just in case.”
“She’s not going to do anything to hurt her own sister,” Blackwell protested.
“Even so.” Ella was frowning now. “Rosemarie, can I get an amen?”
“I don’t see any harm in it—anyadditionalharm,” Rosemarie said.
Blackwell made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. “Really, there’s no reason?—”
“I’ll do it,” Beatrix said.
“Good,” Ella said. “You can Vow to me.”
