The First Midnight Spell Read Online Free PDF Page A

Another friend for you, perhaps.”
    Elizabeth simply nodded, though she already knew there was no way on heaven and earth that Rebecca Hornby would ever be Nat’s bride.
    She sat up late with her needlework, in front of the dying embers of the fire. Aunt Ruth slept with the two smallest children, their bed in the far corner of the house; the other little ones slept on their pallets. Elizabeth’s remained empty. It didn’t matter if she went completely without sleep tonight, or the next night, too. What mattered was getting this done in secret, and getting it done well.
    Elizabeth tied a bandage around her ankle—a bandage with her charms inside, so they were all in contact with her skin at every moment. Then she sewed, hour after hour, eyes tearing from eyestrain and the fire’s smoke. Every time the needle pierced the cloth, she imagined puncturing Rebecca Hornby’s skin. Every time she pulled the thread through, she imagined pulling the girl’s hair from her head.
    Crude revenges, those. The magic she worked was subtler.
    Woven into the cap was a spell that would steal the beauty from its wearer. Nothing dramatic—it would work much like the reverse of the spell Elizabeth had cast on herself that morning. When Rebecca put it on, she would look dingier, older, and wearier. Stitched into the lining was a spell for spoiling the temper. Rebecca wouldn’t be able to simper and fawn all over Nat once she’d worn this; instead she’d be cross, quick to anger. How many times would she have to snap at Nat before he began to realize there might be a better girl waiting for him back home?
    What else? Elizabeth thought feverishly as the night wore on. What else can I put into this? Building spells into inanimate objects was difficult, and most of the spells she knew how to cast were positive ones, like good fortune sewn into a bridal veil, or spells of amity and concord cooked into food.
    The spells she’d cast here—they’d do what she wanted, but would that be enough? No matter how delicately Elizabeth sewed the cap, there was no chance that Rebecca would wear it all the time. Sooner or later, someone would say it didn’t suit her, or Rebecca herself would realize she always seemed to be in an ill temper when she wore it. If it took more than a few bad visits to shake Nat’s love for her, then this on its own wouldn’t be enough.
    Nat seemed like the sort who didn’t fall in love lightly. For him, love would be powerful. Love would endure past the first few tempests—
    â€”so she needed more.
    Elizabeth considered. More positive spells swam in her memory, pretty and friendly and utterly useless. There were ways to ensure fine weather, at least for an afternoon. Ways to give a man strength through the stitching of his garments. Ways to—
    She gasped as it came to her.
    If strength could be given through a spell, then it could be taken away by its opposite, couldn’t it?
    Yes. Through a spell, Elizabeth could weaken Rebecca Hornby. Then she’d catch colds right and left, run fevers, not even be able to see Nat when he rode over to visit. Better yet, that spell wouldn’t stop working when Rebecca removed her cap. Rebecca would be weaker forever.
    But that’s black magic.
    Elizabeth stopped. Her fury had burned brightly, unabated throughout that whole afternoon and evening, but now she felt small and scared.
    It was one thing to use magic to tip the scales in your favor. What else was witchcraft for? A witch could even cause damage to those who opposed her, within reason. However, what Elizabeth was contemplating doing to Rebecca Hornby went far beyond that. To wish someone weaker was to endanger them. That would be true anywhere, but here, in the small towns clinging to the coast of the Rhode Island Colony, where few physicians could be found . . . it could very easily prove to be a death sentence.
    Elizabeth felt no fear at the