The First Midnight Spell

by Claudia Gray

  Nat didn’t talk a lot when he came over. He’d always been quieter than the average young man—less likely to boast or call attention to himself. However, his silence had taken on a different quality now; it seemed almost to be a presence in the room, something heavy that lay upon him, and set him apart from everyone else. Yet his attention was more focused than ever before. He seemed to want nothing more than to watch Elizabeth by the fireside, or catch a glimpse of her about her chores during the day.

  “He’s far too taken with you,” Aunt Ruth murmured to Elizabeth one night after they’d finally shooed Nat out, well after the little ones were usually asleep. “I’m surprised his mother isn’t discouraging him.”

  “It will pass,” Elizabeth said airily. “You know how young men are.”

  Aunt Ruth gave her an appraising look. “Very sensible of you not to take it to heart. Yet there’s something different about this, I think.”

  It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh.

  At first, when Nat watched her during the day, it was from a distance. Elizabeth would be minding the little ones or carrying back water from the well, and she’d see Nat standing down the road or in the field where he was working. Sometimes, when no one else seemed to be looking, she’d wave. But he never waved back. He only stared. No doubt it was hard for him to understand—this new emotion welling up inside him, demanding so much. Elizabeth had loved Nat long enough that she felt she was used to it. It would simply take him a while to catch up.

  For her part, Elizabeth had almost never been so happy. Months of waiting for Nat in vain, fearing she could never be with him and not knowing what to do—they had lifted from her like a weight from her shoulders. Every morning when she awoke, she had a moment of disorientation; she knew she felt good, incredibly good, but why? Then she would remember and smile so broadly that she had to pull the sheets up over her face, lest one of her little cousins ask her what was so funny. No matter how heavy the yoke might be across her neck as she toted water, no matter how surly the milk cow became, Elizabeth’s spirits soared high above it all.

  Eventually Widow Porter came to see Elizabeth on her own. She chose an hour when Aunt Ruth would be home, too, but no one else.

  “Nat’s taken quite a fancy to Elizabeth,” she said, both hands folded around the cup of water Aunt Ruth had given her. “I don’t have to tell either of you what a bad idea that is.”

  Now that Elizabeth no longer felt the need to argue with the First Laws, she was able to simply nod, very seriously.

  Aunt Ruth wrung her hands in her lap. “I’ve been polite to him—he’s always such a kindly young man—but I’ve told him he ought to be at home with you.”

  “I tell him the same,” Widow Porter said heavily. “The thing is, he hears me. I know he hears me. When I say to him, sit down, rest easy, let’s talk awhile, he does it without a moment’s argument.”

  The suggestibility Elizabeth had woven into the spell: It let other people have influence over Nat’s actions, too. Although Elizabeth had foreseen that, she still didn’t like knowing he’d been made vulnerable to the manipulations of others.

  Widow Porter stared into an unseen distance. “So he sits. But he doesn’t talk. It’s like he wants to, but he can’t keep his mind on anything. I know what he’s thinking of—who he’s thinking of. And after a while, it’s as though he can’t stand it any longer. He can’t stay put. I watch him sit there, fighting with himself, and then he hurries out without a word to me.”

  “Elizabeth doesn’t encourage him,” Aunt Ruth said. She put her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders, a motherly, sheltering gesture that she hadn’t made in years, not since the year Elizabeth’s mother died. Almost against her will, Elizabeth felt deeply touched. It wasn’t that she didn’t know Aunt Ruth loved her, but she was so hard most of the time—like a dried-up peel long after it had been skinned off with a knife, and tossed away. “She’s polite, cordial, but she doesn’t say a word to lead him on.”

  “I realize that. She’s a promising young witch. She knows the rules,” Widow Porter said with such confidence that Elizabeth could have laughed. “I know it’s a sacrifice for you, Elizabeth. You—well, you favored him. I don’t blame you for it. Only natural. When you saw the problem, though, you kept your distance. The difficulty is, we can’t tell Nat why he shouldn’t pursue you.”

  No man could know of the existence of witchcraft, much less the ridiculous First Laws. Elizabeth said, “I’m sure we needn’t worry about Nat. He’s always been so—levelheaded. So responsible. I won’t encourage him, and sooner or later, he’ll get over it.”

  “Perhaps,” Widow Porter said, but she didn’t look convinced.

  On the next laundry day, Elizabeth was aware of Nat watching her from afar the entire time. She didn’t mind. Her heart sang with joy that lightened the arduous work.

  Once she wondered why he didn’t come down and help her—the way he had in springtime—but Elizabeth didn’t pay much attention. With his mother fussing at him every time he came near Elizabeth, no doubt Nat felt he should hang back. He wouldn’t always feel that way.

  When they brought the dry laundry in from the line much later, Elizabeth couldn’t find one of her aprons. It was one of the ones she’d embroidered a few flowers on, just a few little ones on the pocket. That made it one of her favorites. She wanted to question her cousins, thinking one of them might have taken it as a prank. Surely they wouldn’t have done so by accident; none of them was big enough to wear her apron yet, and the embroidery would have made it clear to any of them that it belonged to her . . .

  . . . clear to any of her cousins, and to anyone else who was paying her close attention.

  Elizabeth had to stifle a smile. She’d heard stories of boys taking little tokens of the girls they admired. Granted, those boys usually asked the girl for the token—a handkerchief or scarf she didn’t mind lending, and something small that could be kept secret. But Nat probably felt shy. He didn’t really understand his feelings yet. So he’d hurried down and taken the first thing he could get his hands on.

  Yes, she liked that apron—and needed it—but that hardly mattered. It’s one less thing I’ll have to pack when we run away together, Elizabeth told herself.

  By now the men in town had begun whispering about Nat. They kept their conversations to themselves, mostly, but once Elizabeth realized who they were talking about, she could contrive to stand close enough to hear.

  He’s not himself. Used to be as hardworking a fellow as you’d ever find. Now he can’t keep his mind on what he’s doing.

  The boy’s besotted, that’s what it is. No wonder he’s lazing around. I did when I was his age! He needs to get married, that’s all.

  When he was to wed Rebecca Hornby, Nat still had his head on straight. Yes, he went woolgathering from time to time, but that’s only natural. This is something else altogether.

  Just means he needs to get married sooner! Not fair to a young man, to prepare to take a wife and then have her snatched away like that.

  They spoke as if lust were the natural ruler of man, as if no male could ever be trusted to think or act sanely if lust had him in its grip. To them, the fulfillment of that desire seemed to be a man’s natural right, and something that would sour the soul if left unattended for too long.

  Elizabeth didn’t know whether that was true. Surely her wizened old uncle had never been so overcome by passion, and Aunt Ruth didn’t seem likely to have inspired much. (Though all her little cousins must have come from somewhere, she reasoned.) Probably the men were exaggerating, as men were wont to do.

  But if lust could have that power over any man, it had power over Nat now.

  Sometimes she worried that Pru might catch on. Pru alone understood the depth of Elizabeth’s feelings for Nat, and she was also the only one who knew that Elizabeth no longer respected the First Laws. If anyone were to guess that Nat was bewitched, and that Elizabeth was responsible, it would be Pru.

  However, tha
t dance between Pru and Jonathan Hale had been a sign of things to come. These days, Pru never seemed to have time to spend with Elizabeth (not that Elizabeth asked—knowing she needed her secrecy). Instead Jonathan and Pru walked through the streets together hand in hand, gleaming with new love. Neither of them seemed to be able to keep their mind on anything else. Nobody talked about them the way they did about Nat, Elizabeth noticed, but she reasoned that this was because Jonathan didn’t love Pru quite as much as Nat was coming to love Elizabeth. Jonathan kept going about his day-to-day business, more or less. Real love, true passion: That was the fire burning Nat from inside.

  At midsummer their engagement was announced. Pru was a bit young, the wives muttered, but Elizabeth thought it was a fine idea. They were more than old enough to marry. Besides, when Nat heard that one of his friends had proposed to the girl he loved, he was sure to pick up on the idea.

  So she rushed over to the Godwin home to give Pru her best wishes.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Pru bubbled as she and Elizabeth sat together outside the house. “I’ve always been a happy person, but now it’s like . . . like I didn’t even know what happy meant, before.”

  “You deserve it,” Elizabeth said. She couldn’t stop smiling. Nat would speak for her soon—any day now. When that time came, she wouldn’t be able to celebrate with Pru like this, so she thought she should be happy for them both.

  “Jonathan’s going to build a house of his own in early autumn. We should be able to marry before the first freeze.” Hugging herself, Pru said, “Then we’ll be together all those long, dark, cold nights of winter.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “Not cold for long, I bet.”

  Pru pretended to shove her, and the two of them collapsed in laughter. When finally they could breathe again, Pru wiped tears from her cheeks. “Elizabeth . . . I wasn’t fair to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth leaned against the nearest tree, pleasantly tired from all the fun.

  “I didn’t think you’d be happy for me,” Pru admitted. “I thought you’d be—not jealous, exactly, but that you’d feel lonely. Because I can marry the man I love, and you can’t.”

  Elizabeth knew better than to react. “Of course I’m happy for you. Ever since we were little girls, you’ve hoped to marry Jonathan. How could I not want your wish to come true?”

  After all, hadn’t she wished just as long and hard for Nat?

  Pru smiled. “You’ve got a bigger heart than you let on. Sometimes you pretend you’re only a walking Book of Shadows, storing up magic but thinking of nothing else. I know better, though. This is the real Elizabeth, here and now.”

  How silly Pru was. How little she knew anything about anyone—even her precious Jonathan, who loved her, but not enough to cast aside the rest of the world. Elizabeth simply smiled back. “I’m sure I’ll have my day to be happy.”

  “Oh, you will! I know you will.” Pru hugged Elizabeth tightly, and she returned the embrace, wondering if even now, Nat was watching her from the shadows.

  Nat’s appearance began to subtly change.

  It wasn’t as though anything unnatural happened to him: In no way did he look different from an ordinary man. But he began to look less like himself.

  Once he had kept his hair trimmed fairly short; now it had grown well past his collar. Nat had shaved every day, too, joking that he wasn’t old enough to start a beard, but his chin began to sport stubble. Although nobody could have called him a dandy, as he wore the same homespun clothing as everyone else in Fortune’s Sound, Nat had always been careful of his attire. His shirts had been carefully tucked, his shoes and belt shined. Now he looked rougher, almost unkempt.

  Elizabeth found his ruggedness perversely attractive. There was something undeniably delicious in the thought that he was too distracted by her to even dress himself properly.

  By now Widow Porter was distraught. The coven had not met in almost two months—an exceptionally long time, especially with crops in the field. Elizabeth and her aunt went out one night to perform spells of abundance by themselves, just in case.

  “We’re surely not the only ones,” Aunt Ruth said as they stood out under the light of the full moon. “Probably we’ll have a better harvest than ever before, because the fields have been spelled so many times!”

  See? Elizabeth thought. One more reason nobody needs a coven.

  And even then—even in the dead of night—she knew Nat was watching her. He wouldn’t be able to tell they were working magic; probably he wouldn’t have cared if he had. His mind was full of nothing but her.

  She began to have daydreams about slipping out by herself late at night. If Aunt Ruth caught her, Elizabeth could claim she’d wanted to work on her magic. And if she weren’t caught . . .

  Nat would come to her then. Elizabeth knew it. He’d come to her, sweep her up in his arms, and then—and then they’d be as good as man and wife.

  Afterward he’d insist on running away together, and Elizabeth would pretend to bashfully agree.

  Everything was working perfectly. Any doubts she felt from time to time—any odd quiver of fear that went through her when Nat stared blindly in her direction, looking so little like his old self—Elizabeth brushed aside. This was her plan. It was unfolding more or less as she’d foreseen. The journey didn’t matter as much as the destination.

  In late July Nat came to the house nearly every night, until the evening when he refused to leave.

  “Now, Nat, you know we have to get the children to sleep,” Aunt Ruth said, eyes darting nervously toward Elizabeth, who kept her face serene.

  “I’ll stay,” he repeated. “Elizabeth can sit here with me.”

  The children all giggled, but Aunt Ruth went pale. “I’m sorry, but no. You can come back tomorrow.” She paused, obviously realizing she’d given him permission to do something she didn’t want him to do.

  Nat’s expression clouded. The suggestibility within Elizabeth’s spell made him want to obey Aunt Ruth, and yet his compulsion to remain near Elizabeth still won out. “I can’t go,” he said; he looked so confused, almost lost. “I . . . can’t.”

  “Why don’t I walk you out?” Elizabeth said sweetly, brushing his arm with her fingers. She knew that moment of contact would be enough to convince him to do what she said, anything she said, for the hope of touching her again. “Come along.”

  She walked out into the warm night. Midsummer had thickened the air, stilled the breezes. Insects’ chirps had found their rhythm, slow and pulsing, surrounding them like high grass. There wasn’t much moonlight that evening; clouds hung low, silvering the night sky. Yet the glowing windows of her house and others nearby gave enough light for Elizabeth to see Nat by. He stared at her so intently that it took her breath away.

  Finally they were alone. Finally he was ready. She could quit pretending. They could begin.

  “You have to be more careful, Nat,” she whispered. “The others don’t understand us. They’d keep us apart. We have to keep this a secret. Do you understand?”

  “A secret.” His face lit up as he realized that she longed for him, too, and he repeated, “Us.”

  In that moment, when he was smiling down at her in the new delight of love returned, he looked like himself again. Down deep, he was still her Nat. Elizabeth hadn’t allowed herself to doubt that—but seeing the proof that she’d been right, that the spell hadn’t fundamentally changed who Nat was on the inside, filled her with joy.

  “Yes. Us. You and I.” Elizabeth turned her face up to his. Her entire body trembled with hope. She couldn’t look away from Nat, from the lines of his mouth as he leaned down toward her and parted his lips.

  When they kissed, she gasped. It’s really happening. He’s really mine. And the kiss felt so different from the way she’d thought a kiss would feel—warmer. Wetter, too. Nor had Elizabeth guessed that she wouldn’t only feel it on her lips, but throughout her whole body, her skin and gut and breasts and bones all responding immediately
to the nearness of him.

  Nat’s arms slid around her as he pulled Elizabeth against his body. The kiss deepened, and she felt as though her mind were spinning, as though they should never be any farther apart than this.

  Inside she heard Aunt Ruth talking to her cousins, and that reminded her—not yet. Not quite yet.

  Elizabeth pulled back. Nat didn’t so much let go as he froze, hands still outstretched, as if he didn’t understand how she could have left his arms. She didn’t understand, either, really, but she said, “Remember. We have to keep this secret.”

  “When can I see you?”

  “Tomorrow,” Elizabeth said, feeling hope’s warmth like sunshine on her cheeks. “Find me tomorrow by the far west field.”

  Nat nodded, but he still stood there, mutely refusing to leave.

  This part was a bit annoying, honestly; at least it didn’t have to last forever. “Run back home, Nat. Be sweet to your mother. Let her feel like everything’s all right.”

  “Yes.” He seemed relieved to know what to do. “Yes, I will. But—tomorrow? Do you promise?”

  “With all my heart.”

  Finally Nat walked away, walking backward so that he didn’t have to take his eyes off Elizabeth. She watched him go for a while, then quickly wiped her mouth and fixed her apron so that she looked right when she went back inside.

  Aunt Ruth had managed to get the children tucked in. Her face was creased with worry. “Did he trouble you?”

  “Not really,” Elizabeth said, trying to strike the right balance. She should sound concerned, but not actually afraid. “But I was thinking—I ought to keep out of his way as much as possible, during the day.”

  “You should indeed.”

  That sounded like Aunt Ruth had her own plan for keeping Elizabeth hidden; Elizabeth knew she needed to speak up right away. “We’re running low on some of our medicinal plants. Why don’t I go gathering tomorrow? Out past the field on the far west of town. Nothing should take Nat over that way.”